Author's note - And thus begins the angst. So much angst y'all. Tropes ahoy!

It wasn't until almost midnight that Ronon realized Grace wasn't coming. He knew her routine almost as well as his own by now. After dinner, she would head to the gym to spar with her team, then go back to her own room to shower and finish off whatever work she still needed to do. By ten pm every night, her light footfalls would come to a stop outside the door to his quarters. He'd added her to the entry list weeks before, and she usually didn't even activate the chime anymore, simply let herself in. She was later sometimes, if she was returning from a mission, or more rarely when they were gone overnight. But anytime they were both on the base, she was in his bed beside him, where she belonged.

He took the steps to the level her room was on two at a time. When he let himself in, it was dark and empty. The room looked like it had barely been touched in weeks. That made sense, though. Slowly, he'd become accustomed to seeing her laundry in his hamper. Seeing her uniform folded neatly on top of his dresser, laid out for the next morning, beside his weapons. He was used to seeing her waiting in his bed when he got back late from a mission, her dark hair barely visible in the dim light. He'd come to relish sliding into the nest of furs beside her, how she curled into him on instinct when she felt the warmth of his body beside hers. He reveled in the way she let him rouse her to wakefulness with slow, drugging kissing that inevitably turned more passionate. He marveled at how she let him have her with unmitigated savagery when he needed it,or with gentleness when he needed that too.

His quarters were never lonely anymore, even when she wasn't there. The signs of the life they were building together were slowly creeping in everywhere. Her shampoo bottle beside his, the little pink poofy thing she used in the shower. Her toothbrush beside his. The unspoken battle over his habit of leaving the cap off the toothpaste. Ronon blinked in confusion and turned to go. She wasn't scheduled to go off-world until the following day. Something was wrong. Grace was a creature of habit. Never had a woman existed who gloried in the most mundane things, finding pleasure in routine.

It was nearly an hour later that he finally found her. He'd had to resort to wandering into the control room and having Chuck use the lifesigns detector to finally locate her. Once he'd seen the city schematic, he knew exactly where she was. Her's was the only dot in the section of the city where the supper club still met.

She was seated at the base of the big tree that he'd marveled at all those months ago. The ancient tree that should have died long ago. Now he knew there were systems in place to provide it with water, directly connected to the gray water systems of the city. McKay had explained it once, something about water cycling or… whatever. Ronon preferred not knowing. But the tree was as magical as ever in it's pull. He'd just never known that Grace was drawn to it too.

She didn't even look at him as he took a seat next to her, leaning against the rough trunk. He tracked her gaze upward, to where the uppermost branches of the tree reached toward the glass roof of the building. Between the lush branches, he caught a glimpse of starlight. Ronon was the first to break the silence. "When I was a little kid, my grandfather used to take me up into the mountains to go hunting. It was so far away from the capital city I grew up in and so high up, the light pollution didn't dim the stars. It was so beautiful."

Grace's only response was to rest her head on his shoulder. He continued quietly. "He taught me all the constellations, so that if I ever got lost, all I'd have to do was look up to the sky and I'd be able to find my way home. When I grew up, I always thought that when I had a kid I'd do the same thing with them. But now, no matter where I go, the stars never look the same. I wouldn't even begin to know how to teach my son or daughter how to find their way home by the stars."

She simply listened quietly, as she always did when he was in the rare mood to talk about his past. Ronon shifted, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and drawing her in closer. "I want to believe that someday my people will return to Sateda, those of us that are left, and rebuild. I want to believe that the Wraith will be erased and that there will be a life for me after that."

He glanced down, to find a ghost of a smile on her face. She bit her lower lip for a moment before she spoke words that sent a lance straight to his heart. "It's a nice dream, Ronon."

A dream. That's exactly what it was. He nodded his agreement. "I want to believe that the Wraith will be erased and that we'll go with them. I want to believe that we'll have a whole house full of beautiful babies with your eyes and your kindness, and maybe my sense of direction, because yours is bullshit."

She pushed herself upright, and turned to face him. She straddled his lap, her warm hands coming to cradle his face. Ronon continued, not knowing where the words came from. "They'll be strong and kind and brave. And they'll never have to live in fear of the Wraith. They'll be able to live out their days without wondering when the next hive ship will show up in the sky. They'll never have to learn to kill. They'll never have to know what it is to take a life."

When her forehead touched his own, he felt the emptiness in his belly settling as the dream he spoke of faded. It was a dream he'd only begun to let himself have since she'd sunk herself deep into his bones. Ronon brought his hands to rest at her waist as she whispered the words softly. "What a wonderful life it would be."

He tightened his grip on her waist as he repeated himself stubbornly, as if it to do so would make everything real. "They'll be happy. We'll be happy. Like I was happy before."

There was a moment of silence before she lifted her head to peer at him. "Tell me about when you were happy. When you were a kid. I want to know."

"My father was a soldier. I joined the same regiment he was a part of. He died when I was five. I barely remember him. He was…" How long had it been since he'd tried to remember? "He was tall, like me. I remember that he had calluses on his hands, from the weapons training." Ronon closed his eyes, struggling to remember. He felt her hand on his then, lifting it from her waist and trailing her fingers over his palms, over the hands that had long ago become blunt weapons on their own. Her fingers were so small compared to his, and so gentle as she traced his own calluses. "His name was Kirnan. He was a good man."

"Kirnan. That's a good name. Strong." Grace's voice was soft. Ronon laced his fingers through hers. "Do they name children for ancestors on Sateda?"

"What about your name? Where did it come from?" Ronon opened his eyes at those words. She seemed genuinely curious, and he wasn't surprised.

He smiled a little. "My mother named me after her favorite poet. Ronon Anest. He wrote poems about nature, mostly."

"What about your mom? Tell me about her." There was something about the way her fingers felt as they traced over his face, his neck, soothing rather than erotic.

Ronon would have answered any question she posed to him in that moment, as long as she kept petting him like that. "My mother was called Anara. She was an archivist. She worked in the library, recording births, betrothal contracts, deaths, and important life events of the citizens. She also recorded the stories of soldiers who fell in service to Sateda, how they died, details of their lives. They were recorded on… I'm not sure what to call them in a way your people would understand. It was a cylinder made of wax. She was forever collecting these stories. She thought they would be the way of the future."

Grace was listening closely as he spoke, remembering things he hadn't thought of in so long. He could still remember his mother at her desk speaking into the microphone, recording the carefully transcribed notes from the older Satedans who came to have their lives remembered. He remembered her making the same recordings, almost nightly, in the kitchen of their apartment on the base where his father was stationed. "She had one of her own, one of the recording machines. After my father died, we moved closer to her job and she had a whole shelf full of them in our cellar, where they'd be safe if the Wraith came. Her entire world was on those cylinders."

Ronon's fingers tightened on hers as he realized that he was revealing more than anyone, even Melena, had ever known. He swallowed and shook his head. "I went back, not long after I got to Atlantis. It's all gone. I guess I'd hoped that maybe I'd find just one. Maybe hear her voice again, one more time. But … the entire block was burned out. It wasn't even safe to go in. There was no way anything survived."

The sadness in her expression was almost as hard to bear as the pitying looks he'd had to endure when he'd first come to Atlantis, when people had found out what the images of Sateda had contained. He wanted to hold on to the imaginary lie he'd built for them, the world and the life he'd once believed would be his, that he wanted to be theirs. "We'll go back when the war is over, Grace. We'll build a life. A happy one. We'll be happy. I promise."

This time when her hands came to rest on his face, she cut him off with a kiss. It was a gentle contact, the barest touch of her lips to his. Ronon wanted to pull away, wanted to convince her of the truth of his words as badly as he wanted to convince himself. It was then that he felt the first stirrings of anger in her touch. The kiss turned hard, her teeth biting at his lips, her tongue sweeping over the little drop of blood that rose. Gods, they were a fucked up pair.

She spoke the words that he knew would come next, just as he knew the indisputable truth of them. "It's a lie." He shook his head in denial but she cut him off. "It's a beautiful, wonderful lie, Ronon."

The anger now bubbled up inside him. He gripped her hips with both hands. "I know." He wouldn't survive this war. There would be no home with his people. There would be no babies with bright blue eyes and a stubborn streak as wide as the Satedan sky. There would be no future for him. But he wanted to hold on to that dream for just a few minutes. Instead, her words had collapsed them, and all that remained was the anger. The simmering rage that boiled beneath his new life, haunting him every second of every day. "I knew from the moment I saw her die, that there would never be a Sateda worth going back to without her. The only thing that matters now Grace, is taking out every one of those abominations with me before they finally kill me."

She winced as his fingers bit into her hips. Her eyes flashed with a sadness that was entirely her own. "That's why this has to end, Ronon. That's why this has to stop now."

He froze, her meaning, her horrible calm acceptance of his words. She'd let him make a fool of himself, let him go on and on about the lie he wanted to believe so desperately. Her own nails were pricks of pain against the backdrop of more pain, digging into his shoulders as she leaned closer. "We have to end this before we get so deep we can never walk away."

"No." He intoned softly, surprised when her hand rose to grip his throat in a surprisingly strong grasp. He lifted his chin, his heart quickening as he fought the visceral urge to fight, to throw her off him and pin her down, to fuck her until both of them forgot the truth. Ronon bared his teeth as she leaned closer. "I need you, Grace."

For the first time ever, he saw an anger in those lovely eyes that matched his own. "And I need a man who's capable of loving me that way I should be loved."

Those words tore through him and the unadulterated rage he heard in her voice matched his own. It fed and fueled his fury as he wrapped her hair around one hand, fisting it as he dragged her head down to claim her lips. Instead of pushing him away, slapping him as he knew he deserved, she met his savagery with her own. Her fingers tightened at his throat, squeezing for a moment as if she wanted to strangle him.

Their tongues fought for dominance, no teasing, no playful chase. It was a war between them, mounting anger and dancing madness as she employed teeth and nails to express the indignation that her usually eloquent words couldn't seem to express. Ronon gripped her t-shirt, ripping it over her head as her own hands tugged at the tank he wore. It all became a blur of passion and bitterness as he rolled her beneath him, pinning her hands over her head and feasting on her breasts. She gave a low growl and tore her hands from beneath his as pushed him away, throwing him off her with a move that he'd taught her himself, just last week.

Ronon hit the ground, surprise ripping through him, the wind knocked from him. She was on him in the next instant, her fingers working at his belt as she hurled the words at him like sharp stones meant to bruise. "How many Wraith have you killed?"

"Hundreds." He panted out the answer as he lifted his hips, letting her clever hands jerk his pants down over his hips. He pushed himself up on his elbows, hissing the words as a command. "Take your clothes off. All of them."

She shook her head slowly, her lips curving upward into a cold smile. "Big, bad, brave Ronon Dex."

His brow drew down as her fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking him in exactly the right way. She knew him, knew his body, knew what he needed. His mouth dropped open as he watched her through half-lidded eyes. "Don't fuck with me right now, a'ko."

"How many men, Ronon? How many men have you killed? Do you even know the number? Is it more or less than the hundreds of Wraith?" She lowered her head, giving his cock a slow, deliberate lick from root to tip.

He groaned, reaching for her, wanting to push her head onto his cock, needing more. Instead, she smacked it away with more force than he anticipated, her voice husky with a venom he'd never heard before. "Answer me, Ronon. How many?"

"I- I don't… know." He gasped out loud when her lips closed over the head and the heat of her mouth finally gave him what he wanted. And still it wasn't enough. He didn't even dare ask her why she would demand to know such a strange thing because for her to answer, it meant losing the sweet suction of her mouth on him, her tongue molding to his shaft as she had that first night, months ago. He gave a deep groan when he felt the tip hit the back of her throat. He remembered like it was a heartbeat ago, what it had felt like to feel her swallowing him, swallowing his release, to her quiet admission minutes later that she'd enjoyed it.

His hips jerked involuntarily as she lifted her head, stroking him slowly. When she released him from her mouth, he could only speak her name in a ragged plea. "Grace. What the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm taking what I want. Like you always do. Like you've done from that first time. This is all I have, Ronon. It's far less than I deserve, but it's what I have. And it's all you can give me, so I'll take what I want. Because you're a fucking coward who isn't capable give me anything else." There was a raw, primal maliciousness to her words, nothing to ease the sudden aching swell of understanding.

The deluge of emotion, all of it too powerful, flood through him. He knew exactly what she meant. He gave a snarl as he rose and gripped her hips in a sudden movement. She yelped and her laugh was as dark as any of his own. "I'm the coward, Grace?" He taunted as his fingers moved, unbuttoning her trousers and jerking them down over her hips, exposing the unblemished flesh of her perfect ass. "You're the one who hides everything you really feel behind those perfect manners. It's the mask you wear because you're too damn scared to show people how you really feel. Who's the coward here, sweetheart?" He slung an arm low around her waist as he hauled her back to press her bared body against his, watching as she kicked off her clothing.

"I hate you." She hissed as she dug her nails into his forearm, drawing blood. She turned in the circle of his grasp, reaching between them to grip his cock. Ronon gripped her ass, lifting her easily to allow her to position his throbbing shaft at her entrance.

His other hand rose to tangle in her hair, wrenching her head back to force her to meet his eyes. "No. You don't. And that's the problem, isn't it? You can't hate me. No matter how much you want to. Just like I can't let her go, no matter how much I want to." He broke off in a gasp of pleasure as her slick walls opened to him. "So good. You always feel so good."

"Fuck you, Ronon." He saw the tears that gathered in her eyes as she dug her nails into the back of his neck, steadying herself as she began to rise off him. "I…" Whatever she'd been about to say was broken by a low, throaty moan that made him throb as she slid back down onto him slowly.

"Faster. Move faster, Grace." His fingers dug into her scalp and he offered her no quarter as she rose off him again, her supple breasts tracking fire over the bare skin of his own chest. He groaned, long and agonized as she tortured him slowly. She was hellbent on killing him slowly as she rode him with the pace she wanted.

Everything in Ronon screamed to end it, to take control in this twisted little power struggle that connected them more deeply than tenderness, than the lies and dreams. He settled a hand at her hip, letting his fingers bite into tender flesh. "Faster, Woman!" He snapped out the words, as he hissed out a breath.

"You don't get to tell me what to do, Ronon. I already told you, this is about what I want, about me taking what I… what I… I…" Her eyes drifted closed and her head fell back as he felt the shudder go through her. He rolled his hips beneath her once more before he rose up just enough to dump her on the ground on her back, his fingers digging into her ass as he began to move faster. She was close. He could feel it. He knew her body as well as he knew his own now. Ronon sought out her lips in a kiss, devouring her mouth with a ferocity he'd not needed to unleash on her in weeks.

He knew every inch of her body. He knew what it was to possess this woman, to call her his own, and damned if he was letting her go. Fuck love. Fuck dreams. Fuck lies. Fuck everything but this moment, where he found relief. And accept him she did. With every hard thrust into her body, with every sharp cry of anger that became a plea. When her fists beat against his chest as he bent her body of his pleasure beneath him, when she raged with her words between moans, when he tasted her tears and his own. When he felt her body tensing around him, then uncoiling as her release tore through her, and when he followed her over that edge seconds later.

As he emptied himself inside her, filling her with all he was able, wishing he could grant her the words she needed, the words she deserved, wishing that it was possible that the wonderful lies could be soothing truths. And in the moments that followed, as he buried her face in her neck, listened to her rapid breaths that mingled with his own ragged pants, the creeping realization that began at the base of his spine, coiled low in his belly, and constricted his racing heart.

Her arms were tight around him, her ankles still locked around his hips. She clung to him, as if afraid to let go. He nuzzled against her cheek, wishing he was a more eloquent man, wishing he knew the words to say. Instead, he spoke the only words he could. "Please don't go." Something inside him broke open, like a dam. The need for this woman slammed into him. He needed her like he needed breath. He needed her solace, her warmth, her fucking peace. Ronon lifted his head, doing his best to keep his voice steady, though it was raw and greedy to his own ears. "Stay."

She stared up at him and he could see the hesitation in her eyes. His fogged brain scrambled for something, anything to convince her of the truth. "The only time I'm not angry is when you're near me. It's the only time I can sleep without nightmares. It's the only time that I dare to hope that my life can be something more than just fighting and running. If you go, you'll take all that with you. Promise you won't take that from me."

She drew in a long breath and pressed a shaking hand to his cheek. "You still don't get it."

"I want to. I want to understand. Help me understand." He fought the urge to shake her, even as he sat up, reaching for his pants. "Tell me what I can do to convince you, and I'll do it."

She pushed herself into a seated position and rose unsteadily to her feet, dressing wordlessly. It wasn't until he'd pushed his feet into his boots and stepped toward her once more, his hand coming to rest at her hip that he dared to speak again. "Grace. Help me understand. What did I do?"

There was a moment before she nodded, as if deciding something. Finally, she lifted her eyes to his, and framed his face with her hands, tugging him down for a soft kiss. It was a kiss that would have usually soothed him, especially after the intimacy they'd just shared. Everytime he had her, it only got better, only made him need her more. Her words were quiet. "She's gone, Ronon. And you need to grieve that loss. You need to let yourself grieve or you will never be able to move on."

Understanding settled over him with sickening clarity. He could only stare at her in stunned silence as she rested a hand over his heart. "There's no room for me here. It's not about love. It's not about whether the marriage rites and the vow you made is real or not. It's about that one simple fact. You can't move on until you let yourself mourn her and Sateda."

His hand shook when he covered it with her own. "But I will love you, Grace. I will. When the war is-"

She stepped back, covering her face with her hands. "It will never be over. Not for you. The Wraith could all disappear tomorrow and it won't be over for you. That's what I'm saying. I thought I was damaged beyond repair by my parent's brand of love. But then I met you. And you got under my skin. You contradict yourself at every turn. You'll love me when it's over. You have baby names picked out for children you never expect to have. You ask me to stay with you. And for what? A promise that you made because some perverted old men forced you to? Do you think that's the kind of marriage I want?"

She pushed at him suddenly, taking him by surprise. Ronon stumbled back a half-step before regaining his balance. "That's the difference between us, Ronon. You want to love me but you won't let yourself. I don't want to love you, but I can't stop myself. And that's not how it should be."

He couldn't find the words and so he just nodded. "I don't understand."

"And until you let herself actually mourn for the woman you do love, you never will." She shook her head and then stepped around him. "I'm going to bed." He turned to fall into step with her, only to be stopped by one slender hand lifting in the air. "Alone."

In the end, Ronon could do nothing but watch her go.