Ronon Dex had been in the gateroom, going through his pre-gating routine: verifying his weapons, straightening his clothes. He had exited the puddle, walked through a nice enough field, heard McKay gripe about pollen and new boots and seen him fall, cut short mid-sentence. He'd taken a step toward him as Sheppard and Teyla also collapsed on the ground. The world turned to black. When he came to, it was…coloured
Everything was oh-so-very coloured.
Ronon stood hurriedly, drawing his weapon and backing into the wall, feet sinking slightly into the ground. He surveyed his surroundings. It was a moving, malleable and shiny world. Bouncy. Ronon would've even ventured as far as to say squishy. Somewhat like…Jell-O, he supposed was an apt description. Disturbing. He didn't even like it that much and here he stood, in mounds of the awful stuff. Sight scans of the area showed no immediate threat, so he did what he always did when missions turned awry: clicked his radio.
Click. Click.
Click. Click.
Click. Click.
No answering clicks came, thus he moved to the next item on the list.
"Sheppard…Teyla…McKay?"
His weapon still aimed at the squishiness, he moved away from the wall. The colours seemed to be fading into one another. Red to orange to yellow to green to blue to violet. Gray, white and black came in a flash only to be taken over by another cycle. The environment undulated prettily, calling out for him to sink into its inviting softness. Ronon shook himself out of his silly contemplation. It would not do to have his mind so easily corrupted, the room was not inviting him to anything, it was a room. Furthermore, he would not allow himself to be covered in gelatine for, was he to find McKay quickly enough, the man would die laughing. Naturally, Ronon had heard the jokes the scientist made about his person, and for him to be seen covered in this substance would only bring one of them to life. Jell-O wrestling to make a quick buck? No thank you. He shook his head wondering how McKay could have survived so long, with all limbs intact no less. He was so incredibly off-putting. Still, Ronon moved through the area with a new and comforting purpose. Aggravating scientist, where was he?
Already acclimatized to the feel of his new surroundings, he was as sure-footed as ever. All around him, there were ripples of green-bluish 'squish' and hadn't he been paying close attention he would've missed them completely. His team was in the squish; it covered them like a second skin, tinting them in interesting shades and making them nearly undetectable. As Ronon took a step to free the captives, a voice resounded around him, enveloping him, soft and caressing.
"Sit. Ronon Dex, you are not to disturb their slumber but are welcome to share in their experiences. We would be delighted if you would join them."
The squish trapped his feet, moulded itself to his body and he was forced to sit. An image appeared and Ronon recognised the sound of Teyla's voice.
"Are you in pain? Doctor Beckett can give you something to ease it."
An old woman is lying on an infirmary bed. She looks weak, and when she speaks her voice is naught but a whisper. "Teyla."
"Yes, Charin?"
"Our journey begins." Three words and she is no longer. The telling elongated beep of the heart monitor is cut short as Teyla takes one of Charin's hands and brings it to her cheek. Her vision blurs and she lowers her head to the bed. Darkness comes as Teyla's eyes close and a harsh sob escapes her.
The image jumped, from one point in time to another.
Teyla is sitting on her bed, her hand holding a soft strip of cloth that she runs through her fingers. She cries loudly, without restraint and her hand comes to her eyes, wiping them when needed. For a long time, she allows grief to overwhelm her. Taking a deep breath, she is suddenly in control, moving through the room to stop in front of her closet and reaches out, fingers stroking fine garments.
It disappeared as she picked a dress of ocean colours. Ronon wished he had been there with her, wished someone had been able to help, though she would have hidden her pain from them, like the strong woman she was, or had to be. He sighed as a wooden room came to be seen.
He sits on a bed, covered with natural cloths. His eyes roam over his surroundings. Wooden walls, floors, furniture. A vase of wildflowers sits on a wooden table. He sighs dejectedly as he relaxes back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The light coming through the window draws shadows over the room and his eyes trace them aimlessly. There is a jacket hanging on a clothes hook. He moves off the bed in one smooth movement and goes to it. Takes it into his hands, fingers running over the grey material, tracing the edge of a Velcro that should hold the Atlantis patch. He sighs once more and goes back to his bed, holding the jacket closely.
The chirping of birds comes through the open window, the murmurs of conversations, too low for the words to be intelligible. It's quiet and peaceful, like Atlantis never could be. The city is excitement, people, and the gentle swoosh of waves caressing its outer limits.
"Get over yourself, John! Enough of this! Jesus! They left you behind and you can't handle another minute of this place. Get used to it, this is home now! No one's coming for you! You just have to deal with it!" The words he speaks are rational, meant to soothe his newly agitated state. Obviously, they do not help. He throws the jacket across the room with a grunt and watches as it sails through the air and collapses to the floor in a heap that mirrors his state of mind. He would crumble to the ground never to move again if he thought he would let himself get away with such behaviour.
Settling back on his bed, John hits the mattress with tight firsts, releasing pent up energy, frustration, anger. "Get. Over. Yourself! Just get over it! They're gone and you're stuck here! If they could've gotten to you they would've…this just means…Nothing! They're not dead! Don't even go there! Just get over it!"
An arm comes to rest over his eyes as he closes them. "Come and get me. Let them come and get me." He hits the mattress once more and curses the man he can't help but hold responsible for his long-term stay. He knows it is childish and not the scientist's fault, but he is lost and blaming him is familiar. "Damn it McKay, you'd better find something fast!"
The transition from one image through the next was seamless, though the new one was impossibly different. Ronon recognised the bridge of the Daedalus all around, the blackness of space stretching out in front. Two large Hive ships were releasing innumerable Darts. He supposed it was one of McKay's experiences, because if this was what he thought, Teyla and Sheppard were in one of those Darts with him.
"Look, see that?" His hand points at one of the Hive ships.
Caldwell's voice comes from the right. "What?"
"It's a Dart firing at one of the Hive ships."
"Why?"
Rodney speaks, his tone slightly awed, "Sheppard."
For a long moment, Rodney's eyes take in the destruction of the ships. Voices around him barely register. His eyes go from left to right, attempting to follow one Dart amongst so many. He huffs, a relieved laugh before a massive explosion takes away all living things, leaving only debris. He turns suddenly, standing in front of a screen depicting the view in codes, lines and data.
"Blast destroyed everything in a fifteen thousand metres radius."
"Did any Darts survive?"
"Negative, sir."
Rodney walks back, eyes locked on the debris floating in space. Unmoving, he takes in the devastation. Abruptly, he turns and leaves the bridge, walking quickly, almost running. He turns left at the first junction he sees. Daedalus crew watch him go but none attempt to stop him. He enters a small, darkened room. Supplies are piled high around him. He leans his forehead against the cold metal wall.
"Oh God…oh God no…" His hands form fists and he uses his knuckles to push himself away from the wall. He remains still, quiet for an instant before hitting the mass under his hand. "Damn it! Fucking idiot! Damn it! You little punk, Ford! Why didn't you just come back with us! You…fucking…bastard…" He leans against the abused structure and slides into a crouch, running a hand over his face, regaining his equilibrium.
For hours, Ronon sat there, eyes riveted to the images that were projected from the minds of his friends. He couldn't bear to watch and yet was unable to look away. The first few revolutions through the cycle of colours had brought memories with which he was somewhat familiar; they were those of Atlantis, of other worlds in the Pegasus Galaxy. He saw Sheppard, alone against a platoon of Genii, saw Teyla's people go the mainland whilst she stood on the upper levels of the gateroom, beside Doctor Weir. He saw McKay waiting for death, giving out instructions as Zelenka, Ford, Beckett and numerous scientists watched. He had the privilege to learn of Lieutenant Ford as Sheppard saw him on the planet where they met, as Teyla saw him in his enzyme-filled cave, as Rodney saw him in the back of a Jumper that would not jump its intended puddle.
Their lives, experiences, were laid out for him to consume. What was important, what had profoundly affected them was his for the taking and though he felt dirty, guilty, coated with betrayal, he couldn't bring himself to look away.
The images that came after featured places and people he had never seen or heard of. When the blue came for the fifth time, sadness, loss and grief followed. He heard a laugh and recognised it as Teyla's, but the world was unfamiliar, as was the young man she was facing.
"You are telling me fables Kiley, I will not be made a fool!"
"Teyla, it cannot be avoided, the Emmagans are fools, through and through."
"We certainly are not! I am the daughter of your Leader! Perhaps you should contemplate your faith, should I decide to be rid of you!"
Kiley grasps Teyla's hand and smiles. "You shall never make such a decision. I am your favourite, out of all of our people. You shall never be rid of me!"
"You have the right to hold onto such silly beliefs if it makes your rest more pleasant!"
The image jumped suddenly and Ronon sat, forced to watch through Teyla's eyes as she ran through wooden lands, tears streaming down her face, sobs echoing harshly through the night.
She reaches the gate and dials hurriedly, wiping her face with the back of her hand. A village, or rather its remains, stands on the other side. The smoke from numerous fires still comes from the small wooden huts and she searches each one of them until she finds one in which life still resides. In her panic, she does not notice the desolate state of the village, but searches, crying out for help.
"Halling! Halling! It's Kiley! He's been injured! Please, you must come! I was unable to bring him. Please!"
"Shhhh, Teyla! Stop!"
Grasping Halling's hand, Teyla attempts to bring him to Kiley. She has to help him; he will die if left in the forest too long.
"Come, we must hurry!"
Halling takes her face between his hands and stills her. "Teyla, we have been culled."
Still pulling him out of the hut, it takes a moment for his words to register in Teyla's panic-tinted world. She is pleading for him to follow once again before the full depth of the night's event collapses around her. "Culled?"
"Yes."
They stand, silent, for long minutes. Teyla speaks one word and the answer is clear in the crestfallen look upon Halling's face.
"Father?"
The image dissipated as Teyla collapsed to the ground, to be rocked gently in the circle of Halling's arms. Her cries echoed in the coloured world. It was but a moment before another image materialised. Ronon saw through someone's eyes, just as he had before. He, it was a man judging by the amount of hair coating the arm he'd glimpsed, walked through an empty house.
He exits a room and stands at the top of the staircase. Hard wooden floors below his feet, striped wallpaper on which paler rectangles are visible, where picture frames once hung. He goes down slowly, taking one step at a time, watching his hand slide down the handrail. He stops at the bottom, hand on an ornate sphere, a finishing touch to the nicely carved piece of architecture.
Footsteps echo through the barren halls and he turns. A man appears in the doorway, tall and imposing in a black suit, a white shirt starched to an inch of its life. He draws closer and his green eyes glint in the sunlight streaming through the half-moon window, over the front door. His dark hair is greying at the temples.
"You found everything?"
"Yeah."
The man's impassive face is intimidating, the eyes curious as they sweep over him appraisingly. He must've seen something in the face he scrutinizes, for his composure slips, if only for a moment.
"Your mother…she…I didn't know, she never said…it was a long time ago. This is unexpected, you understand? She never told me she was pregnant, it was just one night, we were kids and, here you are. I can't…I never wanted to be a father, alright?" The man spits out the last words, harshly.
"That's ok Sir, I don't need one."
"She left you plenty, didn't she? Plus, you're what, 19 now? You'll do fine."
"I will."
The man shakes the shoulder he's clasped, in a strange acknowledgement, and walks away. He stops just outside the house and turns his head, giving a view of his right profile in addition to the strong, straight back. The younger man frowns as his eyes settle on a slightly pointed and wholly familiar ear.
"You know where to find me, if you're ever in need."
He leaves. The young man grabs a backpack that lies by the stairs and stands on the threshold, eyes roaming over bare walls, gleaming floors, empty rooms. Breathing in deeply, he exits the house and locks the door. His eyes linger on the flowerbeds that border the driveway as he walks away.
Again, the image jumped, seemingly forward in time. Ronon saw a woman, smiling kindly. She sat at a desk, a large logo stretched behind her head: big A's, one blue and one red, separated by some kind of…bird.
"Hello, how may I help you?"
"Picking up a ticket."
"Name?"
"John Sheppard."
The woman smiles and John turns his head, spying his reflection in the Plexiglas to the left of the airline employee. Sheppard, barely a man, scowls at himself before returning his attention to the woman, a charming smile curving his mouth.
"Are you checking any bags?"
"No, I only have this." He raises his backpack over the counter so she can see.
"Travelling light! Easy when you're young!"
"I only have this." The comment is whispered, unheard by the woman who continues to smile warmly.
The image blinked out to be replaced immediately by another.
Hands come in and out of focus, small with plump little fingers, until one is raised to wipe away blinding tears. Jean-clad legs are stretched on the floor and sobs fill the silence. A loud snort is followed by an attempt to regain control but the child cannot hold back his tears. A louder sob escapes and hand comes to clasp against mouth. The door opens suddenly and a man enters the room.
"Are you ok?" the man asks, seemingly puzzled.
"Yes…" A snort follows the whispered word.
"Your parents are here."
The boy nods. The man exits the room as a couple comes in. They tower over the boy, arms crossed, straight backs, frowning faces.
"What have you done now?" the woman says with a sigh.
"Don't coddle him! He didn't think and got what he deserved. Isn't that right?"
The boy nods as another sob escapes him.
"Are you stupid? Is that why you're here?"
"No," the boy answers, weakly, wetly.
"NO? You're not stupid? Then what possessed you to build a bomb for the science fair! What could you have been thinking!?"
"It's just a working model." Justification comes, but does not soothe the man whose face is reddening, pitch climbing, voice rising.
"It's just a-- Meredith MCKAY! What were you THINKING!"
"Julian, don't shout in public."
The man and the woman turn to each other.
"I will shout in public if I feel the need to, Janet! Our son is a bumbling idiot! What do you except me to do? Praise him for his initiative and spirit of inventiveness!"
"Lower your voice, he's clearly distraught, and people are listening." The last world is hissed. The horror of the listening people is more powerful than that of the heartbroken boy.
"Let them listen! Let them hear that we're raising children who have even less brains than sense!"
The woman's voice reaches a screeching tone when she answers. "They're children!"
"It's certainly not a reason! I will not tolerate such ridiculousness in my house." The man turns back to the boy. "Do you hear me? I will not tolerate this from you! Now get up, we're going home right now. What a colossal waste of time!"
The couple turns back and exits the room without waiting for the boy who wipes his eyes, straightens with a long breath, and follows.
When the image faded away, Ronon understood many things he had no right to know. He felt like his mind had been poisoned with the personal details of his friends' lives. It would continue to be so for some times.
"Stop! Stop!"
Ronon's hands fisted at his side. He could not sit and watch, could not bear to see a woman in such jeopardy, even through the ugly magic of a memory screen.
"Stop! No! No! STOP! NO!"
A hand comes, snakes around a young woman's neck and large brown eyes see only the smiling face of her assailant. He is a nice looking man, dark hair, darker eyes, a slight bulge under his chin from indulging in the good things life can offer. She attempts to move, to dislodge him, but he presses her down against the grass, pressing in so her airway is partly blocked.
"Beautiful. Miss Emmagan, you are simply beautiful. You haven't been to visit in so long. I have missed you."
"You are shaming yourself, your family and your people!"
"Now, now, play nice little girl, wouldn't want to make me angry now, would we?"
"I can assure you, I would!"
Venom coated the voice of the person watching this event and Ronon recognised Teyla's unmistakable threatening speech pattern. This Miss Emmagan, held against the ground, was not a younger Teyla, though she did look quite like her. Teyla has a sister. Had a sister.
The man laughs. "If your intentions were malicious, Teyla Emmagan, you would have dealt with me long ago. Yet, here I am and so are you. I can only assume you have come to take your rightful place so that I can cease to settle for Adene." The man has released the girl he held and is facing Teyla, his lecherous gaze roaming freely over her form.
"You will cease." Teyla moves so fast, the man is left with no time to move. The small knife slides rapidly in his neck and his face registers surprise before alarm. Blood pours out of the wound left gaping by the vicious removal of the knife He falls to the ground in a loud thump, sending a small cloud of dirt in the air. Teyla has already turned away, she cradles her sister in her arms and rocks her gently. "Adene, you are safe. He will never touch you again."
The environment around Ronon was a bright red, at the apex of its depth. It would soon glide into a slow orange, but for now it was red as the blood Teyla had spilled, as red as the anger that coursed through him, that was unmistakably coursing through her. He couldn't help but understand her a little better. He had seen what he might've brought to the forefront of her mind with his disposal of Kell. He had known then that Teyla had lived through many difficulties, had known hardship, like him. He had thought that perhaps her life had been easier whilst she was surrounded by the people she loved. Secure, in this dangerous world. Now he saw that she too had known betrayal, had known anger beyond any reason. He thought, maybe she understood him better than he did her.
The next image came and right away he realised who this one would feature. So strange, so incredibly familiar; he assumed this one would be angry as well, and he wondered if this was the angriest John Sheppard had ever been. It surprised him and yet it did not; Sheppard defined intensity, but embodied an easy-going nature so his anger was rare, short-lived and always came in extreme circumstances. He allowed others to revolve around him without ever letting them touch him, affect him, change him. Ronon believed, now more than ever, that they had changed Sheppard.
McKay is typing furiously, his back to him. He speaks, "I can bring it back under control! Just give me a second!"
A few steps and he grabs his jacket, turns him around. They are standing so close, too close. McKay's face is worry and fury combined. Sheppard's voice carries the same intensity. "No you can't!"
McKay pulls away, roughly, turning back to his screen. "Just one second!"
Sheppard walks around, speaks fast and low, close to McKay, who isn't looking at him, not at all, until he hits the console and gains his attention. "I've seen this before, Rodney: pilots who wouldn't eject when something went wrong. Trying to fix their planes right until it hit the ground!"
The image changed at that precise moment. It was not a smooth, continuous show. It was bits and pieces, erratic. Sound came and went. Highlights, Sheppard's remembering of a memory inside a memory.
The sky is impossibly blue, there are no clouds, the sun is shining brightly. The air is tranquil, an amused voice speaks through a radio.
"Ya know, you're the biggest jerk to ever grace the soil."
"That's why he's a pilot, jackass. Nobody wants him on solid ground."
The man flying through the sky doesn't answer, simply chuckles quietly. A moment, all is peaceful, beautiful, breathtaking. The next, an angry black cloud follows a diving metallic bird. Sheppard shouts orders.
"EJECT! EJECT! EJECT!"
A small voice comes to him, through the radio, the same one that was teasing him only a moment before. "I can fix it! A second! Just need a second!"
He dives and sees the fireball that comes from below, the massive explosion that makes a hole in the ground. He hits the side of the control panel. A shudder, he's suddenly standing straight, listening to a man speak about the eternal grace of God. His hands are fisted on the back of the wooden bench in front of him. He doesn't hear a word, only the whine of a plunging plane and the voice that asks for one second. His eyes are fixed on a long, flat wooden box, highly polished, garnished with a wreath. He doesn't see it.
The image disappearedOnce again, Ronon was torn. He hated the intrusion, but couldn't help the knowledge from seeping into his being. He knew Sheppard like he never could have, like he never would have been permitted to. He wanted to know more, and Ronon wished he didn't. He sighed as another image came, knowing this one would be Rodney's anger and he wouldn't look away, couldn't bring himself to ask for it to stop.
Violence, not what he would have expected.
"DAMN IT! DAMN IT!" A fist collides roughly with a metallic box. It's long and narrow and stands besides many others. A hollow sound escapes when the fist hits it again, again and again. It leaves an imprint, a small curve in the otherwise smooth surface.
Eyes moves, left to right, barely taking in the environment. "DAMN IT!"
Quick steps take him down the stairs, through a corridor. He keeps screaming, cursing, hitting random walls, kicking random things. A chair, a trashcan, a discarded piece of paper.
He seems to reach his destination. He wrenches the door open and walks into a lush office. Dark wood, soft buttery leather. A woman sits primly at a large desk and eyes him over half-moon glasses.
"Yes?" He face is impassive but her tone speaks of her dislike.
"I need to see Doctor Ross."
"He is not available. He sees student only on Mondays and Thursdays. You know that very well Mister McKay."
"Listen…" his tone is threatening. He places one hand on the desk, leaning forward, the other raised, a finger pointing in accusation. "I need to see Doctor Ross. Today. Now!"
"Really, this is unnecessary. If you wish to make an appointment…"
"Ah forget it!" Rodney stalks away, enters a door to the left and stops, dead in his tracks. A man is sitting on a big leather chair, comfortably reclined, smiling up at a young woman sitting on the desk. He turns his gaze to Rodney and loses all trace of pleasure.
"Ah, Rodney. Come in. I assume you want to speak of your thesis, ummmm? It's lucky, Miss Harrington is here. We can resolve this little matter right now, can't we?" His eyes move past Rodney and take in the woman who followed him. "Thank you Mrs. Smith."
The door closes, Rodney moves closer to the desk, his eyes moving over Doctor Ross, who is still sitting in his chair, straightened up, his hands linked on the desk. Miss Harrington smiles prettily at Rodney before claiming a chair. He sits next to her.
"Let's see what we can do about this, shall we?"
"You can expel her! She's a thief!"
The woman laughs coquettishly, as if Rodney has made a terribly funny, yet inappropriate joke. "Oh Rodney. You don't believe that! It's just, a misunderstanding!"
"You stole my project! You took my notes!"
"I didn't! Be reasonable!"
"I am reasonable! You stole my research! You copied everything!"
"I'm sure Heather didn't intent to steal. Great minds think alike?"
"Oh no! You can't seriously think she's in the same league as I am! Are you insane! Jesus! She'll be lucky is she makes it as a lab assistant!"
"You don't need to be mean!" Heather pouts prettily. She's playing dumb and Doctor Ross seems to be playing along with her.
"Yeah well, the truth hurts!" Rodney crosses his arms over his chest and he huffs. His voice is loud, he's aggressive. "I want her expelled! I want written apologies!"
"There will be an inquest. We'll get to the bottom of this…soon, very soon…" Doctor Ross is interrupted by the voice of his secretary, telling him someone important is on line two. He dismisses the two students with a wave.
They exit the office, walk down the hall. The woman strives to keep up with Rodney's fast pace. "You know McKay, I would've thought you'd be a lot more original than this. I dump you and you tell everyone I stole your thesis research. You're pathetic, and jealous. It's not my fault I had the idea first."
"You're lying! You're lying! I can't believe you! You'd risk your career…my career, because suddenly you don't like me!"
She lowers her voice and sneers at him. "Ah come on Rodney, you can't be that clueless; no one likes you! Ok, I'll admit, you were…entertaining, but I have no use for you now. Let it go, you're the fucking genius, just find something else and give me a fucking break."
She turns and walks away. McKay stands still, watching her.
Ronon did not understand what had happened. He saw the anger, practically felt it emanating from McKay, but did not really see the problem. He thought he had seen betrayal; the woman was humouring him, using him…but…thesis? Perhaps, when it was all over, when they were safe in Atlantis, Ronon would ask, subtly, what might've been the situation.
He sat and waited, but no more images came. He was both sorry and relieved. The orange faded into yellow and the voice spoke. It was no longer enticing, caressing. It was simply a voice that surrounded him.
"They will rest. You will be…fed." The voice paused before the last word, as if it was a foreign concept.
"They need to eat too."
"That is…inconvenient…"
For a long time, Ronon didn't hear anything. He prowled in front of his team, somewhat like a caged animal, even though he was the freest of them all. He hadn't thought about food, about water, about sleep. Thought about nothing but his team and the memories that were now burnt into his mind. He'd seen abandonment, loss, grief. Anger, betrayal, powerlessness. He'd seen what had never been meant to be seen.
In a way, Ronon was the luckiest of them all. He'd had a loving family for so long and although he had been alone, truly alone, for quite some time, he had never doubted that he had been loved. Never had to fight for his siblings to be safe from anyone, anything but the Wraith. Never had been told that he was alone, a burden, unwanted. He hadn't chosen the military because he had no place else to go. Never had been discarded when in pain, when in tears, never left outside to cry. He'd been a happy child, grew into a happy young man. The Wraith had destroyed his life, made it painful, not his family, not his people. Of course, he carried the burden of his difficult journey, but that had occurred later in life. They had lived through so much hardship, even as children. How was it, that for Sheppard and McKay, a life without the Wraith hadn't meant freedom and happiness? He'd known more of the good things life could offer than they had and wasn't that a situation upon witch to ponder. Thinking back to the chasm that had nearly driven them all apart, he understood why they had not been able to speak, why they had hidden behind anger and silence. He was as guilty as they had been, but now he thought he could help them all move past their need for stoicism, form a stronger bond. All he needed was the courage to admit he had watched as private moments unfolded.
The voice came. "We will allow them to feed, to sleep."
Just like that, the squishiness released them and they fell into a pile. Ronon felt soiled as his eyes met with theirs, yet strangely encouraged. For all the danger they might still face, much right would come out of this wrong.