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It didn’t take Ronon long to find Sheppard.
The practice rooms he and Teyla used for sparring were perfect most of the time, but there had always been two hours in the late afternoon when the sun was bright, streaming in and making it impossible to see properly. It would get warm, too warm for most people, but Ronon and the rest of the team had learned it was the best place to find Sheppard if he wasn’t anywhere else. Stretched out on the floor, seldom asleep because he and Sheppard were similar like that, unable to sleep where someone might find them and use that moment of weakness against them, but Sheppard still relaxed. His body sinking into the thick mat on the floor, like one of the Srall from Sateda, small round animals that would go flat when they were relaxed, almost disappearing into the ground until you stepped on one and it bit you, sharp teeth sinking in and nearly impossible to get off without killing.
Ronon’s Ma had made sure he knew how to remove it without killing; she had always been a soft heart, and the one his Ta and Fa were glad he had taken after. Ronon’s Mother's had never told him who his actual birth mother was, but it wasn’t hard to figure out as he got older and taller and looked more and more like his Fa every day. But she would smile and shrug, claiming it could be any of them.
With the memory of Sateda strong in his mind, Ronon found the memories of his mother’s harder to deal with than they had in a long time. A lot of his memories felt like that. Close to the surface, dragged up as he fought his way through streets he had long since tried to forget.
“Carson set you free?” Sheppard asked, turning his head and looking up at Ronon, utterly content on the floor, even if Ronon had to squint to see the sharp look Sheppard was giving him, so at odds with the relaxed length of his body.
“Yep,” Ronon said, walking over and looking down at Sheppard. “Wanted to say thanks. For coming to get me.”
Sheppard shrugged a shoulder. “No worries, buddy,” he said, rolling to his back, fingers laced over his stomach and looking up at Ronon. “You all good? No injuries?”
Ronon shook his head. “Couples scrapes, but I’m fine. Tracker didn’t cause as much damage this time, so it didn’t need stitches.”
“Good, good,” Sheppard said, nodding.
Much like the Srall, Ronon hadn’t seen the trap, too lost in the past to see that for all Sheppard seemed relaxed; he was biding his time, waiting for the right moment. Ronon suddenly found himself on his back, Sheppard’s knee an uncomfortable weight in his chest, pinning him to the floor. It wasn’t a true hold; he could roll and easily get free, but shock made him go still, and then confusion as he squinted up at Sheppard, unable to fully make out his face with the sun bright around him, shadowing his features.
“Wha—”
Sheppard’s hand dropped next to his head, and Ronon found himself caged in, the shadows growing around him until all he could see was a flash of white teeth and green eyes when Sheppard leaned in closer. “Do not ever put a fucking knife to your own throat again, do I make myself clear?”
Sheppard’s voice was even, controlled, the same way it always was, but Ronon had known Sheppard long enough to hear the anger in the sharp edges of his vowels, the way the lazy, long consonants were gone until each sound was a bullet fired from a gun. Sheppard had a temper, but it was slow, long to boil over, but Ronon had seen the flashes of it before, slipped behind a mask that barely contained the rage until it burned out, and he could see it then, the slow boil threatening to trickle over and he was confused.
Ronon went still. “What?”
“You don’t get to sacrifice yourself for us. We are a team. If we are in danger, then we’re going to get out together, or not at all,” Sheppard said, sounding so reasonable that Ronon almost wanted to believe him.
But Ronon, for all his Mother’s prevaricating, was still his Fa’s son, and he had never been good at backing down, just like she hadn’t when she had led the first wave into the gaping maw of the hive ship and took it out. An early victory that cost the entire squad their lives, but it had been a victory that had kept them fighting. A memory that had helped keep Ronon fighting for a long time, not wanting to disappoint her memory.
“Or what?” Ronon asked, wanting to push, to snap at Sheppard and make that anger boil over.
“Or nothing,” Sheppard said, leaning in closer until Ronon could almost make out the shape of his face, even masked in light and shadows. “This is not a threat; there’s nothing I can threaten you with that I could back up. It’s a fucking order, Specialist,” Sheppard said, voice still controlled.
Ronon knew Sheppard well enough to know his complex feelings around orders, what they meant, and how easily his power could be corrupted. Memories of Kell sprung to mind, but he pushed them away; he knew Sheppard was nothing like Kell. Sheppard wouldn’t sacrifice anyone if there was even a chance he could sacrifice himself first to save others.
“That so?” Ronon asked his Ta’s constant need to question rearing its head, making him want to fight back, at least with words, because he was tired of fighting with his body.
“Yes.”
“Like you do?” Ronon asked, thinking of the stories Rodney had told him, of the times Sheppard had thrown himself into danger to save the others.
Even in the shadows, Ronon could see the ugly twist to Sheppard’s mouth that might be considered a smile to some, but he could see the reluctant, angry amusement to it.
“We’re not talking about me right now,” Sheppard said, not denying it but trying to move the conversation away.
Ronon pushed up slightly, getting in Sheppard’s face until he could feel the rush of hot air with each panting breath and see the worry warring with anger in Sheppard’s eyes. “It was the best way to save you,” he said simply.
Sheppard’s mouth twisted into a snarl, and a split second later, Ronon was pushed back onto the floor. Ronon thought of his conversations with Teyla about Sheppard and how he fought. Ronon knew he could beat Sheppard without trying in a fight with rules, where honor was a higher stake than life. But when the only choice was between life and death? Ronon wasn’t so sure he could beat Sheppard. Not when the rules were thrown out the window, and anything went. Ronon knew Sheppard would do anything to keep them all alive and understood, for as much as Rodney bitched about it, Sheppard would do anything to stay alive.
Even if it meant nightmares.
“This isn’t an argument,” Sheppard said, sounding reasonable.
Ronon didn’t want reasonable. He wanted that village to be alive. He wanted not to have his back ripped open and a tracker shoved back inside, making him prey again when he had just started to stop looking over his shoulder when he slept.
Ronon snarled and pushed up again; Sheppard let him, let Ronon sit up on an elbow before he was pushed to the ground again, Sheppard hovering over him, elbows on either side of his head, caging him in and close enough that the only way to get out was through. Ronon wanted to hurt a lot of Wraith, but he wouldn’t hurt his team, and Sheppard knew it. He went limp on the floor, the fight fading as fast as it had come, and he could see Sheppard’s shoulders relax.
“I just wanted to do right by the village,” he said, wishing he could turn his head away, but there was nowhere to go.
“I get that,” Sheppard said, voice calmer, and Ronon had a feeling Sheppard did understand. Maybe not in the same way Ronon did, but they both had pasts filled with regrets. “That Wraith turned you into a runner; he took so much from you, and you wanting to just rest for one night is not the reason that village was culled. The Wraith chose to cull that village. They didn't need an excuse. They just used you as one to keep you running, exhausted and with nowhere to turn.”
“They’re still dead,” Ronon said, closing his eyes.
“As you and Teyla are so fond of reminding me, this galaxy lives in the shadow of the Wraith. They made a deal with the Wraith to turn you over if you ever came back after the Wraith had culled them,” Sheppard said. “All they needed to do was keep fucking quiet. That’s it. They chose to bring the Wraith to their village. They chose to hand you over.”
“They just wanted to live.”
“They saw a man being used by the Wraith as a fucking toy, and they decided to trust the Wraith, who promised they would be safe if they turned on you. They trusted the Wraith. That’s on them,” Sheppard said, gripping the front of Ronon’s shirt and giving him a shake. “You didn’t have that choice. It was taken away from you.”
The problem with reason and logic is that it made sense. Ronon knew what Sheppard was saying was true, but it was still hard to believe it when Ronon felt the loss so clearly after time spent in the ruins of his home world.
“Do you blame them?” Ronon asked instead.
Sheppard shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll leave assigning blame to the historians when all is said and done.”
“Would you have done the same thing?” Ronon asked, needing to hear Sheppard say it even though he knew the answer.
“No,” Sheppard said instantly; sitting back just enough the light shifted, no longer the harsh shadows it had been, but the warm golden glow of the early sunset, pulling Sheppard out of the shadows and into the light. “The thing is. There wasn’t a Wraith sitting in their village, watching over them, making sure they followed the rules. They were given a choice and chose to give you up.”
“They had lost their village,” Ronon argued.
“So has Teyla. And she wouldn’t do that. You lost your entire world, and you wouldn’t do that,” Sheppard said, finally sitting back on his heels, still sitting on Ronon’s chest, but he felt lighter somehow. “The way people respond to tragedy says a lot more about them than anyone is ever willing to admit to. They might not worship the wraith, but they have no issues collaborating with them.”
“But what about the—”
Sheppard’s hand clapped over his mouth, silencing him before he could get his thoughts out. The anger was gone; instead, there was a soft sadness that Ronon had never seen before. “But what about the kids, the others, the people who didn’t lead? What about the old, the sick, the others who didn’t have a choice and lost their lives anyway?”
Ronon nodded.
“There’s always a what if. There’s always another person, place, thing, or something else that could’ve gone differently if we had made a different choice. But we don’t know. And beating yourself up over the what-ifs is a losing battle. You were exhausted, tired, and just wanted some comfort and a safe place to sleep. That’s not the sin you think it is. Stop blaming yourself when the only person to blame in the end was the Wraith who put a tracker in your back and sent you stumbling into the world,” Sheppard said, pulling his hand back.
“Easier said than done,” Ronon muttered, pressing a hand over his eyes as if that would stop the tears that threatened to fall.
“Always is, but you have always struck me as a man who favors actions over words.”
Ronon grunted. “How do you deal with it? All the what ifs?”
“Badly,” Sheppard replied, finally moving off Ronon.
Ronon pulled his hand away to see Sheppard sitting next to him, leaning back on his hands, legs crossed and head tilted back. In the harsh light from before, Sheppard looked dangerous. But here, in the soft glow of the earning evening, he looked old in a way Ronon didn’t see a lot in Pegasus. The lines, the threads of gray through his hair, the sharp line of his jaw slowly giving way to age and a hard life.
“Helpful,” Ronon said.
Sheppard snorted but didn’t say anything, something Ronon was thankful for. He also didn’t leave, sitting with Ronon as the sunset gave way to evening and the sun finally disappeared behind the horizon, the soft glow of Atlantis slowly lighting up the room.
Ronon finally moved, pulling himself up from the floor like a Srall moving into a new feeding ground, and knelt in front of Sheppard, waiting for the other man to open his eyes and look at him. The anger was gone from his face, but Ronon could still hear the order ringing in his head, and like Sheppard, he knew it was one he would probably ignore if it meant saving others, but there was a warm feeling in his chest at the knowledge that here, in Atlantis, he had found a new home. He had found people worth following, found people worth giving his loyalty to, and knew they would make sure he wouldn’t be running blind in the night. They would light a beacon for him to run towards.
“What?” Sheppard asked, opening his eyes to stare at Ronon.
Ronon leaned in and kissed him, cupping a face that Ronon looked at as older but something called middle-age to the Earthers. Sheppard pressed in for a moment, his mouth parting before he leaned back, breaking the kiss.
“Ronon,” Sheppard started.
“Not now,” Ronon said, dropping his hands away and leaning back. “I’m not…,” he trailed off, thinking about Melena and how much he missed her, and shook his head. “I’m not…not now. But later. When I’ve…had time to think.”
Time to heal, he didn’t say. He didn’t let himself think about a world where he had time to heal from everything that had happened to him over the years.
“I’m your CO,” Sheppard said instead, face that careful, ugly blank he only got when he was about to do something he didn’t want to.
“No, you’re not. I’m a civilian consultant. I only have to listen to you in the field because you’re my team leader, but that starts and ends when we’re on a mission,” Ronon said, leaning back against his hands, mirroring Sheppard. “It says it right there in my contract.”
“You read that?”
“You didn’t?” Ronon asked, not surprised in the slightest.
Sheppard shrugged one shoulder and moved to stand. Ronon reached out, grabbing his wrist and keeping him in a half crouch, a loose grip Sheppard could get out of if he wanted to, but he stilled as if Ronon had pinned him to the floor.
“It’s not a noose, Sheppard. It’s just there,” Ronon said, rubbing his thumb over Sheppard’s pulse before letting go. “If you don’t wanna, it’s fine. Being back on Sateda reminded me of everything and everyone I lost, and they wouldn’t want me to mourn any longer. But…”
Sheppard snorted and finished standing. “It’s always easier for the memories to tell you not to mourn than it is to actually do it.”
Ronon nodded. “Yeah.”
“Yeah,” Sheppard echoed as he stretched his arms up overhead, fingers spread wide before they dropped down, and he reached out a hand to pull Ronon up.
Ronon took it, letting Sheppard haul him up, surprised when instead of dropping his hand, Sheppard stayed where he was, standing close enough they were barely touching, head tilted to look at him. “When the memories aren’t so bad, we’ll…talk,” Sheppard said, wrinkling his nose as if the idea offended him. “And see.”
It was as good as Ronon would get, and it was all he wanted right then. Kissing Sheppard had been something on a whim, something that had been lingering at the edges of his mind that he hadn’t allowed to focus on, too lost in the past to think about his future.
“Kay,” Ronon settled on saying, letting go of John’s hand.
John nodded his head once, turned, and left, stopping at the door to look back at Ronon with an unreadable look before he was gone, disappearing back into Atlantis.
Ronon turned, walking over to the window, and looked out across the city and the ocean, so different than where he had grown up, where open plains had stretched for miles in every direction and the afternoon storms rolled in at the same time every day. He thought of his Fa, charging into the hive ship and how she had kissed his forehead before she had left, telling him how proud she was. He thought of his Ta, her bright smile as she headed to the kitchens to help feed the troops, dying on the second day as the Wraith started aiming at the larger targets. He thought of his Ma, watching over the kids of those who had fallen, keeping them as safe as she could until they had been lost to a crashed dart. He thought of Melena, his team, and everyone else he had lost.
He thought of the ruins of Sateda, the bones of the great city stretched out before him, the homes that had been left alone by some miracle, standing and covered in dust, waiting for someone who would never come home. The broken alleyways with the plants began to creep back in, covering bodies stripped clean by the elements, claiming the planet back one sunrise at a time, a slow march that not even the Wraith could fight against.
Ronon leaned his head against the window and looked down at Atlantis, beginning to realize that surviving was easy.
The memory of his blade against his neck was in the forefront of his mind, the cold steel of the knife his Fa had pressed into his hand the day he joined the military a heavy weight, but it was a choice he thought he had to make. He thought it was the only choice, at least until he had been saved from the ruins of his home by a family he had found and had brought him in, accepted him as he was, and cared for him.
Death was easy, and surviving was something he had to do. But living was hard, but he wasn’t alone.
He could find Rodney bitching about his injury and talking to someone over something that seemed trivial to Ronon, but he could see the spark in Rodney’s eyes as he spoke, enjoying the back and forth and the thrill of the argument. He could find Teyla learning something new that the Earthers had no issues expounding on to any willing audience, and she would listen because she wanted to learn just as much as Rodney did, but life had taken her in a different direction. John would be locked in his room, hiding from what Ronon had told him until he had put it into a neatly packaged box that Ronon had no problems waiting to unwrap.
The city was full of life, just like Sateda had been, and he hoped he could bring life back to Sateda in the future. When the war ended, they could rebuild and offer homes to those who needed them.
Pushing away from the window, humming a song his Ma had sung to him as a kid when he had been scared of the shadows, he left to head towards the mess hall, wanting to be surrounded by those still living.