Dear Readers,

Let me start off by saying how sorry I am to have left you hanging with this story. You have to believe me when I say it was not my intent at all. I have to admit to writer's block in the beginning, but when I was starting to write again tragedy struck. My dear sweet husband was diagnosed last year with AML. If you do not know what that is, it's the big, bad 'C' word - CANCER! (leukemia).

Ever since finding out, he has been in and out of hospitals. It is one crazy ass roller coaster ride I can tell you that! I've started back writing to try and 'escape' from reality for awhile.

I don't know how long it will take me to wrap this story up, but I promise that I will finish it. All I ask is for your patience.

We have a gofundme page if you want to see our progress. It is under: A Father's Fight Against Leukemia

~DW~


As the sun slowly dipped behind the mountain range, the fading light of day found Ronon outside, seated on his sister's doorstep. With his hulking frame blocking the entrance and his blaster set to stun, the brooding Satedan was an effective deterrent for anyone considering entering without his permission.

Anyone, that was, except for Crieve.

In the front yard, just a stone's throw from where Ronon sat, the impending father-to-be paced back and forth. He reminded Ronon more of a caged animal trying to escape confinement than a man eagerly awaiting the birth of his child. Crieve's wintry blue eyes smoldered with rage and contempt each time he passed by the well-guarded entrance.

As his brother-in-law strode impatiently from one side of the small yard to the other, Ronon leaned back against the dwelling's weather-worn door. With one long leg stretched out before him and the other bent at the knee supporting his tattooed forearm, the stone-faced sentry appeared relaxed and at ease. Ronon gave the impression that he did not have a care in the world; yet, looks were deceiving. Anyone who knew him was well aware of Ronon's skilled deceptions.

Indeed, the warrior was anything but calm. Underneath his peaceful, relaxing facade every muscle was strung taut. Every nerve charged. At the slightest hint of defiance from Crieve, Ronon was ready and primed to spring into action. He knew that the man was biding his time. Simply waiting. Waiting for the right moment - the right opportunity - to somehow maneuver past him. To charge into the house and be by his true love's side.

Breathing in the cool evening air and gazing up at the fading streaks of twilight, Ronon estimated that it had been several hours since he had inadvertently volunteered to remove Crieve from his own home. The task in and of itself had not been too difficult. Yet, he would have preferred to do battle with a horde of soul-sucking Wraith than to feel the guilt that needled him now because of the deed. Ronon knew, related or not, Crieve would not forgive such a transgression so easily. After all was said and done, retribution lay in wait for him.

Nonetheless, it could not have been helped. Ronon realized that if anything were to happen with the birth – if anything were to go terribly wrong – then it would not bode well for the lot of them. Crieve may not have been born a Satedan, but he was of a warrior class. A most unpredictable class, as Ronon well knew. If Alianna, the babe or both died and called to the afterlife, Crieve would become so troubled - stricken with grief - that he would, more than likely, lose all control, become crazed and extremely lethal. He would blindly wreak havoc on anything – or anyone – in sight who he deemed responsible for his loss. And that surely meant Jennifer.

Truth be told, if their roles had been reversed, Ronon would feel the same way. If anyone were foolish enough to separate him from Jennifer, or worse, spirit her away from him, Ronon would undoubtedly turn killer. If he were to ever lose her, it would be the end of him. Ba'ni or not, deep down Ronon knew that he would rather die than live without her.

At the thought of Jennifer lost to him, a sharp pain shot through him. Clenching his teeth and sucking in his breath, Ronon clawed at his chest. He fought to get control over the stabbing pain. It felt like his heart was being crushed. After a few minutes of deep, steady breaths, the ache finally started to subsided. Then, without warning, a startling image whirled through his mind. It had him sitting bolt upright on the step; all pain forgotten. From the vision, he'd seen Jennifer heavy with child.

His child.

Scowling, Ronon shook his dark head ridding himself of such a notion. Reaching down, he picked up a pebble that lay near the step. Tossing the small rock half-heartedly away, Ronon realized Jennifer and he could never have any kind of relationship other than just being friends. They definitely could never have a relationship such as his sister and Crieve shared. Such a thing could never happen and Ronon silently vowed, once more, to make damn certain of it.

Turning his attention towards his surroundings – and away from the forbidden image still lurking in his thoughts – Ronon took quick note of the handful of villagers milling about the yard. Several well-wishers stood at the far end of the house. They seemed smart enough – or more than likely frightened enough – to keep a healthy distance from the formidable guardian and the agitated, expectant father.

Having given the small group a brief once over, Ronon narrowed his eyes as he spied two women standing off from the others. They huddled together under a nearby shade tree. He recognized the women as the self-proclaimed midwives that Jennifer had ordered out of the house earlier in the day. With their heads bent close together, the two crones whispered their hate for the healer inside and her protector barring the entrance. Ronon was certain of their disdain since, every so often, one of them would direct a scathing glance his way.

What was the saying he had heard Sheppard remark on occasion? If looks could kill? If that were the case, without a doubt, Ronon would be six feet under - twice over - by now. With a disgusted snort, he dismissed the women from his thoughts.

Suddenly, both men's attention turned towards the house; or more precise, the sound that came from within it. A loud, agonizing moan. Alianna's distress had Crieve halting in mid-stride and Ronon bounding up from the step. Battling between the urge to barge inside or stay where he was, Ronon noticed Crieve's tentative move toward the door. He tensed, placed a steady hand on the butt of his gun; sending Crieve a silent warning. Short of killing the man, Ronon was willing to keep Crieve from entering the house by any means necessary. No one, not even himself, was entering until Jennifer gave the go ahead or the wail of a newborn beckoned.

When no joyous cry was heard and the door remained shut, the frustrated father-to-be once again resumed his pacing and Ronon settled back down on the step and kept guard.

As the moments ticked by, Ronon knew that there was nothing either of them could do to hasten the situation. He tried his best to ignore the feeling of helplessness by shifting his gaze to the mountain's ever-growing shadow. It inched its way across the valley floor. Closer and closer the eerie darkness came. It reminded him of an old gnarled hand reaching out, begging him to surrender the small sliver of hope that he fiercely guarded. This tiny gem of light within himself was a prized possession to Ronon. And he was not about to give up such a treasure so readily to the coming darkness.

Hope.

A soft, cynical chuckle escaped the fierce warrior at the thought of that simple, sweet word. Ronon ran a calloused hand down over his face and sighed. Leaning back once more against the dwelling's door, he closed his eyes. What an absurd notion, he thought. The aspect of a former runner clinging to hope. It was a delusional emotion. One Ronon rarely believed in anymore, much less experienced throughout the years. Nonetheless, it was there. Inside him. Nestled close to his heart and protected by the beast within.

Ronon knew that the reason for harboring such an all but forgotten emotion was because of Jennifer. For as long as she was doing everything humanly possible to save his sister, and the life of her unborn babe, Ronon, the untrusting warrior that he was, could once more have faith in the gods.

Faith? Ronon frowned. In the gods?

No, not in the gods, but in Jennifer. He had faith in her. Fuck the gods. What had they ever done for him? He would put his trust in her and, for everyone's sake, not let hope, nor faith, slip from his grasp. He'd keep alive the desire that everything would turn out well for all concerned and that there would be a bright outcome to this madness.

There was simply no other way.

Regrettably, Ronon began to realize that time was fast becoming the enemy. He was also painfully aware that hope was swiftly vanishing like that of the dwindling light of day. No matter how hard he tried to protect it, Ronon knew hope was slowly dying.

With his eyes still closed, Ronon mentally fought back the dire feeling that had begun to seep into his soul. He sensed grief and heartache waiting just at the edge of his defenses. Waiting and plotting to breach the protective barrier of the ever watchful beast within and destroy everything that he held dear. How much longer would it be? When would the cries of a newborn babe be heard?

Hesitantly, and with a heavy heart, Ronon sadly thought perhaps never.