She didn't answer him. She couldn't. Lies stacked on top of lies. That was what her entire world had become in just a few short years and she was suddenly exhausted of it. Without a word, she turned and headed for the door. Anara's gait was slow, and still a little unsteady as she followed, giving Lorne curious glances as they went. Grace unlocked the door and dropped her purse onto the hall table. Anara tossed her backpack into the basket on the floor and piped up. "I want a nanner. Bo does too."
Grace cleared her throat and nodded, forcing a bright smile. "If you want to go say hi to him, I'll get your bananas ready and bring them into the living room. You can watch TV while you eat your snack. I want to talk to my friend. Okay?"
Anara was already turning into the first room off the long hall, heading into the front room of their home. A tiny hand rose, giving her a thumbs up. Grace looked back at Lorne, who hovered in the hall behind her, staring at the empty spot where her daughter had disappeared.
She led the way past the living room and to the kitchen. She hit the button on the coffee maker to brew the pot she'd prepared that morning and then turned to snag two bananas from the bowl on the counter. Neither of them spoke until she had peeled both bananas and was cutting the second one into thin slices for the turtle.
Lorne stared at her intently as she worked from where he'd perched himself on a barstool on the other side of the island. "How old is she?"
"She just turned three in May." She glanced up to watch his brow furrow, doing the mental math. Finally she sighed and supplied the other part that wasn't so obvious. "She was born 9 weeks premature. There were complications."
He nodded slowly. "She's beautiful, Grace." To her surprise, he gave her a ghost of a smile.
Grace nodded. Her daughter was beautiful. Thick dark hair that curled around her face, almost impossible to tame into any style for long. She understood now why Ronon had opted for his signature dreadlocks. There could be no question, no doubt, that she was a miniature version of her father, right down to her quick temper and protective tendencies, especially when it came to the turtle.
She reached for the second banana, cutting it into larger chunks. "She was a complete surprise. I have… had… endometriosis. More than one doctor had told me that I couldn't get pregnant, so it never occurred to me that it might happen. So when it did…" Grace trailed off into silence, unsure of how to explain just how complicated it had been.
Evan remained quiet as she put down the knife and turned to grab a small bright blue plastic plate and sippy cup from the dish drainer. She placed the banana slices on it in two piles and turned for the fridge, retrieving the bag of grapes. As she plucked off a few, working them from the stems, she continued. "When I found out, I asked him if he wanted kids. His answer was a resounding no."
When she lifted her gaze to Lorne's face once more, his expression was grim. She shook her head, hating every moment of this conversation. "I didn't have a choice. Ronon made it very clear that the only thing he was capable of focusing on was destroying the Wraith. There was no room for children. There was no room for me."
He opened his mouth to respond, but she held up a finger as she filled the cup with water. She carried the snack and cup into the living room to find Anara standing in front of the aquarium, watching as Bo clambered onto the little raft that floated on top of the water. "Mom! He did it!"
Grace bit her lower lip and placed the plate on the coffee table, moving to crouch beside her daughter, watching as the turtle finally managed to get onto the driftwood raft. "Wow. Look at that. He practiced and practiced and finally did it."
"Like my feet!" Anara beamed as she reached to touch the glass gently.
"Just like your feet." Grace brushed aside a curl from Anara's forehead and dropped a kiss to the top of her head. "Eat your snack and feed Bo while I visit with my friend."
Anara turned and made her way across the room with her usual slow gait. Grace rose to her feet and drew in a deep breath, turning to head back to the kitchen only to find Lorne standing in the doorway, watching her daughter as she walked. To his credit, there was only understanding in his eyes, rather than pity. Grace brushed past him and headed back for the kitchen.
By the time she was pouring coffee into two mugs, he had resumed his spot at the island. "Complications, hunh?"
Grace leaned on the counter, watching him steadily. "Ataxic cerebral palsy, that's the official diagnosis. But she's doing well. She's walking on her own and her reflexes are a lot better than they were even a year ago. Her balance is still an issue, but that's always going to be the case to some extent."
Lorne exhaled heavily and lifted the mug, wrapping his fingers around it. "No wonder you were panicking this morning. I had no idea."
She shrugged. "You couldn't have. My life is complicated, Evan. That little girl in there is my entire world."
He blew across the mug, watching her carefully. Grace continued as gently as she could. "You have to understand why I can't do this. I can't have another conversation with Ronon and you can't let him believe there's a chance that will change. You need to finish your coffee and take him back to Atlantis, and never speak of what you saw here."
Perhaps not the best moment to drop that little gem. Lorne choked mid-swallow, spewing coffee all over the island's countertop. Grace sighed and reached out to rip a paper towel off the roll, handing it to him to clean up his mess.
He was still coughing even as he wiped up the evidence of his spit-take. By the time he was tossing it into the garbage, he had caught his breath enough to push the words out. "You want me to lie to him?"
"I never said lie." The defensive tone crept in despite her resolve to remain calm. "I'm telling you that you need to leave and mind your own business. And you need to take Ronon with you. My life stopped being any of his concern the second he begged me to make the choice to leave him because he was too much of a coward to do it himself."
Lorne jabbed a finger at the counter. "A lie of omission is still a lie, Grace. Ronon has the right to know he has a child."
Grace shook her head, the frustration rising. "What am I supposed to do? Pack up my daughter and take her to Atlantis? What about when they clear the city to head back to Pegasus? I should just take her back to a place that had been repeatedly attacked by the Wraith. Christ, Evan, she can't even run away from them. And nothing's changed. The Wraith aren't defeated, are they? Ronon made it very clear he couldn't-"
"That's bullshit and you know it." He spoke softly, but she knew if there weren't a kid in the other room, he would have yelled it. Grace stared at him. He continued quietly. "Ronon died. And if that Wraith hadn't wanted to interrogate him, he'd still be dead. Never having known his own kid. There is no rationale or justification that could make what you're asking of me okay. It's wrong and you know it. Period."
She opened her mouth to speak only to have him repeat himself, an unexpected venom in his voice. "Ronon. Fucking. Died."
Grace closed her eyes against the harsh reality of those words. Lorne's voice was still hard and angry. "I watched him bleed out on the floor of a hive ship. I watched the life drain from his eyes. I saw him literally lay down his life for a planet that isn't his, to save a people that weren't his. It wasn't just a close call. It wasn't just a near death experience. I watched your husband literally fucking die."
"He's not my-" She fell silent as he slanted a glance at her.
"We aren't arguing about fucking semantics. He's here because he has to be, and he isn't okay. And you are not freeing him. You're stealing his life from him. And that's no different than what happened on that hive ship." Lorne's face was flushed as he finished.
Fuck. He was right. He was right about all of it. Grace blinked back tears for the dozenth time that day. "I know it's not ideal."
"It's wrong, Grace. You know it's wrong." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "I won't be a party to causing more pain to a man I respect the hell out of. And if you ever loved him, even for a moment, you won't either. If you don't tell him, I will."
She leaned on the island, burying her face in her hands. Her heart was pounding. It was the same argument she'd been having with herself for years. It would have been so easy to send an email or a message, to ask for him to come to her. And God, how she'd wanted to. For the first three months of Anara's life, with every close call, with every milestone. She had wished she wasn't alone.
"I never considered you a coward, Gracie." Lorne's voice was no longer venomous and when she looked up at him, his expression was sympathetic, a stark contrast to his words. "So don't be one now."
Grace stood outside the door, staring at the room number. There was no sound from the other side of the door, although she wasn't she would have been able to hear it over the sound of her racing heart. She swallowed hard and unlocked the door, hands shaking, with the key Lorne had given her. It opened almost silently, and when she entered the room, at first she thought it was empty.
The bed was unoccupied save for a black duffel bag that lay open on the white duvet. A large pair of boots and socks were abandoned on the floor, the black t-shirt she'd seen Ronon wearing that morning was discarded on the bed. The only source of light was from the bathroom and the streetlights outside. A voice startled her from the other side of the room, an angry snarl. "I told you to leave me the fuck alone."
Grace lowered the keycard, placing it down on the small table as she closed the door behind her. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw him in profile. He'd turned a plush chair to face the window, a small table beside it. He was slouched in the chair, his bare feet propped on the sill of the open window that overlooked Royal street. Two bottles, one empty, one full, sat on the table. His voice came again, softer, but no less angry. "She told me to leave. She wouldn't even fucking talk to me."
Her eyes lowered to the floor as she stepped forward. Ronon tipped the bottle he held upward, taking a long pull. It was already half empty. She slipped off her shoes and padded across the room barefoot. When she got within a few feet of him and was able to see him clearly, surprise tore through her. His hair… his dreadlocks were gone. His hair was now only a few inches long, loose waves curling on top of his head. He was handsome before, but now… he was stunning. Grace was totally unprepared for the want that ripped through her entire body, lighting her nerve endings on fire with the need to touch him.
"Told me to leave and never come back." He said softly, toying with the label of the bottle he was nursing. "She'd been planning to leave me all along. I didn't even get to say goodbye."
Grace's heart was breaking all over again. She drew in a deep breath and stepped forward, closing the distance between them. She'd come here to tell him the truth. She had promised Lorne that she would. But the little courage she'd managed to muster was now fading, and quickly as she reached around him to wrap her fingers around the neck of the bottle.
His grip tightened, his voice growing angry once more. "Get your own fucki-" He instantly fell silent as he registered her much smaller hand, the neatly kept nails painted a pale pink. "Gracie?" Her name was little more than an agonized breath.
When he tipped his head back and met her gaze, she could see the red flush to his cheeks, even in the dim light of the room. He released the bottle wordlessly, watching as she tipped it up. It turned out that good scotch burned just as much going down as cheap scotch.
He was watching her without moving, as if he'd forgotten to breathe. A second later, she heard a harsh laugh. "Lorne made you come here." It was a statement, rather than a question. "I told the fucker to mind his own business. He's too fucking helpful. Worst wingman in history."
Ronon muttered the words darkly. "You shouldn't have come here."
It was the edge to his voice that made her pause as she lowered the bottle. "I thought you wanted to talk." She countered, then lifted the bottle again, needing the fortification of the liquid within. It settled in her stomach, warming her low in her belly.
He reached out and took it back. "That was this morning. Now, I want to drink. So please… fuck off."
Grace exhaled slowly, then snatched the bottle back. Another couple of pulls and she placed it down on the table, empty. Ronon reached for the second one, his eyes locking to her face as he rose from the chair. He had always been tall, imposing, but now, she was scared shitless. He wouldn't hurt her, she knew that bone deep. But he was angry, and drunk. And fuck it, she was angry too. But more than angry, she was guilty of wronging this man on so many levels. "You were right. We do need to talk."
"Tried that already, remember?" He snapped as he broke the seal. "I tried it three and a half years ago."
"You told me to make the choice." She pointed out.
He scoffed and tossed the seal down onto the table beside the two empty bottles. "Don't. Just don't." He began to work the cork from the bottle, his stormy eyes narrowed on hers. "I'm too angry to begin to have this conversation right now. I mean, there's no fucking point, is there?"
He was right. There was no point. It wouldn't change anything. Grace lowered her eyes to the floor, shame and guilt burning her cheeks as much as the alcohol. "I don't know what you want from me, Ronon."
"I told you what I want. And when I'm sober, that's what I'll still want. But right now, I'm so angry, all I want to do is make you fucking regret leaving me as much as I regret making you go." He took a step forward, his gaze hardening. She could smell the scotch and strangely, she didn't find it repugnant as she usually would have. It mingled with the scent that was so entirely Ronon.
God, she ached instantly with a desire so strong she couldn't begin to filter her words. "I regret it every day." The words slipped from her lips so quietly, she wasn't sure she'd even said them until he froze.
She reached for the bottle, pulling it from his stiff fingers and lifted it to her lips. She drank long and deep, grateful that the edge of sobriety was starting to fade. She'd always been a lightweight. "Don't fuck with me right now." Ronon's voice was a strangled whisper.
"It's the truth." Grace lifted her eyes to meet his own once more. "I deserve your anger, Ronon. I deserve your hatred, and I understand that you want to hurt me. I deserve that too."
Those ever expressive eyes locked with hers, shifting with something she couldn't quite pinpoint. He lifted a hand and touched her face, fingertips barely grazing her skin. "You think I want to hurt you?" He reached for the bottle, gently taking it from her and lifting it to his lips. This time, he offered it back to her when he was done. He waited until she had finished and passed it back to him to speak again. "I want to punish you, so yeah, I guess I do want to hurt you."
"Pain is honest." Grace closed her eyes, lifting her hand to cover his. His fingers were warm against her face as she turned to press a kiss to his palm. It was ridiculous how much she had missed this complicated man.
"I want to hate you right now. But I can't even look at you without remembering… everything." Honest and honorable to his core.
His fingers flexed beneath her palm before he tore his hand away from hers and took a step back. He shook his head and lifted the bottle once more, this time drinking as long and deep as she had. When he lowered it again, his voice was raw. "You need to leave, a'ko."
"I can't. Not without-" She was stunned when Ronon slammed the bottle down onto the table and rounded on her. He was in her space then, his hands lifting. He plunged one into her hair and slid the other around her waist. His lips crashed down onto hers and just like that, her world went into yet another tailspin.