For Mel.
Because I can not imagine how much your heart aches.
Tasting the salty bite of the ocean spray on her tongue, Jen concentrated on keeping her breathing even, her pace steady. The quiet rhythm of her sneakers on the smooth surface of the barren north-west pier kept time with her heart, which pounded behind her ribs with a steady thump-thump-thump.
She leaned slightly to her right, fighting the push of the wind with her shoulder as it gusted, unblocked, across the wide expanse of flat metal.
The long section of the pier between the storage towers and the unexplored buildings at the far end was known as the wind-tunnel, and today it was living up to its name.
Spray kicked up off the wildly churning ocean with a hissing crush, misting the entire surface – Jen included. She shook her head with a snort and kept moving, her heated skin chilling under the shower of salty water. The sky overhead swirled with an overcast warning – the dark grey clouds complimenting her mood.
Reaching the edge of the landing she jogged in place for a few minutes, staring out over the white capped ocean. It was lonely here. Quiet and solitary. No one to talk to, no one to talk at her, and no one to care. A lone sea bird called out, and she looked up, watching the large wingspan circle in the strong wind before disappearing out across the ocean. She drew her head down and shook away the ghost. Not even the birds were willing to keep her company any more.
With a sigh, she buried the feeling of loneliness that had become all to familiar the past few weeks, and turned back towards the center of the city. It was no less than she deserved – the loneliness – a bed of her own making. She had more friends now, here, than she would ever be able to total up out of her entire lifespan. But the one person who mattered most, was the one who left her feeling more alone than she'd thought she could ever feel.
She had no idea how to make it better.
She had no idea how to apologize.
She had no idea how to do anything but keep moving forward.
Because looking back made her heart ache.
She was halfway across the wind-tunnel section when the first cramp hit. Wincing, she frowned to herself and slowed slightly, adjusting her stride. Almost immediately a second cramp burst across her lower torso and she staggered. Inhaling sharply, she stopped, bending to dig her fingers into her sides. Taking several deep breaths, she steadied her heartbeat, and allowed herself to straighten up.
Shaking her head with a promise to take it easy on the way back, she took two steps forward, and cried out as a burning pain ripped through her lower abdomen. Under a sharpness that felt as though something was clawing her insides out through her navel, she grabbed for her stomach. Her knees stung with the force of suddenly meeting the cold, hard surface of the pier.
She reached for her earpiece, but nausea gargled bile into the back of her throat and she gagged. Another stabbing wave split her torso and she crumpled forward, landing hard on the front of her left shoulder, white lacing her vision as her temple cracked into the ground.
Grey light blurred as the world spun around her, clouds fading into blackness as she heard her name blowing away in the wind.
Ronon was half a mile away, releasing his own inner demons to the feel of the wind on his face, when he caught sight of the blond ponytail bouncing across the walkway that intersected his. At that distance it could have been anyone – but he knew it was her with a certainty that ached. He would always know it was her. He would always sense her before she appeared, and scent her after she'd gone.
It was his curse.
To have a taste of what could be, only to lose it to what almost was.
He debated going a different way, but the wind robbed him of his free will by teasing his nostrils with a whisper of vanilla. Her signature scent.
He exited the lower level corridor, making the last turn before heading out across the windy surface and back to the main towers. He fell into step behind her, his own relentless pace quickly closing the gap between them.
He watched her stumble, immediately thinking she'd caught an edge. Then she staggered, and his mind changed to cramp.
She pushed herself too hard. She pushed at everything to hard.
But when she dropped to her knees he knew instantly something was wrong. She bent in around herself, her cry echoing across the landing like a solitary ocean bird.
His legs moved, pushed, pumped, closing the gap – yards shortening to feet – when she stiffened and convulsed, her body pitching forward and slamming into to the deck.
She didn't move.
The nurses weren't talking.
The doctor's weren't talking.
The only words that were continuously repeated – too much for Ronon's liking – were cyst and ovaries. Sheppard said at that point, it was too personal to pursue, but Ronon saw something hovering on the edges when the doctor's spoke, a sideways glance that shouldn't be there, an added blink.
There was more to it.
They all said she was fine – she would be just fine – but the real details were being kept to a need to know.
And apparently, he didn't need to know.
She was awake. She would be released in a day or two. Marie had at least told him that much, but he'd already figured that out for himself - catching glimpses into the private room she'd sequestered for herself, watching from the shadows. Needing to see her for himself.
She was conscious and talking, but she was refusing visitors.
All visitors.
Teyla.
Laura.
Even McKay.
It ate at him.
A two day stint off world with Sheppard cleared his mind enough that he'd at least been able to concentrate on something other than her. But the minute he stepped over the threshold and into the city, it all came crashing back down around him.
Sheppard asked first. Ronon didn't need to worry about finding a subtle way of wording it, the Colonel just asked Woolsey outright.
She was out of the infirmary and on a few days mandatory rest before returning to work at the end of the week. Yet there was still very little word about what ailed her. Jennifer still refused to admit anyone, except Teyla and Laura now, but both women would give him nothing other than general platitudes.
So he ran.
He sparred.
He lost track of the minutes as they bled into hours, passing with another two days. Tomorrow she'd return to her shift, and tomorrow he'd at least be able to see for himself that she was fine.
It was late when his chime announced a visitor – late by even his standards.
Blinking at his door, he hesitated, raising his head off his arms and sitting up. He waited for it to sound a second time, but heard nothing. Lifting himself off the bed, he padded barefoot to the door, yanking his shirt off the chair where he'd tossed it, pulling it down over his head.
He swiped the access panel, sliding the door open with a soft hiss.
Ronon wasn't sure who he was expecting, Sheppard most likely, but to see Jennifer, standing alone in the dimly lit hallway, threw his heart an extra beat.
Wearing a dark green sweater over blue jeans, her hair hung loosely over her shoulders, haloed by the lantern hanging on the wall behind her. She stood stiffly, her hands clutched in front of her, fingers twisting as she rubbed the back of her left hand with her right thumb. The bruised scrape on her forehead where she knocked herself out on the pier was dull and fading - peeking out from beneath her bangs as she moved her head. Dropping her arms to her side, she shifted her weight, her eyes landing only briefly on his before darting around.
"Did…" She cleared her throat. "Did I wake you?" She shook her head before he could answer. "I did, didn't I? It's really late. I'm sorry." She turned away.
"Jennifer." He stepped quickly around her, blocking her path before she could retreat. "It's okay."
She glanced up at him, and again he noticed she could barely meet his gaze.
"Are you okay?" He finally had the presence of mind to ask.
She nodded, looking around the hallway.
Ronon shook his head, kicking himself. She'd been avoiding everyone. She obviously wanted privacy. "Do you want to come in?"
She tilted her head to look up at him, her lower lip firmly gripped between her front teeth. In the few seconds she let him see her eyes, he saw something that made his chest clench.
Pain.
Not physical pain. But the raw, emotional kind.
And layered just below it, was fear.
Pain at an injury he understood.
But not fear.
He waited for her answer – knowing he'd let her go if he had to.
But she stood in front of him, silence stretching with an agonizing slowness until she finally nodded.
"I just…" He watched her throat constrict as she swallowed, and pursed her lips, her tongue darting out to lick her bottom lip, still red from her teeth. "It'll just take a minute."
He stepped back and held his arm out. She walked around him, moving quickly into his room. He let the door close and moved past her, leaving her standing just inside the doorway.
"You should sit." He swiped a collection of knives off the seat of a chair and dropped them onto a nearby table, clearing it for her.
"I'm okay." She'd returned to chewing her lower lip.
"Jennifer." He stepped closer, leaving a few feet of personal space before stopping in front of her. "What's wrong?"
Her chest hitched and caught, and she inhaled sharply. Staring at a spot on his shoulder, her fingers twisted around themselves and she shifted her weight.
"What…" She started to smile, then let it fall. Her chin dropped, and she shook her head, her voice barely a whisper. "I have absolutely no idea where to start."
"Try the beginning."
When she looked up, the moisture in her eyes crushed his heart. He immediately leaned closer, but she stepped away.
"Ronon…" She held up her hand, palm out, and he stopped, frozen.
He held his breath, waiting, wondering, wanting to know who or what caused her such pain. Needing an outlet. Someone to hurt in return. He felt his body tensing, anger boiling up through his lower abdomen.
"Do you understand what... happened to me? Out there. On the pier?"
He nodded. "Marie explained it."
Jen inhaled, then shrugged. "She lied."
Ronon blinked. "She lied?"
"I asked her to. I asked them all to. They agreed to help me… keep this… quiet."
"Keep what quiet?" The anger that flowed through him was quickly chilled beneath a more powerful flash of fear.
"Ronon…" She swiped her knuckle quickly under her right eye. "I…" She turned her head to the side, and crossed her arms tightly around her stomach. "I had a miscarriage."
He recognized the word.
But he didn't recognize it coming from her lips.
"A… miscarriage." It even sounded wrong to his own ears.
She nodded, her face still averted. "I didn't even… I didn't know… I didn't know I was even pregnant." She smiled sadly and glanced sideways at him through her bangs.
"Pregnant." He repeated, his room feeling just a little bit warmer. A little bit smaller.
Her chin dropped towards the floor. "Yeah. Some doctor I make, huh."
Ronon shook his head, not knowing how to answer. If he should answer. He started to lean closer, towards her, towards the hurt and the pain, then checked himself and took a preventative step back. She was telling him she was pregnant – had been pregnant – with McKay's child, obviously. But why? Out of courtesy?
He didn't want that kind of courtesy, damn it.
She'd almost had a child – out of McKay. He already knew he wasn't her choice. Why did she feel the need to rub it in? It wasn't enough he had to see them together, he had to know she'd slept with him, made love to him, gotten pregnant from him, too?
"Why tell me?" He blurted out, not bothering to hide the anger that coursed out through his veins.
Jennifer looked up, her emotions flickering across her face - startled, confused, hurt. "I…" She blinked, her brow furrowed. She shook her head and took a step back, banging her heel into his closed door. Staring at a point on the floor at his feet, she let out a half-laugh and licked her bottom lip. "I guess I just… thought… you deserved to know, is all."
"Why?" He heard himself ask. Let it go, he mentally kicked himself. You had your chance. You lost.
Jennifer heard the anger in his tone. She didn't need to see his face to understand. Her heart ached to know this is what it had come down too. Her pain. His anger.
Yet she couldn't fault him for it.
Not for this.
Never for this.
She'd done her piece. She'd told him. Five days of warring with herself to just do it – and she had. Promise to herself now over, she could leave. She should leave. Just let it go. Let it all go. It was over and she'd lost.
She'd lost everything.
Things she never even realized she had, she wanted, until five days ago.
Frantically swiping at her cheeks she lifted her face but refused to look at him. "He…" would have been strong and brave… "She…" would have been smart and beautiful… "Would have been yours." She finished with a whisper that quickly disappeared into the stillness.
She covered her mouth with her hand to hold back the sob perched on the tip of her tongue. She chanced a glance, hoping for something, anything, but getting nothing but stunned silence as he stood in the middle of his room staring at her.
It was nothing less than she deserved.
She bit her lip and turned towards the door access.
"McKay?" His growl cut the quiet so sharply it startled her.
She lowered her forehead, pressing it to the cold metal of the door frame. McKay. It was always about Rodney with Ronon these days. She knew that's what he'd think. But she had hoped - prayed, foolishly - they would some day get past it.
She shouldn't have come.
She shouldn't have said anything.
But he deserved to know.
She straightened and half turned, catching him out of the corner of her eye. She could feel the anger radiating off him – projecting like a heat source. She wanted to touch it, curl into it, hide beneath it like a blanket, use it to keep the rest of the world away.
But it wasn't hers to have.
Not any more.
She shook her head, her fingers hovering beside the access panel. "I didn't sleep with Rodney, Ronon. I'm not…" She exhaled sharply, turning to face the door. "I'm not sleeping with anyone."
She dropped her hand and the door swung open, offering her escape. Stepping forward, she turned her head, glancing at him quickly over her shoulder. He still hadn't moved – but something in his eyes drove into her and she momentarily lost her breath.
"Only you." She exhaled. "There was… is… only you."
Turning away, she made her escape into the dim light of the hallway, the echoing click of the closing door chasing her with finality.