They'd spoken little as they had settled her into the new room that would be her home now. Mostly Cassie had pointed and Ronon had grunted in acquiescence until the furniture was how she wanted it, her three outfits shoved unceremoniously into a drawer while her tattered linens from the Icarus covered the bed.

It was one of the smaller quarters, just a large living space with a dinette and a bathroom – nothing truly special. There was a decent sized balcony beyond the window-slash-door across from the entrance to her room; a lounge chair and an end table had been appropriated from Rodney and Carson's apartment, all ready for her to enjoy.

Entirely different than the home she'd left behind, she'd thought she would never be able to sleep in a place so alien yet as soon as she had crawled onto the mattress, her eyes had closed and she had begun to snore softly. She was fully clothed, shoes still on and in the dim light of the moons, Ronon had grinned at the picture she made.

He was trying to pull the worn sneakers off her feet and get her under the blanket when Teyla called, "Ronon," in a gentle voice. It wasn't her insistent tone – the one that meant he was going to be on her bad side – so he took a moment to finish what he was doing before slipping out of the room and into the pale light of the corridor.

"Teyla," he said, leaning himself against the wall opposite Cassie's door.

"It's well past dusk and you've not come home yet," Teyla responded. There was no direct question, but so many years with the woman had taught them both that he wouldn't answer one anyway. Ronon would tell her whatever he felt was appropriate rather than what she wanted and though Carson often groused that it would do him well to talk to someone, Ronon simply couldn't bring himself to do it, even with his wife.

But, for some reason, Ronon felt the urge at that moment tell her, "Cassie needed to move off the ship."

"Oh." She sounded a bit surprised, but he ignored that. "John asked that you be reminded of tomorrow's mission."

"I'll be there."

The rote answer fell from his lips and he listened with half an ear as she wished him a goodnight, already aware that he would spend the night at Cassandra's side rather than in their bed on the other side of the city. He crossed the hall, slipped through the door, and gazed down at the girl sleeping peacefully with her face half-sunk in a pillow filled with turtledove feathers.

It was a bit of a curiosity to him that a girl who had lost so much in a relatively short time had chosen him as her protector, her friend. Ronon had always been able to discern the differences between himself and the other residents of Atlantis, even seven years after he'd joined them in their fight against the Wraith. Even after he came to the realization that he'd found a new home with them and he would protect it as he had tried to protect Sateda.

He was gruff and unshaven and never quite understood the point of utensils when he'd been given two hands. He ate his weight in food sometimes (the kitchen staff groused from time to time that he ate in a week what Sheppard ate in a month); there were members of the science staff that still cowered in his presence, an intimidating air to him that he'd never attempted to lessen.

Yet somehow, as far as he was from the norm in Atlantis, Cassandra had gravitated to him. A few hundred people from Earth and she'd chosen a man who had never seen any of that world's wonders, didn't know much of its history, and could only recite bare facts of how it had fallen.

Ronon sighed, one hand reaching out to touch her head and in a whispered voice, he began to recite the prayer Acacia had taught him one night when she was a small child. A request and a blessing in one, words spun together for the protection and hope of a miracle.

Then he settled on the floor at her side, rested his head on the mattress, and let sleep take him.