When the door to Grace's quarters slid open, Ronon was dumbstruck. She stood in front of him wearing a dress that was unlike anything he'd ever seen. Ronon stepped back, his gaze sweeping slowly over her little form from the top of her head to the tips of her red painted toenails that peeked out from a pair of gold heels that added a few inches to her height.
The dress was modest at first glance, a demure gold that hugged her curves and sparkled ever so slightly when she moved, ending just above her knee. The sleeves, gathered at the cuffs, had slits that exposed the delicate form of her arms when she moved, and the square neckline barely exposed her collarbone. Her hair was loose with one side tucked behind her ear, a rare sight that made Ronon's blood pulsed straight to his cock. He knew what those silken locks felt like on his skin. Somehow, she'd managed to clip a cluster of greenery with little red berries into her hair, just enough to polish off the delectable presentation.
She cleared her throat softly and Ronon realized he was staring. "You look amazing." He spoke softly. "I like your hair."
A smile tipped up the corners of her lips as a pretty blush began to creep up her neck. As her own eyes met his, she seemed to relax, her tone playful. "I had no idea you even owned a suit."
"I don't. Or didn't. I'm not sure." He drew in a breath and tried again. "Sheppard got it somewhere. I almost didn't wear it."
"I'll have to write him a thank you note because you look just as good in a suit than you do in leather." Blue eyes now showed appreciation and Ronon found himself standing a little taller, relaxing now that he understood for sure that Sheppard hadn't made him look like an idiot.
Ronon could feel his face heating as he realized they were standing there grinning at each other, like a matching set of idiots. He lifted a hand and gestured behind himself. "You ready to go?"
"What? Oh! Yeah. Just let me…" She turned away for a moment, moving toward the dresser that held the evidence of her efforts to prepare for the evening. Ronon's mouth dropped open as he saw the back of the dress, or rather lack thereof. A thin string was tied in a pretty bow at the back of her neck before the fabric simply disappeared, leaving the bare skin of her back completely exposed before resuming just above her ass.
As if pulled by some kind of a magnet, Ronon stepped forward, silently stalking toward her as she fussed with a tiny purse that was a perfect match for her shoes. His mind ran rampant with the knowledge that the other people at that party would see this much of her exposed. He wasn't sure he liked it. On the one hand, she was with him and no one would dare touch her, but her body was for him and him alone. On the other hand, she was damn beautiful and every man in the room would see it. She'd be leaving with him. He was the one who would take her away, the only one who would have the privilege of touching her, of hearing her whimper, at least if the evening went well.
Ronon lifted a hand, his fingers coming to rest at the base of her neck. She jumped a bit and then stilled. Slowly, he traced over the neat little bow and then down the line of her spine. Her skin was warm, as if offering him an engraved invitation. "Ronon?" Her voice was soft as she broke into his awareness.
"Hm?" He was too absorbed in the sensation of that silken skin beneath the pads of his fingers to want to stop yet.
"Should we go?" The diffidence in her voice made his eyes lift, coming to meet her in the mirror.
He took a half-step closer, closing the distance. "Dinner isn't served until eight." He left the words to linger in the air, a silent request.
Her gaze was uncertain, a vulnerability in them that drew Ronon in deeper every time he saw it, something that was happening more frequently. He bowed his head to brush a kiss over the shell of her ear. "Put your hands on the dresser for me."
She hesitated only a moment before lowering the little purse to the surface of the dresser, her eyes still locked to his as she placed her hands, palms flat, on the surface.
Ronon nuzzled the curve of her neck before gathering the mass of dark hair that flowed over her back and carefully pushing it over her shoulder. He traced the little bow again before giving a tug and loosening it. He watched Grace's reflection as those sweet eyes softened at the corners when he splayed his palm over the back of her neck. "You knew we were alone."
He stopped for a moment, his lips a hairsbreadth away from touching her skin. "What?"
Her voice was low and vulnerable as she clarified. "On the Makanesh homeworld. The morning after we first… when we… the second time. You knew there was no one there to watch and you still…" She trailed off.
Understanding dawned as he set his hand into motion and brought it to rest on her hip. "I knew." He answered quietly.
"Why didn't you tell me before we…" She trailed off again.
Ronon met her gaze and the vulnerability he saw there was Grace laid bare for the first time. The words came out in a whisper as his fingers tightened in the fabric of her dress. "It was a mistake not to tell you, and I'm sorry."
He paused for a moment, waiting for her to push him away, but instead her voice came again, this time even more softly. "Tell me why."
He licked his lips and then drew in a deep, steadying breath. "Because I knew that if I told you, you would stop me. I wanted you, wanted to have you, just for myself, just once. It was selfish."
Her eyes fluttered closed. The next words were unexpected. "The night before, you said those things. I thought it was just to make me relax, to make me… less scared of the people watching."
He recalled every word he'd spoken to her with perfect clarity. "Every word was true, Grace."
Those fathomless eyes snapped open, meeting his own in the mirror once more. Taking a risk, he tugged the fabric of her dress upward until his fingers were able to brush the bare skin of her thigh. She was still silent, her expression so open and exposed that it made Ronon's heart ache. "When I first saw you, I wanted to steal some of your happiness for myself. When we ran into each other, literally, that was the first time I thought of you in a way I hadn't thought of anyone else in so long. By the time we were hiding in the pantry, it had gotten so overwhelming that it was all I could do not to…"
Her gaze was steady and unmoving as she listened. Ronon skimmed his fingers upward and touched the scrap of lace that shielded her from the world. He tugged it aside as he tucked his hand between her soft thighs, slipping a foot between her feet to silently nudge them apart. When she allowed it and her legs parted for him, he closed his eyes for a moment. This woman was everything that he'd never believed he'd have again. "I was telling the truth, Grace. I went back to my quarters and I got in the shower. I was trying to erase it from my memory because I knew I couldn't have you. I knew a woman like you was so far out of my league."
She was trembling now. Ronon craved, no… needed to make her understand. He leaned over her, aligning her body with his as he braced his hand beside hers on the dresser and laced his fingers with her own. "It wasn't real relief. It just made it worse."
A soft exhalation was accompanied by a wiggling of her hips. Ronon slid his fingers over her core, his eyes falling closed when he found her center, warm and slick. He slid one finger into her, his body screaming as he fought against his very nature to take and claim her then and there.
"After I finally felt your mouth on me, Grace, I was lost. There was no coming back. I only wished that I could have had you that first time the way I really wanted." The admission came so easily, in a way that expressing himself usually eluded him. "I'm not a gentle man. But the first time I took you to bed, I wanted to at least have the chance to try to give you that."
"Ronon." She whispered his name softly. "Why is it that the only time you become a talker is when you're horny?"
The unexpected words drew a chuckle from him as he slid a second finger into her and began to move them slowly. Her mouth dropped open and her hand was unsteady beneath his. "It's not like that."
Her voice was stronger now, as if her confidence were growing by the moment. "Then what's it like?"
"I don't want there to be any doubt as to the fact that I want you. I won't make that mistake again." He withdrew his fingers from the sweet body he ached to feel around him again and slid his forefinger to her clit, circling lightly before stroking.
Her answering moan was accompanied by her legs parting even further in open invitation. "Fuck me." She whispered the words softly and his control shattered. Ronon drew his hand away and tugged at the buckle of his belt, pushing his clothing over his hips enough to free his cock.
As he guided his cock to her entrance, he met her eyes in the mirror once more. Her words were not what he expected. "Ronon, were the marriage rites real to you?"
The words he needed to answer were too thick on his tongue to answer. He drove into her dripping body a little too hard and saw her wince. The slick, warm heat of her pussy around him made him shudder as he stroked a hand over her hip in silent apology. It took everything in him to remain still, to give the discomfort he saw reflected in her eyes a moment to fade. Her hand curled into a fist beneath his as he leaned against her back, wanting more contact. Her voice was breathless, but insistent. "Answer me. Please."
His mouth opened and the only sound he could give her was a groan as he began to withdraw, watching as her eyes dropped to half-lidded slits as he forced her to feel every inch of him dragging over silken, slick walls. "Ronon, please. I need…" She broke off in another of those moans that made him crazy every time he heard it.
He sank back into her slowly, steadily before he finally managed to grind out the words through clenched teeth. "Of course it's real."
He settled a hand at the back of her neck, pushing her forward as he finally began to move as he needed to, every nerve ending in his body roaring to life. Grace's body was like coming home. He moved with abandon, not bothering to try to stifle his groans, relishing the sound of her whimpers, the way her hips moved to meet his every thrust with a greed that rivaled his own. It was impossible to get enough of this woman.
Her moans touched the air around them, spurring him onward with soft pleas that were obscene in their greed. Ronon murmured answers, not even sure of the words that left his lips. It could have been Satedan, or English, he didn't even know which. When he felt her little frame begin to tremble, signaling her impending release, he slid an arm around her waist and drove himself faster, higher, wanting more. And when Grace exploded around him with a sharp cry of his name, he knew there was no coming back from this.
Ronon's thrusts became clumsy and inelegant as he groaned out her name, hips crashing into hers with a ferocity that scared even him for a moment. And when he exploded inside her, the words that slipped from his lips were almost lost on him. It was only as he found himself repeating them as the blinding pleasure washed over him, that he realized what he was instinctively doing. Words that he'd learned during the betrothal ceremony that the Elder who'd presided had taught him.
He collapsed on his elbows, crumpling on top of Grace, boneless and sated, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her smaller frame still trampled as Ronon stroked a hand over her face. This time, when he said the words, it was deliberate. A prayer to the ancestors for the blessing of a child with this woman, for a family with the woman he'd been given. A prayer that would never be answered, but felt right to murmur.
Her eyes fluttered open and he willed his heart to calm as he whispered the only words of Old Satedan that any man of his generation ever learned one last time. She didn't question him, merely tightened her hand on his as he brushed soft kisses over the curve of her neck before finally relaxing.
He'd been wrong, so very wrong. Grace hadn't just obliterated him, as he'd thought she had the power to do. She'd woken him to everything that he'd believed was impossible for him. Ronon's heart skipped a beat as he met her eyes in the mirror and he knew that for this woman, he'd throw away everything. For the first time in years, he felt something he had never thought he'd feel again. Love.
Grace's mind was still reeling hours later as she stood beside Ronon, plastic champagne flute in hand, who seemed utterly unaffected by the intensity of… it couldn't exactly be called fucking. No, what they'd done had been laden with unspoken emotion and need. There had been a desperation that had seeped into her bones when she'd heard the words of confirmation from him that he regarded the marriage as real. It was frightening and exhilarating, even if he was wrong.
The warm, solid weight of his body when he'd bonelessly crashed down on her, pinning her to the top of her dresser had been accompanied by his arms coming around her, as if he were afraid she would run away. He'd displayed such tenderness as he'd whispered words against her overheated flesh that her heart had skipped a beat and for a moment she'd felt tears sting at her eyes before she'd willed them away.
The evening had been more fun than she'd expected. Ronon cut a fine figure in the navy blue trousers and vest, borrowed cufflinks glittering in the low light of the mess hall that had been converted into a passable party space with strategically placed decor. She'd expected the evening to feel a lot like a high school dance, given the location. But instead, with the addition of gauzy curtains, some twinkle lights that blinked, and an abundance of greenery, she'd found herself actually enjoying a social gathering for once.
She'd expected far less than the meal that tasted like actual Christmas dinner, the Christmas Karaoke, and the sight of Zelenka and a few of his buddies playing live music. She'd barely even been aware that there was a musical community on the base.
Ronon had barely left her side during the entire event, from sitting with her at dinner, to even dancing with her. Or at least attempting to dance. It was the effort that touched her, even if all he'd managed to do was little more than the middle school sway. His hands at her waist coupled with the sight of his brows drawn down in concentration as he'd focused more on not stepping on her feet than matching the rhythm of Holly Jolly Christmas had been one of the most adorable things she'd ever seen in her life. She'd never thought she'd find this man adorable, but it was the only word to describe the determination in his gaze as he'd counted beneath his breath as they'd waltzed, yes… waltzed, to a Burl Ives classic.
By the time the song ended, Grace had no choice but to take pity on him and declare that she needed to sit down to rest her feet and have a drink. The relief in his gaze has been palpable for a split second before he'd broken into a grin and guided her back to the table where only McKay sat, sullenly nursing a glass of champagne and staring mournfully toward the dance floor. Grace tracked his gaze to find Katie Brown laughing in the arms of David Parrish.
Grace glanced to where Ronon was absorbed in conversation with Sheppard next to the table where someone had set up what looked like a full bar. Her eyes flicked back to McKay. The man usually looked put out, but right now, he looked like a child who'd been told there was no Santa Claus. She bit her lower lip and gripped her chair by the edge, scooting closer. At the sound of the feet scraping over the floor, his gaze flicked to her, an edge of annoyance flitting over his face. "Oh. It's you. I thought you and Ronon were dancing."
"We did. My feet are killing me." She lied easily. It was one of those lies meant to spare feelings. "Ronon said your team was getting together tomorrow morning for breakfast to exchange gifts."
He lifted one shoulder in an indifferent half-shrug. "Yeah. I'm only going because Elizabeth kicked me out of my lab. Same reason I'm here right now."
Grace arched a brow in surprise. "She kicked you out of your own lab?"
"Yep." McKay leaned back in his seat, folding his arms over his chest. "Overrode my access and said she won't give it back until noon tomorrow."
"Wow." She had nothing to say to that. Absolutely nothing. Instead she smiled her most conspiratorial smile. "Have you made any progress on the data Lorne got from the planet we were captured on?"
Suddenly, enthusiasm flared in his eyes. He straightened and leaned forward to brace his elbows on his knees. "Yeah. I figured it out last night, actually. The ancients somehow managed to harness geothermal energy and use it in conjunction with a miniaturized fission reactor. That's why you guys detected tritium."
Her brows drew down. "I thought tritium wasn't usually a byproduct of fission."
"Normally, no. There's usually so little of it naturally occurring that when it's needed for a nuclear fusion reactor or a nuclear weapon, it has to be artificially produced. That's why you detected it." McKay smiled smugly.
Horror began to seep in and McKay must have seen the panic in her eyes. "Nonono! I'm not saying the Wraith have nuclear weapons! They're barely more than technological scavengers. But what they are really good at is reverse engineering Ancient technology for their own purposes. The sensor data from the capacitor was purely Wraith. They took technology that was barely functional, figured out how to get it running again, and stuck a capacitor on it to regulate the flow of the energy. That's what gave them the power to do…well, whatever it was they were doing there. There and on the Makanesh homeworld too. The data from both places was nearly identical."
Grace leaned back in her chair, her mind spinning. "But that doesn't make any sense. I mean, I know why…" She trailed off as another, even more jarring realization occurred to her. The Makanesh had been sending Satedan refugees sent to the planet for years. The population of the planet were Wraith worshippers, led by Ridak and his minions. Her gaze flicked to where Sheppard and Ronon had been joined by Weir next to the drink table. She hadn't even told him about her discovery of just what had been happening to the Satedans at the hands of the Makanesh yet. Grace's stomach turned as she rose to her feet, a fresh wave of anger rising from her. "I need to go. Will you tell Ronon I wasn't feeling well?"
Without waiting for a reply or taking the time to answer McKay as he stammered out a concerned question about her looking pale, she turned and headed for the doors. Thankfully, she was able to slip out unnoticed and head straight for her office. The pieces were coming together to reveal an alarming picture that was even more nauseating than what she'd originally been expecting.
Ten minutes later she'd gone full William Murdoch. Ever a visual problem-solver, the whiteboard in her office was quickly being covered in the facts as she knew them. Everything she knew about Sateda's history, which was pitifully little, to the information she'd gleaned from both of the missions that had gone so very wrong.
She was seated on her desk half an hour later, her fist full of dry-erase markers when she realized the one simple fact that had eluded her. The list of questions on one side of the board was longer than the timeline, the list of things she knew. And worst of all, the section of the board she'd labeled "Explanation" was completely blank, mocking her.
Grace bit her lower lip and toyed with the markers she held. The timeline was what held and captured her attention, along with the list of planets that she knew of that had Satedan survivors living on them. What struck her was the numbers she'd pulled up on her computer when prepping for the disaster of a mission to the Makanesh homeworld.
Belsa, Manaria, Belkan, Satara, Ival Manon. The numbers had seemed arbitrary at the time, gleaned from the conversations she'd had with Ronon in the few days they'd had leading up to leaving. So few of his people remained that the numbers had seemed unimportant, especially in light of the fact that there were fewer than three hundred in total. She'd dismissed the numbers as heartbreaking when compared to the hundreds of thousands lost when Sateda had fallen. But dozens had gone to the Makanesh, seeking a new home, in the past several years. The sickening answer was there right in front of her face. Or at least a partial answer. She reached out, hooking a toe beneath the whiteboard and pulling it closer to her with her foot. She quickly added the number she knew, though it wasn't exact and likely never would be given the circumstances. The number was closer to four hundred. That was the missing piece of the population puzzle. For whatever reason, the Makanesh seemed to be slowly, but steadily, luring Satedans there only to wipe them out. It was, as she'd suspected, a slow, steady genocide. But why?