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Part 20/21
Chapter 19 Sateda
It didn't work. Shep was -- dead. And he was still there, in the dream world. He hadn't fallen asleep to dream, he'd fallen asleep to his living nightmare. Again.
He knew what he had to do to make it end. But he couldn't. He just couldn't. It was too hard, too painful, to even think about it. Ancestors! Not-- A lump formed in his throat. He looked at the figure in the bed next to him. --Teyla.
She hadn't been trying to get information out of him recently. Maybe it was a phase or something. Maybe killing wasn't the way to sever this demented device. But had she been playing him all along? Maybe she'd backed down to win his trust.
No. He couldn't take the risk. He had to do this. It was the only way that he'd be allowed back on the team.
"It's not really her. This isn't real," he muttered, trying to convince himself.
She stirred slightly, moaning.
He looked at her. Ancestors! I can't do it! Even if she isn't real, I love her. I can live with these dreams now that I know not to give information.
Teyla sat up, eyes groggy and hair disheveled. "What did you say?" she asked in that special voice she normally reserved for fights.
Ronon stroked her hair, getting it out of her face. "Nothing. I was just thinking," he said in loving tones. He was too desperate, it showed through in his tone. This was going south rapidly, and he couldn't stop it.
She stood, eyes glaring. "What. Did. You. Say?!" she repeated slowly, each word more pronounced.
A chill went up Ronon's spine. Something isn't right. He touched his right thigh, subconsciously searching for his gun. It wasn't there. Of course it wasn't there. . . "I-I don't remember." His instincts screamed at him. Get out get out get out get out get out!!!
"Did you say 'this isn't real'?!" she yelled, a ferocious expression on her face.
What's going on? He scooted to the far edge of the bed, trying to get away from her.
She walked around to his side, looming over him. "John -- you -- you killed him. Why?!" she growled.
Uh-oh. Ronon jumped out of bed, ducking under her raised arm, and ran for the door. He didn't know what he was going to do, but he had to get away from her, at least until he could wake up. If he could hide long enough, when he woke he could talk to Teyla again. She'd know what to do. She'd help him.
"Just tell me about Atlantis and I won't kill you. That's all I care about." False-Teyla threatened.
Ronon slowly shook his head as he watched the woman that he once called his wife shift into a ferocious beast. Never before had she seemed so different.
His perception shifted.
"AHHH!" She screamed, running after him.
Okay, that is definitely not Teyla. The Quitari must really -- wait. What if she kills me here? Would I wake up? Or worse, brain damage. . . Was the last thing that went through his head before he parried a blow. The impact jarred up his arm to his shoulder, and he winced. She was stronger than his Teyla, too.
She grabbed a plate and threw it at his head. The shatter as it smacked the wall rang through the house. So she's stronger -- than any human I've ever seen. He shifted a little, gaze darting around, looking for a way out. Get out. I just have to get out. I'll talk to Teyla -- the real Teyla-- A Bantos rod flew toward his neck. It took less than a second for his reflexes to kick in. He grabbed a skillet off the counter and stopped the weapon before it made bodily contact. The rod snapped in half, useless now. He flung the skillet aside.
Ronon knew he needed to stop thinking about what to do once he was out and start focusing on getting out. Everything else would come then.
He turned and ran toward the door.
She cut him off, forcing him to run back into the expanse of the house. She could maybe block his exit one place at a time, but she couldn't guard them all. He'd find a way out if it took him all night.
Neither had a weapon now. She grabbed the first thing in sight and he followed her lead. They were holding his rods now, one per person. Ronon knew he was no match for her inhuman abilities. He knew that he had to abandon the fight if he was going to survive. It was imperative he wake up. That wouldn't happen until his sleep cycle was over.
A horrible thought occurred to him. What if they were able to control his sleep cycles? What if they'd been lulling him into a sense of false security, letting him wake up and go to sleep normally? If they changed it now, he'd lose any hope of ever returning to Atlantis, of being normal again.
Ronon fought not to panic. She might have inhuman abilities, but he had years of fighting experience on his side. But would it be enough?
She knew she had the advantage, and did all in her power to keep him in the house, in her reach. She stood between him and the door, forcing him to fight her.
The rod was replaced by a knife when he could no longer withstand her strength. Good thing I was too tired to change last night. He swiped at her, but she avoided it by jumping onto a chair like a feral cat.
The passage was clear now. He ran. The door was in sight.
Something flashed in his peripheral vision.
She was now in front of him, his gun in her hand. A sinister look set her eyes ablaze.
Agony washed over him as he came to his senses and realized what he needed to do. He tightened and loosened his hand around the knife, almost playing with it. Rapid strategizing took place in his mind. He knew what to do.
He lowered to a crouch, angled toward her vulnerable side, and--
Something happened. By the time he'd sprung, she was no longer Teyla. She -- or, rather, it -- had grown to nearly twice the size, larger than even Ronon.
A sneer overtook its mouth.
He had to get out.
Its hands tightened on the gun that Teyla once held.
He's been in more fights than anyone else he'd ever known -- anyone his age, at least -- but this was bad. He didn't know if he could win this.
Something occurred to him. By changing itself, it'd unwillingly played right into his hands. It no longer looked like Teyla, acted like her, even remotely seemed like it could have once played her part in his life. This he could fight with no qualms or handicaps.
The Beast was huge and well-equipped for battle. Its stance proved its experience more than the bulging muscles and rugged armor.
Red. It was the only color Ronon could see. Every object in this room he'd once called home was washed in red. He quickly threw his weapon, but to no avail. The knife point simply bounced off The Beast's armor. Having failed, he dove to his left and ran into the sitting room. Maybe he could break a window. Then he could escape through it. They would both be fine.
It ran in after him. Horrid screeches blared from its chest, through its teeth.
Ronon didn't have enough time to leave. It was right behind him, so close he could feel its hot, fetid breath on his neck. He turned to face it -- to face his death. He refused to give up, and yet couldn't imagine a victory.
Instinct kicked in, just when he needed it most. His leg flew up to kick the gun out of its hand.
It grabbed the Bantos rod that he'd thrown and struck at him with all its might.
He ducked and fell, curling into a ball with his arms over his head. Its shadow covered him in darkness.
Its strength was greater than a Wraith's; its speed, a cheetah. Its skin was dark and fibrous with a hint of a gleam, as if it was secreting a foreign liquid.
It stabbed at him; both hands on the lone rod.
With all his might he blocked, jamming his foot against the hand lowering toward him. The rod flew to the other side of the room, clattering noisily to the ground.
The Beast hissed and quickly swept the room, looking for something else to strike with.
While it was distracted, Ronon planted a hand on either shoulder and pushed. He demanded every ounce of energy in his being to join in the attack, to give himself any hint of an advantage. With the creature now off him, he began searching for his next weapon.
Shattering. The noise filled his head, ringing in his ears.
Ronon's head snapped in the direction of the noise.
The Beast wasn't there. The room was empty. The window in front of him was no longer -- well, a window. On the floor lay a few misplaced shards of glass. Placing a hand on either side of the frame, careful not to cut himself on the few shards left clinging to the frame, he cautiously leaned outward.
Ronon barely noticed the remaining fragments of glass that were surrounding The Beast. It was maimed and broken in several places, teeth bared in agony, black eyes glazed and unfocused.
Then, moments after he'd looked upon it, it changed again.
There, in the pile of glass and blood, lay Teyla -- his love.
His heart sank, his mind screamed. No! It can't be! Why?!
She looked up at him, raised a hand toward him. "Please! Please help me!" She began to weep, her sobs mirroring the emotions in his soul.
It took every last shred of reality he possessed to not leap from the window and save her.
He looked into the eyes of the one he loved; the one that gave his life meaning; the one he'd wanted to one day die for. And he was now the one to kill her.
His jaw tightened, full of hate. Hate for himself for becoming so entangled in this cruel charade, and hate for it. He hated that foul, putrid, loathsome Beast for ever doing this to him.
Then, as the sun poetically faded behind the horizon, he shook his head once, slowly.
"Please!" She -- it -- wailed, begging for its life.
He couldn't take it. He had to get away. Of course he understood that it wasn't really her, but that didn't make it any easier. He turned and ran as fast as he could.
He didn't know what would happen. Didn't know if running would keep him in this world for the rest of his life. He didn't care. All he cared about was getting out of there.
Ronon's feet pounded against the ground with the hatred he felt. He charged into the darkness, away from the setting sun.
After a moment, when he was still in brief sight of the house, he felt a strange sensation. It was as if something was washing over him and, at the same time, pulling him away. He had no control, it was too strong.
In agony, he let the mysterious force remove him from existence, welcoming the sudden abyss of loneliness.
Atlantis
For the last time, Ronon returned from the dream world that had become his nightmare. He jolted out of bed. It was the middle of the night, and his face was sticky with tears. What did I do?
He had to get out of there, now. He could feel his body convulsing as he screamed the pain he felt, but he could no longer hear himself.
Without thought or reason, he stumbled down the halls. He no longer remembered the people that lived here or the sleepers he'd wake. He just followed the need in his heart. He subconsciously hit a button. What it controled, where it would take him, he didn't know. He was just desperate to get away.
Agony ripped through him again, mind, body, and spirit. He'd just murdered all he'd ever held dear. He'd just killed his only shot at happiness. He'd loved her.
The door he hadn't realized was blocking his path opened. Ronon couldn't see through his tears, but he heard a familiar sound. He felt her guiding him through the door. The second that he was inside, his body crumpled. His sobs faded to weak tears as reality sank in once more.
Two arms wrapped around him. They cradled his head. They held him tightly, letting him cry.
Ronon suddenly found himself repeating three lines over and over again in his head. This is real. This is right. This is the real Teyla. He added one more to his mantra. This is where I belong.
To Be Continued