"Dr. Becque!" At the sound of her name coming from behind her, Grace spun to find Kate Heightmeyer hustling toward her, bearing a wide grin.

She blinked, and then smiled. While they weren't friends, the psychologist had a natural way about her that instantly set a person at ease. "Dr. Heightmeyer. Hi."

As she waited for the, Grace leaned against the railing that overlooked the first level of the crew quarters, the soaring empty space kindly called an "atrium" though there were no plants of any kind. Heightmeyer came to a stop beside her, grinning. "How are you?"

"Doing great, you? How have you been?" Grace questioned politely, though she was curious to know why the woman had literally chased her down.

Heightmeyer shrugged. "It's been busy, but that's not out of the ordinary. I just wanted to check in with you, since it's been a while since we got to talk."

They never talked, more than in passing. Weird thing number one. Grace bowed her head, thumbing the button on her tablet to kill the screen as she turned to give Heightmeyer her full attention. "I'm fine."

The flare of apprehension in Heightmeyer's gaze was obvious as she stepped closer, lowering her voice, though there was no one around to overhear their odd conversation. "You're sure?"

Weird thing number two. Grace nodded slowly. "Should I not be?"

There was a moment of hesitation before the other woman reached out and rested her arm Grace's in a display of even more overt concern. "You've had a lot going on, a lot of big changes recently. Going back into the field, being held captive on your last mission. Dr. Becque, you had to kill a man and even in self-defense, it takes a toll. Not to mention what you and Ronon were forced to endure at the hands of the Makanesh." It was as if someone had launched a swarm of bees in her stomach.

She frowned as she turned her gaze to survey the lower level, where a few people wandered by. "How did you know about that?"

She heard a sharp intake of breath and a soft "Oh" of realization. "Ronon didn't tell you he came to see me? He said he was going to talk to you."

Grace's eyes snapped to Heightmeyer's and the bees in her stomach grew angry. "What did he come to see you about?"

That apprehension was back, along with a growing nausea. "He wanted me to talk to you about your marriage. He wasn't sure you were taking his commitment seriously. He asked me to talk to you but I told him I wasn't going to meddle. He said he'd talk to you and then schedule an appointment for the two of you to come together in a few days. That was a while back though."

She closed her eyes as she tried to process this information, a hysterical laugh escaping her. "I must not be hearing you right. I thought I just heard you say that Ronon came to you to schedule couples therapy."

Heightmeyer's eyes widened and she stared for a moment. A second later, her expression turned to one of understanding. "I see. Well, if you decide you do want to talk, just let me know. I'm sorry for any confusion."

"The only person who's confused here is me, apparently." Grace grumbled as she side-stepped the other woman and gave a tight smile. "Have a good day, Dr. Heightmeyer."

Ronon sat in his usual place at the table, staring at the book he held. He'd learned by now to be skeptical of any volume that didn't come from the base's version of a library. "What is it?"

Across from him, Tayla offered a rueful smile. "Dr. Kopeski was impressed with your last quiz results and sent this one. He said that it is no longer necessary that you adhere to books within a certain lexile level. He thought you would enjoy this one. It is a collection of the author's works, short stories and poems. He said you should read whatever you like, but that he marked out a few of his favorites for you to try."

His gaze dropped from the cover, and though he was still skeptical, he flipped open the book and thumbed through it. At last, he settled on one of the marked pages, staring at the title. Ronon traced a finger under the letters. It was a word he had not seen before, a name perhaps? The letter combination was infinitely more complex than anything he'd seen before. "Lee-gay-uh?"

"Close, but not quite." A new voice piped up from the corner of the room. Ronon's head snapped up to see Dr. Kopeski, a rotund little man who was perhaps a decade older than he was, entering the room. "Ligeia. Long i, long e, then the schwa sound we talked about early on."

Ronon's gaze dropped back to the page as he tested the correct pronunciation out. It felt foreign on his tongue, but light. "Ligeia." A quick glance to Dr. Kopeski confirmed he'd gotten it right. "What's it about?"

"It's one of Poe's longer short stories. You may not be able to get through it in one sitting and some of the verbiage is archaic, but the story itself is timeless." Dr. Kopeski, the odd little man that he was, pulled out a chair and took a seat. "My favorite Poe story. People often overlook it in favor of his more classic gothic horror stories, but this one is the author at the pinnacle of nuance and subtlety. It's a love story."

Ronon exhaled in annoyance. "I already told you I wasn't going to read another romance novel. That last one nearly made me vomit, Doc."

"The Boss's Pregnancy Proposal?" Kopeski frowned faintly. "Oh, I thought it was rather good."

He blinked at the older man, staring. The one staff member who had been brave enough to volunteer to as his ESL tutor blanched and then cleared his throat. "Well, at any rate, this one isn't like that. Ligeia is a story about obsessive love, a horror story. Just read the first few pages. If you aren't enjoying it by then, you can always choose another. If you want classic horror, I've also marked a few of those with blue post-its."

It wasn't an unreasonable request. Ronon was skeptical, especially since the man's idea of a good book had made him flat out stop reading English between tutoring sessions. He'd turned back to rereading the volumes of Satedan poetry Grace had given him. He sighed and turned his gaze back to the page and began to read aloud, the words slow and halting. "I cannot, for my soul, remember how, when, or even precisely where, I first became acquainted with the lady Ligeia. Long years have since elapsed, and my memory is feeble through much suffering."

The language was archaic, even to his untrained ear. He'd encountered something like it in his first few poems. He paused for a moment and glanced up to Kopeski, who smiled and nodded encouragingly. He continued, finding the cadence and rhythm of the words, stumbling only occasionally. Ronon occasionally caught movement from the corner of his eye, Teyla adjusting her position, moving closer by degrees, her head bowed as she listened in rapt attention. Or Kopeski's eyes fluttering closed as an involuntary shudder went through him at a particularly delicious combination of words. For all his protests, Ronon felt those shudders too, especially when the narrator began to recount the corpse seeming to come back to life, only to fall still and dead once more. A sigh here, a fluttering there. Only when the unnamed husband recognized the "wild eyes" of Ligeia did Ronon realized that he was leaning forward, elbows on the table, his gaze locked to the page as he silently reread the last few lines.

Kopeski was right. The obsession was horrifying, not romantic. Ronon licked his lips and glanced up to find Kopeski's eyes were closed, his breathing coming in the slow deep breaths that Ronon recognized as being a sort of afterglow. Teyla's own expression was perturbed, her lips forming a grim line, eyes betraying a macabre fascination. They were all silent for a moment before she cleared her throat, breaking the spell of the story. "Well, that was certainly better than I expected." She paused for a moment, reaching to indicate the book Ronon held. "Dr. Kopeski, you say this is the entire collection of this writer's work?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, Poe was quite young when he died. He didn't have the chance to gift the world with more of his genius." Kopeski leaned back in his chair and sighed. "The man was a genius, born ahead of his time." He glanced to his watch and then rose quickly from his seat. "I'm going to be late for my departmental meeting. Ronon, you're a natural with reading English. Just keep practicing. Teyla, it was good to see you again. I'll drop in next week to hear more."

And with that, the little doctor was gone. Ronon closed the book and examined the cover once more. Teyla reached out for it. "May I see?"

On instinct, Ronon swatted her hand away. "No. It's mine. You can have it when I'm done."

"When will that be?" There was genuine interest in her voice, and Ronon couldn't blame her.

Ronon shrugged. "I want to read that story again, with Grace." He murmured as he pushed his chair back from the table.

"You and Dr. Becque seem to have gotten quite close these past few weeks." Teyla's words were spoken in a neutral tone, but when Ronon's eyes landed on her, her gaze betrayed her curiosity. "You seem more at peace than I have known you to be since you arrived in Atlantis. I hope things are going well?"

Ronon's mouth suddenly went dry. Of course Teyla would choose now to raise the question. He'd forgotten things about himself while condemned to life as a Runner, things he was only now rediscovering. Things like his craving for privacy. He'd not had anything personal to protect, anything that had made him vulnerable, in so long that the urge to close off the discussion before it began was stronger than he expected it to be. He simply gave a nod. "It's good."

"So she agrees with you that the marriage is real, then?" Teyla's tone, as unassuming as the rest of her, still held all the subtlety of a right hook.

Ronon bristled at the implication. "We're living together." He stated bluntly before he rose from his seat. "I'm going to meet Sheppard for a run before dinner."

Teyla rose from her chair, reaching out to catch him by the arm. "Ronon, wait."

"What?" He bit off the word with a bit more vehemence than was necessary, his ire rising.

His friend was, as ever, unaffected by his glare. "I'm sorry if I am prying, but I am concerned for you. I do not think it's wise to rush into this. You've only known one another for a few months."

"We've known each other long enough. My parents were married after only meeting twice." He ground out, but even to his own ears it sounded stupid. Teyla was staring at him, clearly baffled. "It wasn't an arranged marriage or anything like that. But they were…" He ground his teeth, then took a breath, forcing his jaw to unclench. "My father met my mother and he knew. He just knew. The same way I knew when I met Melena."

Teyla's dark brows drew down in confusion, but she remained quiet. Ronon frowned at her, trying to find the words to express what he was trying to get across. "I knew Melena was it for me the second I laid eyes on her. The first time we ever spoke, that was it for me."

There was a long moment of silence before Teyla spoke quietly, as if afraid that her words would exacerbate the irritation he made no effort to hide. "Grace is not Melena, Ronon. She is not Satedan."

"She's my wife. That makes her Satedan by my people's traditions and laws." He jerked his arm out of her grasp and stepped away. "She knows it's real. She's been in my bed every night since their Christmas holiday. She accepted the marriage ring I gave her, she hasn't taken it off." He was angry now and didn't try to hide it.

He expected a rebuttal, but instead she only voice the question softly. "Ronon, do you love her?"

His frown, and his annoyance deepened. "That's none of your business."

"It becomes my business when this ends up hurting you!" Teyla snapped. "You've been through a lot since you came to Atlantis. You are as a brother to me, and I cannot let you set yourself up to be hurt. So I ask you again, do you love her?"

"No!" He roared the word, taking two steps toward her, towering over her as he gripped the book he held with such force that his nails bit into the cardboard cover. "I don't love her. Is that what you want to hear? I can't love anyone, Teyla. Not like that. Not now, maybe not ever again." There were moments when it felt a lot like love, when he emptied himself inside her as she whimpered his name, when she curled into his arms and fell asleep beside him, trusting him to protect her, to keep her safe. That trust was more important than love. It was more important than anything. He would keep her safe, he would protect her from the Wraith, protect the little family he was someday going to build with her. He couldn't do that if he dared to call it love. Warmth.

Affection. Acceptance. But love? Never. He would never let himself be distracted by love again. Not until every last Wraith in this galaxy was dead, nothing but a memory even more distant than Melena. And Melena's memory was growing more distant by the day. Sometimes, he could almost imagine it was her beside him, and when he opened his eyes in the night, and saw the different form in his bed, one that fit so perfectly into his body like a little spoon as they slept on his tiny nest of furs, it felt very much like betrayal. No. It felt like love. But it wasn't love. It was duty. Nothing more. It was honor. It was sacrifice. It was the need to protect what was his, in the same was he needed to inexplicably claim her body. Need. Duty. Companionship. It was all the same thing. It was enough.

Teyla was still staring at him silently, her eyes cold as flint. "No." He repeated firmly. "I don't love her. I won't love her. If I love her and I lose her, I won't survive, Teyla. After we've won this war, once and for all, after every single Wraith who could hurt her is dead, then I'll love her. But not a moment, not a second, not a fucking heartbeat before." His voice was rougher than he wanted it to be. "We're done talking about this. Don't ever bring it up again. You hear me?"

Her expression was steady, and for a moment he expected her to argue. However, she merely nodded slowly. "I'm sorry, Ronon. I didn't realize it was…"

"Drop it." With that he turned and stalked from the room. He needed to run, needed to punch something. He needed to distance himself from that conversation and the unwelcome emotions it made him consider. It felt too much like love too much of the time and that was one thing he couldn't do. It would be the ultimate betrayal to Melena's memory, to the ghost of her that he needed desperately to keep alive until the fight was over. As long as he kept the anger alive, as long as he sought vengeance for her and for his people, there was no room for anything else. Even if it felt a lot like love, it couldn't be that. He simply wouldn't allow it.

Her hands curled into fists as she darted into an alcove behind a potted plant, just in time to see Ronon storming away from the small conference room where he met Teyla for his weekly ESL tutoring sessions. She cleared her throat and bowed her head as the words she'd heard him roar filtered into the small hallway. Ronon had no idea how his voice resonated at the best of times, and when his temper went, his usually deep rumble became fury incarnate that bounced off the walls. Even after the argument she'd almost interrupted abated, the words rebounded off the sides of her skull, like a cavernous echo, trapped.

He didn't love her. He wouldn't, not until his crusade to slaughter every single Wraith was over. The Ancients hadn't managed it in more than a century of fighting. Ronon's own people, one of the more technologically advanced in the Pegasus galaxy had built their entire cultural identity around the defeat of the Wraith as a goal. The Wraith were like cockroaches. You could kill them all, and they'd always find a way to come crawling back out from the shadows. They would never be completely wiped out. Subdued maybe, defeated, perhaps. But wiped clean as if they never existed? Impossible. It wasn't even that declaration that made her stomach twist, it was the ease with which he'd said, no… roared it at Teyla. Like it was a foregone conclusion.

Grace drew in a silent breath as she watched Ronon round the corner toward the stairs. The tablet she held no longer seemed to matter. She couldn't even remember why she'd thought it interesting enough to come find him. Her brain a jumble she emerged from her hiding place just in time to meet Teyla in the hallway. Shit. She should have stayed put a while longer. Teyla's eyes widened for a moment. "Dr. Becque."

She didn't even try to pretend she hadn't heard. Teyla wasn't stupid, and to pretend otherwise would only be adding insult to injury, for them both. And so she gathered the tattered remains of her dignity, folded it like a cloak. She'd wear it like a shroud as the death knell of her heart tolled its last. "Well, this is awkward." Even to her own ears, the attempt at a joke fell flat. But then, what was she supposed to say?

The Athosian woman stood unmoving. As ever, Teyla was the very embodiment of strength and kindness married with resolve and compassion. And right now, Grace didn't want compassion. She wanted to escape. Tears of humiliation burned at her eyes. Teyla stepped forward, one hand reaching out to touch Grace on the arm. "It's my fault. I should not have tried to force him to talk about things he wasn't ready to talk about."

She swallowed and met Teyla's gaze, forcing her voice to be steady when she answered. "Then why did you?"

For a moment, the taller woman appeared surprised by the question and her mouth worked soundlessly before she finally shook her head. "Because he is going to be hurt and I want to spare him that if possible."

Kindness. Kindness. Kindness. Grace repeated the word to herself as she stared at Teyla. There wasn't a malicious bone in Teyla's body. She was invariably well-intentioned. But fuck that. Grace stepped forward as she hissed the words directly at Teyla. "Did it never occur to you that the only person hurting Ronon right now is you?"

Instantly, Teyla's expression shifted to one of disbelief. "Dr. Becque, you are understandably upset. I didn't intend to…"

"Stop talking now." Grace interrupted her, for once giving no heed to kindness. "Ronon's life has been hell for so long. He's rebuilding his very identity with nothing to go on but memories and rage. It's not your place to be his relationship coach, Teyla. What do you think I expect from this relationship? It's never going to be normal. It's never going to roses and slow dances under the moonlight. Because that's not Ronon."

Teyla opened her mouth once more and Grace shook her head. "Love him through it, Teyla. As his friend, as his sister, if that's what you really want to be to him. Just love him through the confusing hell that is navigating life after the memories and the rage. If you want him to be capable of love, first you have to show him, remind him, what it's like to be loved."

"And that is your plan? To love him until he loves you back?" Teyla's own words were sharp. "You're both setting yourselves up for more pain, Grace."

"No." Grace shook her head. "You just don't get it. This story doesn't have a happy ending. It didn't from the moment it started. It never will. He and I both know that. He's playing at having the life he wanted but lost. He's so in love with a memory that I never stood a chance. And that's just how it is."

Teyla was now staring at her in stony silence. Grace repeated herself to make sure the words sank in. "This story doesn't have a happy ending, Teyla. Just… please, don't make that awful ending come any sooner than it has to. For his sake, and for mine."

She turned and strode away, heading back toward her office. The contents of the tablet no longer mattered. Nothing did. She just wanted quiet, a cup of fucking coffee, and the solitude it would take to rid herself of the laast vestiges of the stupid hope she'd been carrying around for weeks.