"You know we're eventually going to have to talk about it." Grace jumped, startled, dropping the knife she'd been holding.
When she turned her head to find Lorne standing beside her at the same vendor's booth in the marketplace, she relaxed and then reached to pick up the weapon she'd been studying. "No, we really don't."
The blade was small even for her hand, part of a matching set of three that came in a leather sheath intended to buckle around a man's upper arm. Lorne's voice was soft. "You're married to Ronon, Grace. That's pretty big."
Her gut tightened at those words. "No, I'm not." She didn't want to talk about this, not with Evan. "Ronon knows that."
"Does he?" Lorne insisted gently as he watched her return the knife to its resting place. "Because when I talked to him last week he-"
Grace turned abruptly and headed for the next stall over. This one sold paper goods, not that she had the least bit of interest in that right now. What she was most interested in was escaping this conversation and yet somehow, she'd let herself get drawn in whether she wanted to or not. "It's private."
"He seems pretty convinced, Gracie. I know he's not the best with emotions, but he really does take this seriously." She did her level best to take in the hand-made paper and notebooks the vendor was offering, but instead she found herself staring at a display of metal engraved ink pots without really seeing them. The man was like a dog with a bone. He was determined to be helpful, whether she wanted his help or not.
Ronon took this seriously? How could he? She swallowed hard and drew in a breath to keep herself from snapping. "Evan, listen. I know you just want to help. And I appreciate that. But I literally just said yes yesterday when he asked me on a date. A first date. There is no way that he could possibly expect me to see it as a real marriage."
"Why do you think that? How do you know if you haven't talked to him about it?" Lorne was right there beside her, in perfect step as she made her way toward the next row of booths.
"How do you know I haven't?" She countered. Why was she even talking to him about this?
Lorne reached out and gripped her elbow firmly, spinning her to face him. "Will you please just stop and listen to me for a minute?"
Grace schooled her features into one of patience. "If I do, will you leave me alone so I can finish my Christmas shopping?"
"Yes." He tightened his grip, steering her out of the footpath and into a quiet spot just behind the stalls to the shade of a sprawling shade tree. "I know you haven't talked to him because yesterday he asked my advice on what to get his wife for their first Christmas together."
That tightness in her chest returned. She wanted to deny Lorne's words. She wanted to deny even that unexpectedly sweet gesture from Ronon. The man was unexpected in so many ways. So many of the best possible ways. But marriage? She'd never seen one work. Her parents had been married right up until the day death really had done them part.
She was silent as Lorne continued, his voice softer now. "The guy is half in love with you, Grace. And I can see it on your face too. You two need to be on the same page. Whether you call it dating or marriage or just fucking. If there's not some communication soon, you're both going to end up hurt and I don't want to see that happen."
His kind eyes were unusually sober. Grace drew in a deep breath. He was right, damn him. "I don't even know how to begin to bring it up. We barely know each other."
"Bullshit. You've been through something together that most couples never have to endure. There's a bond there, and it's real. And the feelings might be scary, but they're real too. I've never known you to be a coward. So get your shit together, Grace." With those words, he stepped back and gestured toward the market once more. "Go buy your husband a bottle of alcohol or something sharp. Either of those is a great option for Ronon."
He turned on heel, leaving her there. Grace watched as he disappeared back into the crowd and sagged against the broad tree trunk. The scent of the flowers that bloomed around her laced through the air and she closed her eyes. Lorne was right. Damn him. But if Ronon believed it was all real, what did that mean for them? Was there a "them"? She knew the fairy tale of marriage was supposed to be the end goal for anyone. Fall in love, get married, have babies.
Babies. Her brow drew down as she touched her hand to the flat of her belly. Babies were the one thing she couldn't give him. And Ronon would be an amazing father someday, when the Wraith were defeated and he had the chance to really love someone. It was the least of what he deserved.
Grace dropped her hand and pushed herself up from the tree, heading back toward the marketplace. The day was beautiful, and the people around here all seemed genuinely happy. It was an array of the best of life, right here in a little microcosm in the Pegasus galaxy. No Wraith, no fear. Just sunlight, warmth, the scent of blooming flowers and cooking food drifting around the open-air marketplace they'd come to for the day. Happiness was all around her, dangling and dancing in the very air she breathed in, teasing her with the promise of a kind of joy that could never be hers.
She'd resigned herself long ago to being alone. Her work made her happy. She was making a difference every day in thousands of lives. Even though a family wasn't in the cards and marriage was a dream for fools and idiots who had never seen the reality of a relationship falling to pieces in a vicious cycle of jealousy and fear before the ultimate, inevitable end, she found herself wanting to believe it.
Somewhere deep in her belly, a tendril of hope began to unfurl. It was hard and cold like ice, as it settled in her veins, cooling her temper and soothing her. Ronon believed it was real. Did that mean she could too? Grace could feel his fingers on her skin, even though it had been days since he'd touched her. Her palm ached to feel his heart beating beneath it again, strong and steady. She knew longing when she felt it, but was longing the same as love? She'd never had an example of what love looked like, not when it was a good kind of love.
She'd seen the toxic love in the way her father had ruled over her and her mother with an iron fist that he didn't hesitate to strike out with, both physically and emotionally. She'd seen the crazy love that her mother had answered him with, the kind that had constricted the life out of them both. Eventually, that crazy love and that toxic love had finally met with equal furor and become a deadly love that had exploded, leaving only two dead bodies in its wake, with a gun still curled in her mother's hand when she'd found them.
She was caught between those loves, and unsure what her own would be. Would she love Ronon the way her mother had loved her father? Would he love her the way her father had loved her mother? Would it be a toxic, crazy, deadly love? Or could it possibly be like the love she'd read about in the Bible back when she'd actually believed in God. Patient. Kind. Unfailing? Was that kind of love even real?
Ronon tugged at the contraption he wore, staring into the mirror as Sheppard surveyed him critically. "You have to stop pulling at it, Chewie."
He growled as his friend swatted his hand away from the offending piece of fabric. Ronon bit off the words, his patience with the entire ritual of dressing up wearing thin. "You didn't tell me I would be wearing a noose."
"It's called a tie and it's part of the suit." Sheppard explained for the umpteenth time since he'd arrived at Ronon's door with a garment bag and a grin half an hour before.
"Then why aren't you wearing one?" Ronon glared at Sheppard's dress uniform in open envy. It was a smart looking uniform with shiny medals and buttons.
Sheppard was now rebuttoning the vest Ronon had promptly unbuttoned after donning. Ronon took that opportunity to loosen the tie again. "I already told you twice. It's a formal event and that means dress blues for the military and suits for the civilians. If it helps, you'll get to see Teyla in a dress." Sheppard reached up and adjusted the damn tie again. "Stop messing with it!"
Ronon bared his teeth as Sheppard reached for his right hand, pulling it forward. "I'm letting you borrow my good cufflinks. You'd better not lose them." Ronon watched in overt annoyance as Sheppard positioned the cufflink and then paused, his hand tightening on Ronon's forearm. "What is- Ronon!?"
"What?" Ronon finally snapped, jerking his arm free of Sheppard's grasp.
"You're not wearing that to the Christmas party! Take it off!" Sheppard's face was flushed, never a good sign.
"Why?" He stubbornly reached out to tap the hilt of the knife he'd concealed beneath the leather bracer he'd snuck under the cuff of the shirt when Sheppard wasn't looking. "You can't really expect me to go to this thing unarmed."
Sheppard reached out and smacked him on the shoulder. "We don't wear weapons to Christmas parties! Now take it off! And the others. Because if you have one, I know you have more. All of them!"
His stomach churned. This holiday was turning out to be way less fun than Lorne and McKay had implied when they'd tried to explain it to him. It was, so far, the most confusing earth holiday he'd come across yet. He folded his arms over his chest, glaring at his friend. Sheppard, however, wasn't backing down as he gestured to the dresser behind him. "Ronon. Now."
Ronon gave an offended snarl and began to de-arm himself. Sheppard watched in silence and it gave him no small amount of dark satisfaction to watch as his commanding officer's face went from a thin line, to an open-mouthed stare as by the time he extracted the sixth and final blade from his boot and tossed it down on the top of the dresser. "You are not a well man." Sheppard quipped without venom as he stepped forward once more. "Now let me get this cufflinks on and then we can go meet Teyla and Rodney."
He watched as Sheppard wielded the little glittering pieces of jewelry with expert precision. "I'm.. uh…" He cleared his throat. "I'm actually going…"
Sheppard didn't even glance up as he straightened the cuff of the first sleeve and gestured for him to deliver the second into its grasp. Ronon complied and cleared his throat, trying again. "I'm actually going with someone. I told her I'd pick her up."
He watched as John froze, and his friend's shrewd eyes came to rest on him. "You have a date?"
Ronon felt his face heat, but nodded. "Yeah."
A grin broke over Sheppard's face. "Nice. Who's the lucky lady?"
Suddenly, he felt self-conscious. He shook his head. "Uh.. she's um.. Becque."
"The little anthropologist?" Sheppard's brows flew up to knit together as he continued to adjust the cuff. "She's cute."
Ronon waited until Sheppard had stepped away to survey himself in the mirror. He didn't look anything like himself. Hell, he didn't feel anything like himself. He looked… stupid. Ronon gritted his teeth and debated changing, but he knew Sheppard well enough to know the man wasn't going to lead him wrong. Sheppard was barely paying attention as he pulled out his wallet and flipped it open, extracting something from within it. "Take this. Just in case the date goes well."
He reached out to take the little item and lifted it closer to inspect it. He'd learned to read English well enough to know how to pronounce the words, but the rendering of a man in a helmet didn't offer clarification. "Trojan ultra thin?" He frowned and glanced back at Sheppard.
Sheppard paused as he reached for the coat that Ronon had flat out refused to don. "Don't worry. It'll fit. I promise. You could put it on your head or blow it up like a balloon."
"A balloon?" Ronon turned the little foil packet over, but the other side was the same. "It's a balloon?"
His friend stopped and simply stared at him. "Why would I give you a ballo- wait. Ronon, you do know what a condom is, right?"
He'd heard the word, but never thought to ask exactly what it meant. He stood silently until finally Sheppard stepped forward and took the packet from him. "It's my fault for assuming. I'm sorry. Okay, watch closely. When the time comes, the last thing you want to do is get this wrong."
Ronon watched closely, his curiosity outweighing his embarrassment at not know what it was. Sheppard ripped the packet open and extracted the contents. "This is a condom. It's a kind of birth control. Most women on the base are already on some form, but you can't assume. It's better to be safe than take a stupid risk. The last thing any of us need is a baby boom on Atlantis."
With those words, the intended purpose of the little thing suddenly made sense. Ronon's eyes dropped to it as he plucked it from Sheppard's fingers, studying it. The purpose was obvious now that he'd connected the pieces. It was thin and transparent and slick. "Why is it wet?"
"Because lubrication is your friend, Chewie." Sheppard frowned at him.
Ronon frowned right back. "If you're doing it right, there's no need for extra… whatever this shit all over this is."
Sheppard closed his eyes for a moment and gave a long-suffering sigh. "Just give it to me and let me show you how to put it on."
Ronon's eyes widened. "What? No! Sheppard if you take your pants off, I'll-"
"No! For fuck's sake… I'm not going to-." Sheppard reached out and snatched the condom back. "Just shut up and watch."
He fell silent, watching as Sheppard demonstrated, with way too much description and strategic use of his fingers how to don the condom and what to do with it when he finished. By the time he was demonstrating how to tie it off to dispose of it, Ronon's face was buried in his hands. It would be an insult of the highest order. For a man to make the decision to deny a woman her right to children was to demean her judgment in the worst possible way. It was her body, it was her decision when and if she wanted children. Was this yet another of those fundamental differences in culture he kept coming across?
He looked at the new packet that Sheppard had produced from his wallet and took it reluctantly. "Why would I take the decision away from a woman if she wanted to have a child or not?"
It was Sheppard's turn to be confused. "Hunh?"
"A woman carries the baby. She takes all the risk. She nurses it, expends the most energy and resources caring for it. So why would you take away her choice to have one or not? It's an insult." Ronon concluded.
Sheppard's eyes dropped to the condom that Ronon still held. "Just… trust me. If you get laid tonight and Becque shows up in the infirmary in a month with a baby on board, Carson's gonna freak. And if Carson freaks, that means Elizabeth freaks. So just do me a favor. If the date goes well, promise me you'll use it. Okay?"
It seemed important from Sheppard's tone of voice and so Ronon did the only thing he could. He tucked the little packet into his front pocket in full sight of John and nodded in compliance. "Okay."
His friend stepped forward and shoved a finger into his chest, poking him with it. "Promise."
"I promise." Ronon intoned the word, no more confused than ever and wanting nothing more than to finish this conversation. "I need to go or I'll be late."
Sheppard, seemingly reassured by the promise of Ronon wrapping it up, stepped back. "Great. Have fun! See you at the party, bud."