When the monster stops growing, it dies
A/N - Clear flavors of Gor creep in here. Enjoy the guilty pleasure of dominant Ronon. I know I do.
Sleep was something that didn't come easily, and when it did, it was the same kind of sleep he'd gotten when he was a Runner. Light and barelymore than a doze. More restless than restful. This time though, it was just his life on the line. Becque had far more to lose than he did. The sound of something scraping on the other side of the wall, soft and muffled, then the sound of voices speaking made Ronon stiffened and he was instantly alert.
The girl had been right. There was someone on the other side of the opposite wall. He could make out the muffled buzzing of conversation, then the soft sound of laughter before there was a creaking, as if someone were taking a seat in a chair. Ronon tightened his arm around Becque in reflex. How long would they have before whoever had settled in on the other side of the wall lost patience? Ronon's gaze flicked to the arches. It was still dark, but the first tendrils of dawn were just beginning to paint the sky shades of faint purples and pinks.
The sound of the door unlocking softly made his fingers twitch, and not for the first time he wished he'd not stashed his gun in the backpack that still lay untouched in the corner of the room with his coat draped over it. Soft footsteps preceded the quiet voice that cut through the lingering darkness of the room. "Master? The Elder wishes you to join him in the prayer room immediately. He said to tell you it will not take long."
Ronon turned his head to regard Mira, whose face bore a bruise. Despite it, she was smiling gently. He stared for a moment and then nodded. "No one will enter this room while I'm gone." It was a statement of fact, the implications of his words clear. If anyone touched Becque, all bets were off. He didn't want to leave her there, alone, but refusal would only make matters stickier and it was already complicated enough.
He slipped from the bed and reached to pick up his trousers from the floor, slipping them on without bothering with the belt. He turned to follow the girl, slipping his shirt on as he padded after her barefoot. The hallway was deserted, save for a tired looking guard stationed outside the door of the room he'd been assigned to with Becque. It only confirmed his suspicion that Solen had been right. There were only two ways out of here. As one of them, or in chains.
Mira led him through the next door, offering further confirmation that the mural was nothing more than a facade. Once inside, Ronon realized it wasn't even a full wall. The mural was on some kind of fabric that was virtually sheer from this side, offering a perfect view of the room he was sharing with Becque. It was so sheer that only the layers of paint offered any opacity. Some kind of fabric stretched tight around wooden frames, offering the appearance of a wall, but with nothing more than studs to hold it in place. The sight of it sickened him instantly. He'd been right in suspecting that they could hear almost everything and instantly, he was grateful for the girl's little bit of rebellion, the surreptitious warning she'd given him the day before. He had no doubt that it would have cost her dearly if she'd been caught giving it.
"Ah. Ronon. I trust you rested well?" The Elder's voice was far too cheerful for so early in the morning. When Ronon directed his attention to the man, it took all his self-control not to instantly leap on him and break Makai's neck.
"Well enough." Ronon intoned quietly as he stepped forward, watching as the man gestured to the seat across the table from him. The table was laden with tea and fruit, a light breakfast for the most perverse workday in the known universe.
He took a seat, shaking his head to refuse the tea as the man offered it, waiting for Makai to speak once more. The Elder turned his gaze toward the screen and where Becque lay on the bed. "As I said yesterday, the sequestering is a time of reflection, observation, and instruction. I was disappointed the woman spoke without permission, but quite impressed with your handling of it. Better uses for her mouth, indeed." There was a cruel twinkle in the man's eye as he speared a piece of the fruit with a knife and lifted it to his lips. Ronon wanted to shove that knife straight through the back of the fucker's throat and into his brain stem. It would be an instant kill.
Instead, he remained silent, schooling his face into the same neutral expression he'd frequently used when enduring a lecture at the Academy when he'd been a lad. Predictably Makai continued, "How long have you been married?"
Ronon was ready for this, grateful that Becque had insisted they have at least a cover story they both knew in the event of this sort of thing. "Not quite half a year."
The older man nodded. "And you were married in the ways of her people, I assume?" The man gestured toward Ronon's hand with the blade he held, then speared another piece of the fruit. "I noticed that neither of you bear the scars of the marriage rites."
"We were." Ronon hadn't forgotten about it. There was simply no time for the cut to be given, for scars to form. It would have raised more suspicion than their absence. And it wasn't something he'd wanted to explain to Becque.
The man stared at him a moment, as if awaiting further explanation, however Ronon didn't elaborate. Makai shrugged a moment later. "No doubt she will understand when you perform the rite today. It is crucial that the council be given no reason to invalidate your claim to her, especially when she is not yet with child."
Anger ripped through him. Ronon's jaw tightened for a moment and he narrowed his gaze on the Elder. "I decide when she has a child. It is no one else's concern."
"Perhaps on Sateda, Friend. But this is not Sateda." Though the words were quiet, they held a thread of firmness. "Especially when there are so few of us left with common blood, now more than ever, it is important that our numbers increase. We have been fortunate in that cullings so far have been minor, confined to the outlying villages. We adhere to the tenants of the faith, and that adherence has pleased the Ancestors enough that they have protected the temple and surrounding city. But with Sateda gone, it rests on the Makanesh to continue the legacy and great work begun by our people so long ago. By requesting to join us, you are committing to sharing in that great work."
Ronon narrowed his eyes on the man. The Elder continued, and Ronon wasn't sure whether to be impressed by the man's obvious disregard for the value of his own life, or if he were just that stupid. "Sateda serves as proof that even with strong family threads, stretching across an entire continent, a thriving population is not enough to save a world from destruction."
"You know this. Our forebears warned yours that to defy the guidance of the Ancestors would lead to grave consequences, Specialist Dex." The use of his rank didn't go unnoticed. It was a term of respect wrapped in words that were slanderous to the memory of what Sateda had been. And still the Elder spoke without caution, as if he were certain that his claims were entirely factual. Ronon's blood was boiling and his entire body was tense, rigid.
"And though I know this is not what you wish to hear, responsibility for the destruction of Sateda does not lie only with the Wraith. It lies with Sateda itself as well. It was a hedonistic, secular place. Though your people held a high regard for honor, duty, and strength, it also bore a low esteem for tradition and faith. This is no fault of your own. You are a product of that corrupt environment, but by coming here, you have begun your journey to reclaiming what is good and right as a Satedan man." Ronon had heard all this before, when he'd been on duty rotation here. The Acolytes frequently regarded Satedan soldiers as possible converts. They were rarely successful, but they tried. And Ronon, at this moment, wanted nothing more than to gut this man with his bare hands and watch him bleed for the things he said about his beloved Sateda.
The Elder was staring at him now, clearly expecting some kind of response. Ronon's gaze flicked to the panel once more, to the shadowy form that was Becque's little body curled up in the bed, sleeping on, oblivious to the shit they were in, shit that was getting deeper by the minute. "And if I said I wanted to walk out of here, with her. What would you do?" Ronon uttered the words with as much curiosity as he could muster.
The older man offered him a smile. "We would hope to avoid that scenario, if at all possible. But of course, your marriage has been acknowledged as a courtesy, though it does not meet the technical legal requirements here. It would be down to the council to rule on its validity. We can't allow a man to walk out of here with a woman that's not truly his, after all."
He'd been right. They never should have come here. The anger now became white-hot rage. This time, he knew exactly where to direct… right at McKay. He'd trusted McKay, trusted Weir. And neither of them had trusted him enough to take him at his word. Ronon clenched his teeth as he rose from the chair. Becque slept on, oblivious to the machinations of the perverted old man, the council he represented, and the whackjobs on this planet.
There was more to it. Suddenly, it all made perfect sense and Ronon's stomach dropped, his anger turning to near nausea as he realized this was so much more than just a religious nut. This was political. "Stop playing games, old man." Ronon uttered the words quietly. "I haven't seen a single Satedan since I set foot on this planet. So either none of us ever passes your test, or something else is going on."
The Elder actually chuckled, rising to his feet. "Very well." He stepped forward, coming to stand beside Ronon. "I knew you were astute, Dex."
Ronon folded his arms over his chest, turning to face the old man. The Elder studied him for a moment and then smiled. It was a pleased smile. "The Satedans are here, of course. Several dozen at our last count. We've granted them a training ground up in the mountains. They live there, quite peacefully, with their families, under our watchful gaze of course. We truly are eager to welcome you to our numbers, along with them. And you truly must be committed to the cause to be accepted. Controlling a woman is very similar to controlling a squadron, wouldn't you agree?"
There it was again. The sickening realization of what the man was getting at. "You've made every Satedan who comes here subject their women to your... standards… to prove their worth to fight the Wraith?" Ronon spoke slowly.
The Elder shrugged. "Some who come alone are granted a different sort of trial. Sacrifices must be made for the greater good. Our ways ensure the Ancestors remain pleased with both our devotion to them and that we are strong enough to avoid the same fate as Sateda."
Ronon drew in a slow breath, bracing himself to keep from reaching out to strangle the man where he stood. "How many figure it out?" This was not just the subjugation of women. It was the conquest of his own people. People who had come seeking refuge only to find themselves locked in this place with no way out.
Makai shrugged. "They all eventually come to understand that this is bigger than them. They are given the chance to claim eventual victory over the Wraith for the right reasons, and to pay penance for their failure. In time, the Ancestors will gift us with what we need to end the scourge of the Wraith once and for all. The Satedans among us know this day will come and so they keep the faith. The only question I truly still have about you, Ronon, the one thing I can't seem to decide yet… is if you have the burning desire to do what it takes to become a part of something bigger than yourself and redeem your soul in the eyes of the Ancestors in the process."
Insanity. It was fucking insanity. Ronon's jaw clenched as his mind spun with this new knowledge. The women, he now understood, were the test. They were tools, nothing more. It shouldn't have surprised him, given how far these people were obviously willing to go. The beginnings of a plan began to form in his head. A way out. He had the upper hand, for the first time since they'd gotten here. "You know who I am." He didn't even pose this as a question. He didn't have to.
"Of course we do." Makai confirmed with a nod. "The Runner who got away. We all know your name, Ronon. You would be our most valuable asset. The single highest ranking Satedan among the Makanesh. I won't deny that I was astounded that the Ancestors would lead you here. But none of us can escape their plans for us, Ronon. You come seeking refuge, but you could have so much more than that. You can have vengeance… for Sateda."
His stomach turned again. He exhaled, the tendrils of understanding solidifying and forming more clarity with each passing second. "What do you want from me?"
The Elder offered a genuine smile now. "I want you to succeed in your sequestering so that you may join us and fulfill the path the Ancestors have set you on. I am prepared to hand you everything you need to do that. Finish the sequestering successfully and you'll be out of here by nightfall and on your way to join your brethren, your woman with you."
Out by nightfall. Those words stuck with him. Out by nightfall and Becque with him. Ronon's plan began to take a more solid form now. He glanced at Makai and gave a nod. The older man smiled, this time in obvious pleasure, much like a cat who'd caught a bird. Ronon half-expected a feather to appear from nowhere, dangling from the man's lip. "I will arrange for Elder Ridak to witness the Rites. I will send Mira to fetch you both in one hour."
Ronon gave a terse nod. "I'll require absolute privacy while we bathe and I prepare her."
To his surprise, Makai gave a nod. "Of course. You have my word."
The word of these people would never be enough. Ronon glanced to the man once more, narrowing his eyes. "If you're playing me, I'll gut you right there on the floor of the temple."
"I'd expect no less." There was no surprise in the other man's eyes, only a glimmer of greed that was so blatant it made Ronon's fingers itch for a knife. Instead, he turned for the door in silence and pulled it open, stepping back into the hallway where the girl waited.
It was nearly twenty minutes later that Ronon realized he was stalling. He'd dismissed the girl, run the deep bath full of near scalding water, and now had to wake Becque and somehow get her into the tub, with him, so they could talk. Ronon hated talking more now than he ever had before. He moved to the bed, staring down at Becque's little form. She was relaxed in sleep, as she had been the day before, sleeping deeply and quietly. The depth of her trust in him was on display again as she slept. Her faith in him unwarranted and undeserved, especially after the previous night.
Even now, the memory of her mouth on him, unexpectedly eager and curious, made his cock begin to thicken. The quiet admission that she'd enjoyed the act had only made it harder to drop the subject. when all he'd wanted to do was pull her thighs open and plunge into her. Ronon closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. He had a way out, a plan, and he needed her on board. There was no room for flights of fancy, not now. Aware that the Elder, or least an Acolyte was likely still watching from the other side of the mural, Ronon reached out to brush a lock of dark hair from Becque's face.
Her eyes fluttered open as he braced a knee on the bed and leaned over her, his fingers brushing over her bare shoulders in a caress, head bowing to deliver a light kiss to her lips. She appeared startled for a moment, her eyes wide and wild before registering who he was and where they were. It took less than a second for understanding to dawn in blue eyes. Becque smiled up at him as if she meant it. That smile didn't help matters any, especially when he'd tasted those lips, that mouth. Her lips were lush and perfectly formed, just as the curves he'd seen bared for a few precious seconds before she'd scurried beneath the covers the night before. Truly, it had been a form of torture Ronon was grateful the Wraith had never considered, the torment of laying next to a naked woman, aching for her, and knowing it would spell disaster to do more then simply sleep.
Ronon schooled his expression into one of careful neutrality. He needed her to continue to trust him. He took a seat on the bed beside her, leaning over her as he braced one hand on the other side of her body. "I ran a bath for us. Put your hair up and come join me."
He watched as she stretched, arm's rising over her head as she arched her back, releasing a small sound of contentment, as if she'd slept incredibly well. And maybe she had. Becque stared up at him for a moment, then nodded. "Thank you."
Ronon leaned forward to capture her lips in a light kiss, then rose to his feet and retreated to the corner of the room to pick up the backpack containing their things. He left her there in the bed, more to give her the illusion of privacy than anything else as he dropped the pack on the bathroom floor, well away from the water. He stood in the center of the bathroom, eyes closed for a moment. The dread that had settled in his stomach the day before was still there, intensifying by the second.
Resolutely, Ronon stripped his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. He heard Becque moving in the other room and froze for a second. He didn't dare look back toward the door, knowing that if he did, the complex ball of emotions would be bare for her to see. Apprehension that this way out was only going to make matters worse if the least little thing went wrong, desire that he couldn't entirely squash, a need to protect her. The worst of it all was that Ronon could mitigate none of these emotions. When he heard her behind him, he spoke the words a bit more tersely than he intended. "Get in the tub."
Once more, he turned his back, allowing her at least a temporary illusion of privacy as he slid the door closed and flipped the latch down into place to lock it. He waited until he heard the splashing of the water fall silent before he tipped his head, pressing his ear to the door. There was nothing from the other side. It was the safest they would be. The entire bathroom was tiled and unless someone was directly on the other side of the door, no one was listening. For the first time since they'd gotten to this forsaken place, Ronon began to relax just a little.
He pushed his trousers over his hips and headed for the tub, not making eye contact as he climbed in beside her, taking a seat at the opposite end. Thankfully the tub was deep enough that the water reached his chest, offering some small measure of protection from exposure thanks to the bubbles. Ronon didn't give a shit about bubbles, but he did care that Becque was focused, which she wouldn't be if she were shaking in fear.
He averted his gaze, edging closer to her in the tub, where she sat with her knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around them. She glanced toward the door, then around the bathroom, and back to him. Ronon gave a nod in answer to her silent question. "We can talk, quietly."
He saw the moment she visibly relaxed and in a bolt of awareness, he realized it wasn't him she was afraid of. It was these people. That sent a fresh awareness curling through his belly. Resolutely, Ronon tamped down on that and spoke just as softly. "How are you feeling?"
The quietly spoken words shouldn't have surprised her, but they did, just as they had the night before. Something about this place made it hard to remember just what her non-existent relationship with this man was like outside these walls. He'd never been anything more than courteous. Even when he looked at her with that unreadable expression during dinners, he only ever answered her questions with mild politeness.
Ronon was known for his temper, it burned quick and hot, and when directed in a fight could and did obliterate anything in his path. His tongue was sharp with those who had earned it, but otherwise, he was quiet and reserved. In that moment, Grace wished she could read him better, and know what he was thinking. It wasn't likely he was going to tell her what he was feeling. There was one thing she knew about him, for an absolute certainty. Ronon Dex was an intensely private man. "I'm okay." She dared to glance at him, her eyes flicking to his face.
He was studying her intently, and then seeming satisfied with the answer. Grace trained her gaze on the colorful mosaic on the wall behind his head, listening intently to the rumbling baritone. "The Elder from yesterday summoned me a while ago. I can't explain it all right now. He was happy enough with the…" He paused for a moment and to her surprise, his voice hardened marginally, "...display last night. He took it as the proof they wanted."
Grace relaxed marginally, even as her stomach tightened at the reference to the night before. Ronon didn't seem to expect a response, continuing quietly. "There isn't enough time to go into the entire conversation, and it doesn't matter now. What does matter is that I can get us out of here by tonight."
She felt his body aligning with hers as he moved closer and when she dared to look at him again, his handsome face betrayed overt hesitation. "What is it?" Grace scarcely dared breathe out the words any louder than a whisper.
"I'm going to need you to keep trusting me. I don't think they expect me to hurt you again, at least I hope I'm right about that." He held her gaze steadily. "They're coming to fetch us in about half an hour. He isn't satisfied with…" He averted his eyes for a moment and then shook his head, obviously uncomfortable with the content of the conversation. Ronon's voice came quietly. "We're going to have to go into the temple and when we do, I need you to keep trusting me, Becque."
Her forehead drew into a tight frown of apprehension. "That's the second time you've said that. I'm going to need more than that, Ronon."
She saw his jaw tighten as he scooted back toward the other end of the tub, reaching for a cloth and the container of soap perched on the edge. She watched in patient silence as he reached for the cloth and wet it, wringing it out in one hand and applying the soap with the other before he spoke again. "There isn't enough time. I will explain it later, when we're out of here and it's safe. But for now… what I need you to do is focus on trying to stay calm and level-headed. Just keep doing what you've been doing."
The words did nothing to ease the knot in her stomach. He thrust the cloth at her. "Bathe first, but be quick about it. Then while I bathe, I want you to use the equipment you have to try to determine if there really is a power source at all. I don't want us to have gone through all of this and have it end up being a complete failure."
Grace gave a nod and reached for the cloth. To her surprise, he reached out and rested a hand on the small of her back beneath the water and gave her a little push forward. "I'll face the other way."
It was a small thing, but it did more to reassure her than he could possibly know. She found her voice as she began to bathe. "Can you tell me what's happening?" The tub was enormous and deep, but she was still acutely aware of his presence just inches away as she began to bathe, as quickly and quietly as she could.
His voice was still low drifting toward her over her shoulder. "Like I said, it's too much to go into right now. But all you need to do is follow my lead. Can you do that?"
When she glanced back at him, she was surprised to see that he'd folded his long body into something almost pretzel like, obviously giving her as much room as he could manage. It was as if he'd become a completely different person than the one he'd been the night before. Was he somehow capable of compartmentalizing that deeply? Or was there something she was missing?
The sight of his bare back, the scars from where the tracking device had been, and his efforts to remove it, still stood out in stark contrast to the otherwise unmarred skin made her fingers itch to touch him. She had the insane urge to stroke those scars, to try to soothe away some of the nightmare that had been his life for so long. Either way, she didn't have time to consider it further as he jerked his head toward the towel rack. "I really do need to bathe too. You should get started. We have maybe half an hour before they come for us."
Right. Mission. Danger. Naked Ronon fantasies would have to wait. Grace flushed a brilliant scarlet as she realized she'd managed to get off track. Sweet Jesus, one encounter with the man under duress and she was already turning into one of those twits from the base who sighed like schoolgirls every time he walked by. She wrung the cloth out and set it aside, rising from the tub. It seemed ridiculous that he still kept his back to her until she had dried off and was securely wrapped in the towel. She'd had his cock in her throat. If that didn't blur the lines of professionalism, what else would?
Ronon reached for a clean washcloth and the soap, waiting until he'd heard the zipper on the backpack and the rustling of fabric before he began to bathe. The hot water did little to relax him. He'd found a way out, but the cost was still going to be high. He bowed his head, tying his hair high up on his head with two of his dreads, turning to look as he ran the cloth over one leg. Becque seemed to be ignoring him. She'd dressed in the second dress he'd plucked from her closet. A simple, somber pink affair that made her look even younger than she probably was. It reached mid-calf, and had short sleeves. It flowed around her slender form like a cloud of silk, but it wasn't silk. It was something sheer, over an underlayer that skimmed her body.
"How old are you, Becque?" The words popped out of his mouth before he could stop himself.
She glanced up at him, as if startled, blue eyes betraying confusion. "I'll be twenty-five next month. Why?"
Ronon watched as she attached a cord to the tablet, and then some kind of a scanner to the cord. The truth was he had no idea why he was asking. "Curiosity."
She tapped the screen, fingers flying, without even looking up. "Weird. But okay. What about you?"
He frowned faintly as he watched her work, her nimble hands balancing the table on her bent knees as she lifted the scanner and switched it on. It gave a soft beep and then a low hum. "I turned twenty-eight three days after Beckett removed the tracking device." She actually did look up then, blinking at him in surprise. It had been more than a week later that he'd remembered.
Ronon held her gaze for a moment, watching as her lips curved into a smile. "So now I know when your birthday is, next year, I'll get you a gift." He frowned faintly but was kept from asking her what she meant by a soft series of beeps. "Scan's done." She announced softly, redirecting her gaze to the tablet. "This can't be right."
"What?" He leaned forward, bracing an arm on the edge of the tub. "What is it?"
"There's an energy source, all right." Ronon watched as her pretty face furrowed into a frown. "But I have no idea what it is. It's not consistent with the kind of energy signatures of a ZPM."
Ronon rose to his feet, reaching for a towel and wrapping it around his waist and stepping carefully down the steps, moving to crouch beside her. He looked over her shoulder, but what he saw on the screen meant absolutely nothing to him. "I don't understand."
"Neither do I. The power levels are near ZPM output levels, but it's fluctuating. Spikes all over the map." She shook her head and began to shut down the tablet. "I'm a social scientist. I have zero skills in this area. I can run the equipment and I can gather the data, but identifying the kind of power source it is? All I know is what McKay told me to look for to tell whether it's a ZPM or not. He taught me how to tell power level, directionality and that's about it."
Blue eyes pinned him with a reluctance that was clearly hesitant. "Directionality?" He questions softly.
Becque nodded slightly, then redirected her gaze to the tablet, staring at it with an intensity he'd seen in McKay enough to know that he wouldn't like what came next. "It's coming from beneath us."
"Like the first floor?" He leaned closer, staring at the tablet once more, as if the squiggles would suddenly make more sense than they had fifteen seconds before. Which they didn't.
"No. Like... underground. This equipment is extremely limited in range. It can't pick up anything more than fifty or so meters away. That's part of why we needed to get into the temple. It would be the most obvious place for a power source, but it's just on the outer edge of the detectable range. So there's ... "
Ronon understood, instantly. "You're saying there's some kind of underground facility?"
Becque nodded. "There has to be."
He lifted his eyes to her face for a moment. "Pack it up. We'll take it back to McKay and let him figure it out. We are not going to hunt it down."
Becque stared at the screen a moment longer. "Ronon, we're so close."
"No." Ronon's voice hardened despite himself. "It's too dangerous. If this is what we're already going through up here, on the surface, what do you think will happen if we go down there?" He saw the idea of what he was saying register, saw her pale slightly. He hated making a point this way, but he forged onward. "The best thing to do is take the results of the scan to McKay and let him figure out what it is. Then if he wants to bring a team back, he can convince Weir of it. But I can tell you this. No power source is worth anyone from Atlantis setting foot on this planet again."
He watched as her jaw tightened and her lips parted in protest. Ronon lifted a hand to silence her. "Your life is not a plaything and it's not worth any kind of fucking power source, ZPM or not. My answer is no." She opened her mouth to protest and Ronon gave a firm shake of his head. "Do not make me repeat myself, Becque." Ancestors help him, the sight of her immediate nod and acquiescence did things to him. This place was dangerous to them both, in more ways than one. Especially not since this woman would go from an idea to his in less than an hour.
Ronon watched as she nodded. "Okay." Her voice was soft as she began to power down the equipment. "Fair enough." The relief was instant, and almost as intense as the ridiculous urge to kiss her.
He rose to his feet and reached for the bag, pulling out the change of clothing he'd brought. "Good. Pack up."