Left Holding the Baby

"…and it seemed to him that he looked suddenly into the heart of the enemy and saw there love and understanding. Wonder came into his face, and then he smiled in answer." Lord of the Rings, Book II.

And so Ronon was the one left holding the baby. Rather awkwardly holding the baby.

It was at this point that that annoying voice in his head picked up its argument where it had left off.

Mairghread hasn't murdered anyone. She's a baby. She eats, sleeps, laughs, cries. That's it. The sum total of her actions to date. She hasn't even learned to sit up yet. You saw her hand—nothing. No feeding slit, no nothing.

Ronon stared down at this tiny being in his hands. She was so tiny in his huge hands. He realized with a jolt that he could easily crush her in his hands—that it was he, not she, that was the more dangerous threat in the room.

And she stared calmly back at him, quietly sucking her thumb. Ronon lifted her, still held in his two hands so that her eyes were level with his.

And how many people have you killed…?

As she gazed serenely at him, those words overheard in the mess came back to haunt him. How many people's deaths were on his head? How much blood was on his hands? Not even counting soldiers and wraiths, just the people upon whom he had brought the wraith. He did not know. Could not number.

And could never forgive himself.

How many people had she killed?

None.

These twin pools of golden-green light transfixed him as these disturbing revelations etched themselves into his mind. Within those eyes, the absolute innocence of the infant shamed him, and the absolute forgiveness of the woman within shocked him, terrified him.

A wave of understanding crashed over the former Runner, and he felt himself swept away in its tide. He realized that he had seen the heart of the enemy, and found there only acceptance, understanding, and love.

And he felt utterly lost.

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Next door, Teyla and the marines watched, Teyla serenely aware her instincts had been correct, the marines in total shock as the hulking Satedan slowly shifted the baby from being precariously held in his hands, to being securely cradled in his arms.

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Ronon slowly sat down on the floor, and simply stared at the tiny life in his arms.

His carefully constructed world, rules, hard-learned understanding was shattered and crashing down around his ears. Here, he held the enemy, and found that the enemy was not.

As though sensing his distress, for the first time, Mairghread struggled to sit up, and reached up with her damp hand to touch her friend's face.

She wobbled and swayed until a huge hand rest on her back for support. Ronon's face bent down towards her, her damp, azure fingers gently touching his check, and he did not flinch.

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"Can you believe this?" one marine whispered to the other, who shook his head in disbelief.

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The tender moment was broken somewhat by the insistent ringing of the bottle warmer on the side. Still entranced to a degree, Ronon rose to turn off the irritating machine and fetch the wraithling's dinner.

He tested the milk on the inside of his wrist, as he had seen the others do, and when it did not burn, offered it to the baby.

Mairghread, who was still sitting up, albeit very wobbly, tilted her head and looked from the proffered nipple to the man who now held her. After a moment, she latched on and leaned back into the crook of his arm, and seemed to snuggle deeper into the soft leather-and-linen-covered chest of the Satedan.

Ronon gazed down, amazed at the trust that the tiny babe had shown in him. A heavy ache settled on his heart as he thought of Melena, and what could have been. They had wanted a child. Had tried, had prayed. She could have been with child when with a brilliant flash, she was gone.

What would she have said, if she saw me now? Ronon wondered with a bitter sadness. She would have smiled, he thought. Melena had a soft spot for anyone or anything in need, from a baby mouse to a bear. Yes, Ronon thought, she would have held this baby, would have sung it, her, a lullaby, would have cared for it as her own baby, even as Teyla did now.

And Mairghread looked up at him with trust and love and understanding. Later, she may be a monster. Later, he could hate again. Now, she was a darling, as Beckett called her. Now, he could care for her, because that's what Melena would have done, would have him do.

Her bottle empty, Mairghread shoved it petulantly away and began to fuss quietly as her eyelids began to droop.

Quietly, hardly conscious of what he was doing, Ronon began to hum softly, his deep, rumbling bass serving to soothe and quiet the baby as she began to suck her thumb, and drift off.

TBC

A/N: Don't hate me! Don't Flame! Just Review!

Next: Baby Blues 1: Teething