Summary: I stained my hands with another man's blood today.
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis is not mine. Only the story line and any made up characters that may appear in the story belong to me.
A/N: I've been in a bit of an angsty/deep mood the last few days and when I sat down intending to force my way through my writers block on 'The Adventure Continues' this came out instead.
This is my attempt at a Rodney/Ronon friendship and is probably way out of character.
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(Rodney's POV).
I stained my hands with another man's blood today.
I saw the life of a man bleed out all over me, mix with rain and wash away on the ground. And it was all because of me. That's a hell of a thing to be forced to live with.
We'd spent the day exploring what appeared to be an uninhabited planet – which of course had been a complete waist of my valuable time – when the weather had started to turn stormy. On our way back to the gate we'd been ambushed. The fight happened fast – they always do – and came to a stand still in the pouring rain with a knife under Teyla's chin. She became a hostage to hold us at bay.
I was the closest to where Teyla was being held – Ronon was too busy dealing with three of our attackers and there was no way John would have gotten to her in time for anything more than to watch as her throat was slit. I reacted without thinking – after three years some of John's training must have finally sunk in. I aimed and fired my hand gun over the man's head hitting the tree behind him, sending chunks of wood raining down on him and Teyla.
The man hadn't expect that and looked up. I had a hold of the hand with the knife before he realized it was a distraction. With a twist of the arm and a turn of the wrist to snap it the knife was away from Teyla's throat. That should have been the end of it but I didn't stop there.
I allowed my momentum to carry me forward and drove the knife home into the man's own throat.
I ask myself, over and over, why? I see the same question in John's eyes, and can't bear it. Teyla is just grateful to still be alive, Ronon feels vindication, but John knows. He knows what I did wasn't necessary. I can't hide the truth from him, and I don't know if he can ever forgive me. I'm a scientist, a civilian; I'm not supposed to have to kill, I'm supposed to remain innocent. John walked away from me when we got back to Atlantis, left me standing by the Gate. I can't blame him. I came apart in his eyes today; I'm not who he thought I was…I killed when I didn't have.
It's nearly three in the morning when I find my way out onto a balcony. For once I didn't care that it was cold outside. I was cold on the inside. I sat in the dark, shivering and listened to the air move, listened to my breath. I'm still breathing and something about that seems obscene.
With no sound but that of my own breathing and the crash of the ocean against the city below I didn't miss the sound of the door opening. The lack of sound from any foot steps and the soft huff are all I need to hear to know who it is intruding on my solitude.
"Go away Conan." I didn't feel like being even semi polite at the moment.
Ronon didn't say anything, but did stop moving for a moment, but only for a moment. He soon started moving again coming to sit down beside me. He offered me a glass; the strong smell of Athosian moonshine coming from it.
"I don't need to get drunk, Ronon."
"Shut up and drink or I'll shove it down your throat McKay."
Normally I would have snapped back at him with some kind of sarcastic reply, but decided that it just took too much effort at the moment. Knowing that Ronon could be like a pit bull with a bone I snatched the glass from his hand but didn't drink.
"You didn't have a choice, McKay. You did what you had to do." Ronon broke the silence a moment later.
"Like hell I didn't!" I exploded. "I didn't have to kill him. I'm not judge, jury and executioner, but I acted that way!"
"You can be a real ass sometimes, you know that McKay? Stop acting like a three old on the verge of a crying jag."
No matter how much I wanted to I didn't stand up, I didn't yell, I didn't throw liquor in his face. That would've made me the three year old he'd accused me of being. "Don't start with me Ronon." I ground out between clenched teeth.
"Or what, you'll kill me, too?"
"Fuck you!" This time I did get to my feet and threw my glass against the wall before starting to storm away.
Ronon knowing he'd gone too far, catches me before I can reach the door, grabs my arm and yanks me around with little effort. "Rodney stop!"
The use of my first name stops me cold. He's never used my first name before. Not once. So I waited. After a minute, seeing that I'm not going to bolt, or try to deck him, he goes on. "It never gets any easier."
It's not what I expected him to say.
He lets my arm go. I rub it, not sure what to say. So I ask a question of one of the only two people in this city I trust to give me a totally honest no bullshit answer to. "How do you get over it?"
"You don't."
"That's a whole lot of help." Sarcasm dripped from my voice.
"It's not meant to. You killed a guy. But maybe if you stop a minute and think, you'll see the truth."
"Which is?"
"That you acted at a moment when the rest of us couldn't do anything but watch as that man threatened to kill Teyla. That he and his buddies would have killed us all without thinking twice about it. That you're human, damn it and that humans mistakes."
"It's not just a mistake! A man died! I killed him when I didn't have to!"
Instead of answering, he pulls me in and crushes the tears out of me. I cry because I need that and he holds on. This isn't something that can't be explained to those who haven't experienced it; it looks like what it isn't. Deep bounds form between people when you face life and death with them nearly everyday.
So now Ronon holds me against his body, one hand on the back of my neck to push my face into his shoulder so I don't have to meet his eyes. It saves my pride as I mourn the man I killed, mourn for whatever family he wouldn't be going home to, the mother who would weep for him, any children he'd never see grow up.
"Yes, you made a mistake and a man died. But nobody hates you because of it. So quit hating yourself. You won't ever get over it, but if you're ever in a similar position again and I hope like hell you never are, you won't make the same mistake again."
He let me go and I pulled back two steps to regain my personal space and my emotional balance. "This is a war, McKay. People die. If you can't face that, then get out of the goddamn hot seat." He doesn't look at me as he heads for the exit. But before he can leave, I hear him pause. "Go talk to Sheppard. He's as freaked out about this as you are." The door opens then closes.
I didn't leave immediately too busy trying to process what had just happened. It wasn't until I was standing outside of John's quarters my hand raised ready to knock that I realized I'd left the balcony. When he opened the door I wasn't overly surprised to find that John still had his uniform on; it was stained with blood just like the one I still wore. Turning his back on me he walked back into the room silently inviting me in. I followed not sure what to say.
"You've changed." John finally broke the silence turning to look me in the eye for the first time since we'd returned.
"We've all changed." I answered back honestly meeting his gaze.