Ronon shouldered aside another person from the unending throng that filled the city streets. New Orleans wasn't that different from the capital city of Sateda. There were just as many people, if not more, the sounds of the city around him overwhelming, making it difficult to focus on where he was going. As he came to a stop at a corner, he heard the familiar voice calling out to him. "Hey! Wait up! Ronon! Stop!"
He stared at the light with the small icon of a person on it, and then glanced at the road. More foot traffic than cars coming. Ronon stuffed his hands into his pockets, fists balled up as he began to force his way through the crowd. He wasn't quite fast enough, and a hand gripped his upper arm, dragging him back onto the sidewalk just as a bright yellow car zipped past where he'd just been standing.
"What the hell, man? You nearly got hit by a cab." Lorne's voice was filled with consternation.
Ronon shook off the hand that was lingering too long on his arm. "Don't touch me." He snapped.
Lorne frowned at him. "I take it the talk didn't go well."
"Fuck off." Ronon growled as he spun to face the other man. "Why are you even here?"
"Uhhh, because Sheppard wouldn't let you off the base without an escort, remember? His exact words were 'make sure he doesn't snap'." It didn't help Ronon's dark mood that Lorne used air quotes. Maybe he really was going crazy.
Ronon didn't even dignify the reminder with a response, just turned to head down the sidewalk, making his way blindly away from the crowd. His mind spun with the harsh revelations he'd encountered after stepping inside the store bearing the name "A New Chapter". He'd been anxious and jittery all morning as he'd eaten his way across the city, working up the nerve to see her. Or that could have been the caffeine. By the time the store had come into sight, he'd also been stupidly hopeful.
Actually laying eyes on Grace again, it was like being sucker punched. The first sight of her had stolen his breath. How had he forgotten just how beautiful she was? Her hair was shorter now, barely brushing her shoulders. He'd always loved her hair. His fingers had itched to touch it before he'd even spoken.
For a few scant seconds he'd hoped he still affected her as deeply as she did him. The physical response to her nearness had been painfully visceral. But her words, her explanations were like a bucket of cold water, chilling him to the bone and dimming whatever foolish pipe dreams he'd carried with him into the shop.
Lorne wisely chose to keep his mouth shut as Ronon stalked down the sidewalk in silence for long minutes. She wasn't even willing to sit down to talk. She'd simply ordered him to leave, like it meant nothing. He'd tried to move on, so damn hard. Repeatedly. Jennifer had been nothing but a flare of momentary attraction, something that died the moment he realized that McKay, of all people, was more the good doctor's speed. It was her kindness that drew him. He realized that about three seconds after walking away from a bald-faced rejection.
Amelia had been harder to process. She was kind, yes. But that hadn't even made it past the first date. She'd let him down as gently as she could. Although her definition of gently was still a sting. They'd had dinner together after he was released from the infirmary, and then he'd walked her back to her quarters. The second he'd tried to kiss her, he'd known it was useless. It felt like a betrayal from the first moment he'd pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. It was like kissing Teyla. Or what he imagined kissing Teyla would feel like. Wrong in every fucking way. Ronon came to a stop, turning to stare at his reflection in a shop window.
He'd genuinely like Banks. She was smart, tough as nails, and could more than handle herself in a fight. And when the light hit her hair just right, it was the same shade as… Ronon tugged his hands from his pockets, covering his face as he gave a growl of frustration. It was always wrong because it wasn't her. It wasn't Grace. It wasn't HIS grace.
"You want a haircut or something?" Lorne's voice interrupted his train of thought.
He turned to give the other man a hard glare. "You're still here?"
Lorne shrugged. "Literally my one job right now. You're staring at the barber shop pretty intently. If you want a trim, I'm happy to wait."
"If it'll shut you up." Ronon turned for the door, holding up a hand to forestall Lorne's obvious attempt to follow. "Alone. You can watch through the window like a good little puppy."
The other man's face morphed into a genuinely offended expression. "Jesus Christ. You don't have to be a dick about it. I'm just trying to help you here."
"Yeah?" Ronon felt not a shred of guilt as he lifted his hand to flip Lorne off. "You can help by backing the hell off. I don't need a fucking babysitter while I get a haircut."
Lorne took a step back, exhaling harshly. "I'm just saying… I'm here for you, man. That's all."
Ronon shook his head as he jerked the door to the building open, spitting the words at his friend. "You wanna help me?"
Evan nodded, as he gestured widely. "Yeah. That's why I'm here, Ronon."
"You can help me by fucking off." With that he stepped into the building and stalked his way to the counter, where a young woman was staring at him as if afraid he was going to bite. He snarled his request for a seat at her. Her eyes widened and for a moment, he felt a flare of guilt for scaring her. He drew out the wallet Sheppard had loaned him and fished out one of the green bills inside, tossing the one with the highest denomination on the counter by way of apology.
Her vivid hazel eyes were as wide as saucers as she led him to a chair in the back and directed him to take a seat. By the time he told her to take her time, he'd calmed enough to focus. Just enough to utter the answer to her question, his voice dark and unrecognizable to his own ears. "All of it."
Just when Evan Lorne thought there was nothing in the universe left that could surprise him, Ronon Dex stepped out of an overpriced hair salon damn near bald. He stared without blinking at the other man as he pushed past him and back onto the sidewalk. His goatee was smartly trimmed, but it was the wildly curling hair that haloed around his head that had Evan stammering out something that he hoped came out as a compliment. How in the fuck was it possible that Ronon looked even more savage than before?
His supportive comment on the other man's newly shorn locks were answered with another tongue lashing, this one invoking his ancestors and their lineage. Sighing, he fell into step beside Ronon, doing his best to guide the large, brooding Satedan back toward their hotel. Once there, he watched as Ronon headed straight for the bar. He lingered in the doorway, observing his friend gesturing to the bottle of Macallan.
Inhaling sharply, Lorne shook his head. "Oh shit." Ronon wasn't usually a big spender. This was evidenced by the fact that he'd been wearing the same three pairs of pants on repeat since the day they'd met, and the same two pairs of boots. The one thing he'd learned about his friend over the years was that Ronon had zero compunction about dropping money in a tavern. And obviously, the hotel bar fell into the same category. The rooms were on his card. He could hear Ronon charging the drink to the room just as he skidded to a halt.
By the time he made it to Ronon's side, the bartender was holding the bottle out for Ronon's inspection. "I'll take all the bottles you have." They were the first words out of Ronon's mouth in two hours that were curses or snarls.
"Ah, buddy. Maybe go for well whiskey, if you really need to-" He was cut off by a scathing glare sent in his direction. And damned if he didn't actually still wonder why those worked on him. After all, Ronon had never actually hurt him. Well, except for the time he'd shot him when he'd been infected by that dream…thing.
He cleared his throat, flashing the bartender his most charming smile, then rested a hand on Ronon's shoulder. "That's a really expensive bottle you're reaching for. Opening. Aaaaaand drinking- no, gulping from."
Holy shit. He'd never known it was humanly possible to drink so much straight liquor without flinching, but Ronon stood there right in front of him and downed half the fucking bottle. When he lowered it, he reached for the other two and turned his gaze to Lorne, unimpressed by Evan's gaping at him. Lorne croaked out the words. "That's like four hundred bucks a bottle, Ronon. What are you trying to do?"
"Black out." His friend answered promptly, his other hand reaching out to snag the other two bottles the bartender had placed for him. "You wanted to be a good friend. Here's your chance. Pay the tab. I'm going to my room. I won't answer the door."
"Christ, Ronon! I am not paying for-" But it was too late, the Satedan was already working on the remainder of the first bottle of top shelf single malt scotch as he strode back into the lobby and disappeared into the open elevator. Evan closed his eyes and groaned. Fuck. This. Shit.
Grace grinned at Anara in the rearview mirror for a moment. The tiny girl was talking excitedly about the penguins. She redirected her attention to the road and turned on her blinker, their little house coming into view. "We're home."
"Home!" Anara echoed loudly with enthusiasm. "Can I feed Bo?"
"Absolutely." Grace grinned. Her girl loved animals of any kind, especially the little red slider turtle that lived in an aquarium in their living room. The second the bright blue house came into view, Grace frowned. There was an unfamiliar car parked on the street. When she slowed, she noted the rental tags on the nondescript black sedan. Her heart skipped a beat but she tamped down on it and pulled into the driveway. It had to be someone visiting one of the neighbors.
Resolutely, she killed the car's engine and grabbed Anara's backpack. As she made her way around to the rear passenger side and opened the door, Anara's happy chatter continued, but Grace was no longer able to focus. She unbuckled the car seat and stepped aside to let the little girl climb out. Anara turned and slid down onto the floor, then unsteadily climbed out of the car backwards.
Grace's eyes were locked to the car, where the driver's door was now open. Anara held on to the seat for a moment to steady herself before she turned around and proudly reached up for her little hot pink backpack. Grace yielded it, her stomach suddenly in knots as she realized Evan Lorne had just stepped from the rental car and was striding across the small front lawn toward her. Anara took three steps and stopped to stare curiously at him.
He had changed clothes, now wearing a pair of faded jeans and a t-shirt bearing the Air Force logo. He stopped after only a handful of steps, but close enough for Grace to see the confusion written on his handsome face. Anara piped up before Grace could even think clearly enough to try to hustle her into the house. "Hi. Who are you?"
Lorne drew closer, his expression serious as he crouched in front of her daughter. "My name is Evan. I like your backpack. Who's that on there?"
Anara pulled her backpack in front of her by the strap and pointed to the colorful character. "This is Dora."
"Dora, hunh? I have a nephew about your age. He loves Dora. I hear she's pretty cool." Lorne's voice was gentle as he studied Anara closely. A moment later, his gaze flicked up to Grace and she saw the confusion fading, to be replaced by disbelief. He rose to his feet and closed the distance between them to turn a questioning gaze to Grace. "Tell me I'm wrong." And with that one simple statement, Grace's carefully constructed life blew apart.