A/N: Tag for Broken Ties. Spoilers for that episode.

Identity Crisis

To be a Specialist in the Satedan military was to be among the elite. The discipline was severe, the training excruciating. One must be fluid as water, stealthy as a shadow, able to move without disturbing the very air. Ronon employed all of those skills as he slipped from the infirmary. With Tyre's sword clutched tightly in his fist, he made his way to his quarters, taking the back stairs and the rarely trafficked corridors. But he couldn't avoid The Three Warriors of Q'reska.

Ronon hung his head in shame as he entered his room, unable to bear their reproach. Trudging toward the bathroom, he dropped the sword on his bed, stripped off the sweatpants and t-shirt that were two sizes too small, and stepped into the shower, setting the water to the hottest level he could stand. He scrubbed until his skin was raw although he knew nothing could rid him of the taint.

Wraith worshipper.

He had become the very thing he hated most. Bowing his head, he let the water pound his shoulders, pouring over his dreads, mixing with the tears he could no longer hold in. He had cursed Tyre – his betrayal, his lack of honor, his weakness – swearing he'd never yield. Not only had he yielded, he too had betrayed the people he cared the most about.

Ronon knew his team had forgiven him, had never really blamed him. They had stayed by his side in the infirmary, acting as if what he'd done wasn't his fault. Teyla had hummed a lullaby as she held his hand. Sheppard had brought recordings of his favorite football games, determined to teach him the rules. McKay had talked – and talked and talked and talked – but not in his uncomfortable, panicked tone. He chatted, sharing about his life, science, seemingly every random thought that popped in his brain. And Ronon had appreciated it. Silence gave way to memories, memories he couldn't face. He'd searched the eyes of his teammates but had found no condemnation there. Only the eyes in his mirror reflected that.

He turned off the water, stepped out, and toweled dry then pulled on his sleep pants and the "What Would Chewie Do" shirt Sheppard had given him for his birthday. He tried his best to act normal: he picked up his laundry, ate the spare PowerBar he found in a pocket, worked on the song he'd been composing for Torren's naming ceremony, but his eyes were continually drawn back to the painting over his bed.

Wraith worshipper, the Warriors cried. Betrayer of Sateda.

Ronon ripped the artwork from the wall, stopping himself before he smashed it over a table. Too much of Sateda had already been destroyed. His once bare room now held stacks of literature, a puryl that McKay said sounded like a banjo going through puberty, and the broken pieces of a sculpture that had graced the courtyard of Melena's housing complex. The remnants of a dead society.

He tucked the painting in the corner near his door and was charging his blaster's energy cell when a brilliant prism caught his eye. The last rays of the sun sparkled on the curves of Tyre's sword, the gleaming metal a reminder of all he had lost. Sharp enough to slice the hair of a gannet, it could easily remove a man's head from his shoulders. It marked a soldier as a Specialist, a defender of Satedan life and honor.

No longer worthy to carry the title or the sword, Ronon reverently wrapped the weapon in his finest skeera cloth and placed it in the corner behind the painting. After waving down the lights, he stretched out on his bed. He had learned to sleep anywhere, anytime, but he'd found the salty ocean air and crashing waves to be particularly relaxing. Not this night. His gaze darted toward the painting. The Warriors glared at him, accusing him.

Wraith worshipper.

He crawled out of bed and turned the painting to face the wall. Lying down again, he was glad that Sheppard hadn't killed him. Living with the shame was a far worse punishment.

xxx

The night had been long, filled with dreams of death and judgment. He shrugged into his day clothes and swiped at the door controls, only slightly surprised to find Sheppard waiting for him.

"You were almost late. Where to today?"

"Don't care."

Sheppard jogged toward the stairwell. "Missed you at dinner."

"Wasn't hungry." Ronon pushed past him, taking the steps three at a time.

"Less talk, more run. Got it."

The sub-levels between Grodin's Spire and the pier twenty floors down had been cleaned and cleared, allowing them to run freely for about five kilometers. Ronon hit the bottom step and took off, his dreads whipping behind him.

"Ronon!"

He didn't stop. His lungs heaved; his heart thrummed. Sheppard's voice faded behind him as he headed for the pier. When he raced through the outer doors, the sunlight was blinding, and his legs were rubbery. He stumbled, staggered, crashed to his knees. Tilting his head back, he stared at the sky, watching wispy clouds chase each other, and wondered again why there were no birds.

Sheppard staggered to a halt next to him and bent over, panting. "Feel… better now?"

"No. I've gotten soft."

"Well, you have been in the infirmary for almost three weeks."

"Shouldn't matter."

Sheppard rolled his eyes and plopped down beside him. "You're not Superman either, you know."

Ronon grunted in response. The briny breeze danced over his skin, the coolness contrasting with the warmth of the sun. As much as he loved Atlantis, he missed the land and the trees. He suspected Sheppard did too based on the way he sprawled on the deck with his face lifted to the sky. The silence stretched, the only sound the pounding of the waves against the pier. Ronon flinched as the image of Sheppard on his knees before the Wraith flashed in his mind.

"You hungry?" Sheppard asked. "Wanna get some breakfast?"

Breakfast. Mess hall. Prying eyes.

He deserved his punishment. "Sure."

They took the transporter this time and entered the cafeteria at its busiest. Ronon braced himself, put on his most stoic mask, and got in line. But no one treated him any differently. The lady who dished up the eggs gave him the same shy smile like she did every day. The cleaning guy waved as he wiped down a table. Two Marines from his advanced tracker class inquired about when he would be holding the next lesson. Of course, these people didn't grow up with the Wraith. They couldn't truly appreciate what he'd done. But the tension in his shoulders eased a little as he and Sheppard claimed their favorite table on the balcony and dug in.

Rodney slid into his chair, his tray clattering. "The one thing I ask is to have bacon left when I go through the line. But is there? Noooo."

Sheppard arched a brow. "One thing?"

"Yes, one thing. For breakfast."

"So that wasn't you asking about banana nut muffins the other day?"

McKay sniffed at his milk. "Is this fresh?"

Ronon swallowed a smile as Sheppard gave Rodney a mock horrified look and pushed away the glass. The two men continued to bait each other in their regular fashion while he shoveled in his eggs and toast. Normally he didn't let things he couldn't change bother him, but this…. He couldn't let it go. Pushing away from the table, he gathered his tray.

"Going somewhere?" Sheppard asked.

"Gym."

"Don't forget staff meeting at oh-nine-hundred."

"I'll be there."

Ronon didn't miss the look McKay and Sheppard exchanged as he walked away. The soft murmur of the dining crowd continued as he dumped his tray and headed out. Their lives were unchanged whereas his had been turned upside down. He'd always known who he was whether he was fighting for Sateda, running from the Wraith, or a part of Sheppard's team. Who was he now?

The doors to the gym slid open, and he blinked in surprise. Radek Zelenka was inside, dressed in a heavy white outfit, slicing at the practice dummy with a long thin blade. One arm held to the side, he lunged, the point of the skinny piece of metal landing precisely at the mannequin's heart. Radek swished the blade away and bowed slightly. His face was flushed, and his eyes widened as he turned.

"Ronon! I- I didn't know-" Zelenka's flush deepened. "I thought the gym was available." He backed away, heading for his gear. "I'll just… um…."

"Room's big enough for both of us." Ronon moved to the sticks, balancing a couple in his hands.

"Oh, okay. If you are certain." Radek settled into a light crouch, his weight on his back foot. "En garde!" He circled the dummy again, fighting an imaginary battle, slashing and parrying his way around the room.

Ronon leaned against the wall, arms crossed. The scientist was quick and precise, not surprising given his size but not what Ronon had expected either.

"What are you doing?"

Zelenka stumbled, losing his form. He pulled off a glove to wipe his face and push up his glasses. "It is called fencing."

"This is a form of battle on your world?" Ronon stepped forward to examine the blade that Zelenka handed him. "Doesn't look very deadly."

"That is a foil, and it's not deadly. Fencing is more of a sport these days."

"Like golf?"

Radek grinned. "A little more active than golf. Keeps me in shape when I have time to practice even if it is alone."

Ronon thought of Tyre's sword languishing in his quarters. While he was no longer fit to carry it, perhaps it could still serve an honorable purpose.

"Want to learn something a little more useful?"

Zelenka's brows shot up. "What did you have in mind?"

xxx

One day turned into the next. When Keller pronounced Ronon fit to return to active duty, his team's expressions were of complete trust as they stepped through the wormhole with him. The classes he taught were as full as they'd ever been. He found a sword for Zelenka to use, and they had practice sessions twice a week. The scientist was slow and clumsy with the heavy weapon, but he was a quick learner. Ronon meticulously polished Tyre's sword and returned it to the skeera cloth after each lesson.

He was in the process of doing so one evening when his door chimed. Assuming it to be a teammate, he called, "Enter."

"Good evening, Ronon," Woolsey said.

Ronon laid the polishing cloth and sword on his bed. "Need something?"

"Yes. Well, you see, I'm a bit of a vinophile, and I understand…." Woolsey trailed off as his eyes focused across the room. "Oh, that's extraordinary."

Ronon followed his gaze, surprised to find him staring at The Three Warriors.

"May I?" Woolsey asked, taking an uncertain step toward the painting which was propped on a table.

"Sure."

Woolsey gently lifted it, appraising every brush stroke with unbridled enthusiasm. "So… visceral. Is this Satedan?"

"Yeah."

"Does it reflect an historical event or is it an artistic rendering of Satedan valor?"

Ronon blinked. No one had ever shown interest in it before except for that time McKay had helped himself to it. "Sateda was once a world filled with blood feuds and clan wars. Petty dictators would sell their mothers for one more inch of land, one more ounce of wealth. The Three Warriors had a vision for Sateda as a world united against the Wraith. They led a revolt against the largest citystates with the final battle in the valley of Q'reska. Their triumph led to other revolutions and soon Sateda stood as one people. The Warriors wrote the Satedan warrior code, developed our fighting strategies."

Woolsey glanced around the room, his gaze pausing at the blank wall space with a hook before landing on Ronon. "It must have been difficult for them to turn away from all they'd known to forge a new destiny." He set the painting back on the table. "Was the artist present at the battle?"

"She wasn't born yet. She painted it many years later in honor of Satedan unification."

"Did they ever fight the Wraith?"

Ronon frowned at him. "Who?"

"You said The Warriors united Sateda against the Wraith. Did the Wraith ever attack while they were in power?"

"No. Two generations passed before the next culling."

"I see." Woolsey turned to go, stopping as he reached the door. "I've been learning to read your language. Would you let me borrow a book?"

Ronon shrugged a shoulder. "Read whatever you want."

"Sateda has such a proud history filled with legends of might. I'd love to read about that."

Ronon pulled two precious tomes from his stack. "Here."

"Thank you, Ronon. I'll take good care of these." Woolsey nodded one last time and disappeared into the hallway.

Ronon grabbed his polishing cloth and continued cleaning Tyre's sword, his eyes drifting occasionally to the painting. He didn't know Woolsey well, didn't know if he wanted to, but he did know the man chose his words carefully.

Legends of might.

He glanced at the painting again. The Warriors stood proud, weapons brandished, expressions fierce as they revolutionized Sateda. They were the ideal warriors. The ones who shaped Sateda. The ones who'd never fought a Wraith.

Gently wrapping the sword in the skeera cloth, Ronon set it in its place then picked up the painting. Satedan history deserved a place of honor, not to be hidden in a corner. He hung it in its spot over his bed and stepped back to study it again. The Three Warriors gazed back at him, but what he had originally seen as accusation he now recognized as determination. They had willed Sateda to change, to find the strength to make a new beginning. Maybe they could do the same for him.

xxx

"She's late again."

Sheppard drained the last of his water. "She's allowed, McKay."

"I'm just saying…."

"Well, don't say it too loud. You'll find yourself on the receiving end of a painful bantos lesson."

Ronon swiped the brownie from Rodney's tray while he was nervously scanning the crowd.

"Hey! That was mine."

He stuffed the entire dessert in his mouth. "Wha'?"

McKay wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Were you raised in a barn?"

"Nope. Fourteenth floor of the merchant district. You?"

"Campus housing."

Sheppard shrugged. "Martha's Vineyard."

"Dr. McKay to Chem Lab Six. Dr. McKay to Chem Lab Six."

"Dammit." Rodney tossed his napkin on his tray and stood. "The next cloning facility we find I'm using for me." He ranted all the way into the hall.

"Can you imagine an entire department of McKays?" Sheppard shuddered. "Promise to shoot me first."

"Done."

Sheppard glanced at his watch. "Time for military staff meeting. We still on for sparring later?"

"Yep."

Ronon peeled the trislot and sucked the juice out of the first slice while he watched the roiling clouds on the horizon.

"Did I miss her?" Kanaan gripped his tray tightly as he shifted from one foot to the next.

"Not here yet." Ronon let him dance anxiously for a moment then relented. "Sit down."

Kanaan practically collapsed in the seat. "Thank you." He twisted a napkin through his fingers as he scanned the room. "I got lost."

"Big place."

"Yes, it is. How long, um, before you knew your way around?"

"I had escorts."

"Oh." Kanaan sipped from a glass of juice. "We weren't allowed to roam much when we lived here the first time. Much has changed since then."

Ronon leaned back and studied the man. He was more jittery than McKay on a caffeine high. His eyes never stopped searching the room as he gnawed on his lip and wiped his hands on his pants.

"She'll be here."

Kanaan gave a wobbly smile. "I know. It's just I- I want to…."

"Make up for what happened?"

"Nothing can make up for what I did." Kanaan's face darkened as his eyes dropped to the table. "Nothing."

"Teyla doesn't blame you."

"She doesn't have to."

Ronon sat forward, elbows on the table. "What Michael did…. You couldn't stop him. You fought through it, broke his hold when it mattered."

"Do you know how many people I killed?" Kanaan whispered.

"Yes."

Kanaan's eyes flicked upward. "How do I live with that?"

"What does Teyla say?"

Kanaan gave a bitter laugh. "Accept what happened. Put the past behind me and focus on the future."

"Sounds like good advice."

"Are you taking it?"

Ronon's heart pounded. "What?"

Kanaan lifted his head, his eyes intense. "I know what the Wraith did to you."

This man had grown up under the Wraith, understood what Ronon had done. "That's different."

"Teyla said the Wraith altered the chemicals in your body to make you obey them. How is that different?"

"I'm sorry to be late." Teyla smiled tiredly as she bounced Torren on her hip. "I lost track of time."

Ronon pushed away from the table and grabbed his tray. "Sit here. I've got a class."

He glanced back as he reached the doorway. Torren was now in Kanaan's arms, and Teyla bent to press first her forehead then a kiss to her son's head. Kanaan met Ronon's eyes across the room, and a sense of peace filled his face as he cradled his child and Teyla's fingers brushed his face.

Ronon headed to the gym, pondering the meaning of future and family.

xxx

"That man is going to be late to his own funeral," Sheppard sighed. "Are you sure he's coming?"

"I am sure, John." Teyla placed a comm link behind her ear and slid the radio in a pocket. "Rodney has… issues lacing up his boots."

"I do not," McKay huffed as he stomped in gracelessly. "Not if the laces are the proper length. Apparently budget cuts are affecting footwear now as well." He shot a scathing glance at Sheppard. "Not that you could tell."

Sheppard snorted. "Jealous?"

"Oh, please. I learned to tie my shoes when I was two."

Ronon traded an amused glance with Teyla as the sniping continued. She smiled at him in approval. "Are you expecting trouble today?"

"I always expect trouble."

The Ring burst to life, the shimmering blue reflecting off the hilt of Tyre's sword. Ronon adjusted the scabbard on his back then rested his hand on his blaster as he stepped through the wormhole. He led the way. In defense and honor.

Written for sgadetailsfic. Thanks to kristen999 for the beta. All faults mine.