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Part 10/24

-Chapter 10-

Righting Wrongs

John found Ronon in the cafeteria, staring forlornly into a cup of Athosian tea. There was a weary expression on his face, but it was the pain in his eyes that caught Sheppard's attention. "What happened?" he questioned. He sat down uninvited across the table from his teammate.

Ronon looked up, his usual glower only at half power. "Aside from the other me wanting to kill me right about now -- you don't want to know." He started to raise the mug; set it down with a thump and shoved it away. The words wrenched out of him. "It's Teyla. Being here-- Seeing her again-- What happens if McKay can't get the Thing to blow? What if we can't change history and Atlantis is destroyed again? What if we have to watch Teyla and Weir die again?"

"That's not going to happen," John said firmly. "The plan is going to work." He leaned forward, his gaze as piercing as his words. "And the plan will work because we are going to make it work, no matter what it takes."

Ronon nodded, his lips drawing back briefly in his ferocious grin. "Yeah. After all, there's two of you, and two of me. How can it not work?"

John grimaced. "It's just—weird seeing him around." He picked up the saltshaker and shook white crystals into his hand. With detached fascination, he pressed his finger into the mound.

A wry smile twisted one side of Ronon's mouth upwards. "At least he doesn't want to kill you." He stood, paused, then, "Thanks, Sheppard," he said and walked away out of the mess hall.

"Yep," he said softly in response, a small acknowledgement to the retreating man's back.

Two of you and two of me. The words echoed in his mind. He brushed the salt off his palm, shaken by a sudden chill. He got slowly to his feet. It had been a long day, with the promise of longer ones to come; maybe it was time he hit the hay.

-Atlantis–Past-

Teyla finally found Ronon—her Ronon—standing on one of the most secluded balconies in the city. He was leaning heavily on the railing, his gaze fixed on the horizon where a storm was brewing. To judge by the expression on his face, that wasn't the only one about to strike.

"Ronon?" She spoke his name softly as she stepped forward, one hand out in an unconscious gesture towards him.

"I know I shouldn't feel like this." His voice was low, sullen, just below the level of being dangerous. Although the words were few, their meaning hit Teyla as strongly as if he'd spoken a hundred.

She moved forward to lean against the railing next to him, more interested in gazing at his face than the boiling horizon. "I understand why he did it," she said softly.

He was silent for a long moment before turning to ask her the question she expected. "Why then?" She knew him so well she could hear the slightest bit of jealousy still coloring his tone.

"I died." She had only just come to terms with it herself. Still, saying it out loud made it seem even stranger. "The explosion that killed Doctor Weir also killed -- will kill," she gave her head a confused little shake, "me."

Ronon flinched; for a brief moment she saw in his eyes an echo of the other Ronon's pain. "Yeah," he said flatly. "I know."

Teyla's brow furrowed. "He—told you this?"

"He didn't have to. I saw it in his face when he looked at you." The smoldering anger returned, smothering the pain. His jaw muscles knotted and he abruptly turned his shoulder on her.

Aggravation flared in Teyla. "Ronon." A gust of wind blew loose strands of hair across her face. She brushed them back impatiently. "Why are you so angry with him? Or," the thought struck her; her voice sharpened, "are you angry with me? Because of a kiss?"

"No; not with you." She could barely hear his denial over the increasing sounds of wind and wave, but his tone was repressive. Just drop it, Teyla. Even though he didn't speak the words aloud, his body language shouted them.

However, by now Teyla was in no mood to heed his signals. "He is you, Ronon, and he has suffered much since Atlantis's fall. He still grieves, and surely you of all people should understand—"

In one quick move, Dex straightened to his full height and turned to face her. His hands shot out, grasping her shoulders so tightly she gasped. His green eyes no longer smoldered, they blazed with emotion.

"Oh, I understand. So yes, Teyla, I'm angry." His voice growled like the swiftly approaching thunder. "I'm angry with him—with me—for not being there when you needed me, for letting you die!" He sucked a deep breath, his voice going ragged. "I loved Melena, I tried to save her, and she died right in front of me. A big part of me died then, too. You brought that part back to life for me and now—and now it's all going to happen again, I'm going to lose you too—" His voice broke.

With a rush of wind and flash of lighting, the storm surged over the city. Neither one noticed its arrival; or when Atlantis's shield went up, cutting off both wind and the stinging splatter of raindrops.

Teyla's heart both sang and wept within her. She could feel his pulse pounding in his hands; felt her own accelerate to match it. Her lips shaped his name, but no sound emerged.

His hands left her shoulders; but only so one could splay against the middle of her back, pulling her into a hard embrace. The other hand cupped the back of her head, making it impossible to look anywhere but up at him. He bent his head and kissed her.

There was nothing gentle, like the Harvest Festival kiss, about this one; nor did it have the wistful sadness of the future Ronon's kiss. It was hard, it was rough, and it left Teyla breathless and weak-kneed and shivering.

Muttering an incoherent apology, Ronon started to put her away from him. Teyla wrapped her arms around his waist and clung with all her strength. "Do not apologize," she said, though it felt difficult to get enough air to speak. "I have been waiting for you to kiss me like that ever since the Harvest Festival."

Ronon looked staggered. "You—have? But, then, why—"

Teyla could almost have laughed at his bewilderment. Instead, she said gently, "Why did I not speak? Because it would not have been right of me to force you where you were not yet ready to go. I know your love for Melena brought you great joy, and great pain when you lost her. You had to choose whether risking such pain again was worth it."

"Oh, Teyla." His strong arms went around her again, holding her this time with a careful fierceness. "I love you so much. And I've been a coward not to say so." He groaned, bending his neck to rest his cheek against the top of her head. "I've wasted so much time."

"Perhaps our future time will be given back to us." Teyla hung on to the sweetness of this moment, reveling in every aspect of it. "It is what he came back to do." She tilted her head up to give him a serious look. "We do owe your future self a debt of gratitude, Ronon."

His lips quirked in that little smile only she ever saw. The expression in his green eyes was no longer angry, but no less intense. One hand moved in delicious patterns over the bare skin of her lower back; the other tenderly twined its fingers in her ponytail.

"Yeah, we do," he agreed. "But not just yet."

To Be Continued. . .