Disclaimer: I own nothing
Ronan pored over another model of variables described by improbable odds, percentages and probabilities which indicated that his preferred course of action would end in total failure. Whichever way he twisted the model or altered the scenario or improved the strategy, the calculations ruthlessly highlighted the pressure points that unravelled under the imperfect plan, leading to an almost certain defeat. As a result non of them were applicable. Although, he is accustomed to putting his life on the line, he refuses to do so for an unworthy cause resulting only in personal gain rather than increased glory of The Kree Empire.
He roused from the chair and walked around, stimulating the circulation that provided oxygenated blood into his brain, increasing its reasoning capabilities. Usually, when stumped upon an intellectual problem he would go and partake in a sparring match, losing himself in the familiar and mechanical moves. A well executed kick, a timely block, flawlessly delivered punch. All perfect in their simplicity. All deadly in their brutal efficiency. Every muscle working in absolute unison leading to the inevitable victory that confirmed his supremacy.
He revelled and basked in the sheer physicality of the experience. The heat, the sweat, the force. Triumph of a connected punch and the pain that accompanied it. Completely grounded in now and here by the battle, he returned with an empty and refreshed mind that was ready to tackle any challenge.
His current inability to spar was another activity he could not do after. After, he sneered bitterly, he was beaten. The highest of his Corps brought low by the vermin at his boots. Debilitated, humiliated and defeated. As if that was not enough, the girl's constant presence added insult to injury. She treated him gently and kindly, worried lines etched into her face, as if her treatment could add to his hurt. He saw pity and sadness in her eyes and he hated every minute of it! Every minute of her presence reminded him of his inadequacy! But he also craved it. Craved these special minutes when she was taking his hands into her own and brought him serenity like he never experienced before. He loved her for it and hated as well. Most of all he despised himself. This weak creature he has become whose head was full of her smell, his body overflowed with her powers and his hands accustomed to her touch. Completely dependant upon another.
This is why I am so reluctant to use her, he admitted to himself. He couldn't lose her. Kagome's death spelled his doom and he did not have any confidence in her abilities. Only if….only if she demonstrated the same steel behind her actions like the very first time he saw her or when she stood illuminated by the violet light shielding him from the onslaught, then he would include her. But the steel was sadly missing, gone into thin air and he wondered sometimes if his senses did not fail him before, playing tricks, showing untruths. She did not seem like a formidable opponent, like any kind of opponent with her bubbly, happy, chatty attitude. She was painfully plain and somewhat annoying and yet…
He looked at her sleeping silhouette. The ellipsoidal contour accented by the fluffy blanket she used to cover herself. Her inky tresses cascading down, caressing her arms and back. Her soft breaths barely audible. There was no one who looked less like a threat, less like an asset.
And yet…
A/N - this was the most difficult to write. Ronan is completely uncooperative. Thank you for you continued support :D