Grace knew the second she pulled up to the house that something wasn't right. The black Harley parked at the curb was the first clue. No one in her neighborhood owned a motorcycle, let alone had a reason to park it in front of her house. She killed the engine, glancing toward the front door, only to find it cracked open, a sliver of light shining through the storm door.
She killed the engine, glancing back to where Anara sat in the back seat playing on her tablet, then back to the front door. She swallowed hard and pressed her lips into a thin line, reaching for her cell phone. "Anara, I want to go check something inside. Stay here and don't move until I come back, okay?"
Anara nodded without glancing up as her fingers moved over the screen. While Grace didn't care for the screen time, Anara's physical therapist had recommended several apps that were good for hand eye coordination, intended to focus on incremental increases of speed that were supposed to be good for reflex improvement.
Grace palmed her keys, placing each one between her fingers, ready to do damage to the intruder, if there was an intruder. There was also the possibility that Mrs. Robinson from next door had come inside for some reason. After all, she had the only spare key, and the woman had left the front door open more than once. Grace gripped her cell phone and exited the car, making her way up the steps. She pulled open the screen door, wincing as it squeaked loudly as it always did. Fuck. Now she wished she had fixed that.
"Hello?" She called out softly. "Is anyone here?" She stepped inside cautiously, glancing around. Except for the hallway light being on, nothing appeared to have been disturbed. She paused and listened carefully for any sound, but there was only the quiet hum of the air conditioner and the bubbling sound from the aquarium. She moved cautiously to the stairs, peeking up to find nothing amiss, everything still and silent. Her shoulders began to relax as she made her way down the hall. Every room seemed untouched with nothing missing.
She headed for the fridge pulling it open to find a bottle of water gone, and a package of roast beef from the deli open. Grace exhaled in relief. It had been Mrs. Robinson. The old lady was sweet but had a penchant for mild abuse of her spare key privileges. It wasn't the first time the old lady had made herself a sandwich and taken it upon herself to check on things. Just last week she'd fed Bo little pieces of apple and made brownies.
Grace exhaled in relief and turned, heading once more for the door. When she returned a few minutes later, Anara following behind her, happily chatting up a storm, she was smiling again. Her daughter made quiet demand for a snack and then headed straight for the aquarium to greet her turtle. It wasn't until Grace was heading back out of the kitchen, a plate bearing a peanut butter sandwich and sliced fruit in her hand, that she stopped cold. The nail usually held a snapshot from Anara's first trip to the beach, her favorite picture. Now, the nail was empty.
Her heart kicked into overdrive as she stared at the empty nail. The sound of the TV coming on startled her from her thoughts. Dora the Explorer sang the backpack song. Grace closed her eyes against the sudden anxiety that empty nail had produced and turned for the living room. Anara sat kneeling in front of the coffee table, her crayons and coloring books scattered on its surface. She placed the cup of milk and the plate down, turning from the room without a word.
She knew the second she stepped back out into the hallway that her first instinct that something was wrong was correct. Sitting as still as a statue on a step, staring through the open French doors of the living room, eyes locked to her face, sat Ronon Dex.
It had taken her several hours to get back but the second he'd heard the car in the driveway, he'd sprinted up the stairs. He wanted to see the girl, his daughter. He'd watched from the head of the stairs, cloaked by the darkness of Grace's loft bedroom, as Grace had searched the house, then headed back out. His first glimpse at his child was as she came through the door, trailing after her mother. It was, without a doubt, the same child that was in the picture he'd taken out of the frame and folded in half, carefully tucking it into his pocket.
She was tall for her age, like he'd always been. Her curls were tucked back into a braid that had probably been neat when she'd left the house that morning, but was now half-down and wild around her little face. Ronon could clearly make out her sweet voice asking for a sandwich and a banana. He'd crept down the stairs, taking a seat on the first one where he could watch her. She limped slightly, her movements sluggish. Her coordination was clearly impaired and she used great care with every step.
By the time he settled himself on the step, she was talking to the turtle, filling the creature in on what she'd done that day. A few minutes later, she made her way out of Ronon's view for a few minutes, before returning to place down a coloring book and some crayons, kneeling down and reaching for the remote that lay on the coffee table. A few seconds later, the sound of a kid's program filtered into the air.
Ronon watched her closely, his brow drawing into a frown as he watched her grip the crayon, her movements slow but determined as she began to work on her self-assigned task. Any doubts he may have had about her parentage were erased the second he saw her tongue poke out of the corner of her mouth. It was that one thing that eradicated any lingering doubts. This was his child. He'd done the same damn thing until he was nearly seven. Sometimes, he still found himself poking his tongue into his cheek when he was engrossed in something.
His heart kicked up a notch as he watched her. She was so beautiful. Her bone structure was delicate like Grace's, her heart-shaped face and the shape of her eyes were all her mother's. Even down to the stubborn set of her jaw as she concentrated on her coloring. But her complexion was darker than Grace's, like his own. There were other signs, smaller ones. Her cheekbones were high like his, her single-minded focus on her task, the seriousness in her gaze as she laid down the blue crayon and reached for a green one. This was his kid. His baby girl.
Ronon fought for breath, his attention diverted from the girl as he heard footsteps. Grace was carrying a small brightly colored plastic cup with a lid and a plate with a sandwich and sliced fruit. Ronon watched as she approached the child and placed the snack down, commenting gently on her coloring and pressed a kiss to the top of the tiny girl's head. He knew she knew he was there. When she stepped to the doorway of the living room, her eyes landed on him and the color drained from her face.
Ronon let his eyes wander back to the girl, then back to Grace and he cocked a brow. He could see her trembling as she stepped forward, her lips pressed into a grim line. He shifted, tugging the picture from his pocket and unfolding it, holding it up for her to see. He kept his voice as soft as he could, despite the anger that rose now that he was face to face with her, reading from the words inked on the back of the photo. "Anara Dex Becque. Carolina Beach. 2nd birthday."
The date was from barely more than a year before. Ronon flipped it over to stare at the image once more. He pronounced the words again as he turned it around, each one its own damning sentence. "Anara. Dex. Becque." He rose to his feet slowly, bracing one hand on the railing as he pushed the picture closer to Grace's pale face. His voice was hard with still-simmering rage. "Anara." He repeated. "Dex." He hissed his last name at her, watching as Grace flinched when he did so again for emphasis. "Dex."
Without waiting for her to respond, he drew his hand back and straightened, turning to stalk up the stairs, knowing she would follow without further prompting. She had a lot to answer for and Ronon couldn't wait to hear the bullshit explanation she came up with for this one.
He remained silent until she was in her bedroom with him. He headed straight for the bedside table and flipped on the lamp, flooding the loft space with warm, golden light. His eyes tracked over the room, taking it in. It was furnished with warm wood tones, much like his home with Melena had been. A large bed, bigger than the one in his hotel room dominated the space, sending an irrational spike of jealousy through him. Had she really shared that bed with another man?
Grace was silent as she moved past him to take a seat in the leather armchair beside the french doors that overlooked the backyard. Ronon's gaze lingered on her for a moment before he turned away, pacing toward the large dresser. He came to a stop in front of it, his eyes skimming over the top, ignoring his reflection in the large mirror above it. Neither of them spoke for a long time, but his hand snaked out to lift the knife that sat beside her open jewelry box.
He recognized it instantly. A simple leather sheath with the Satedan characters for his initials. He slid out the knife he'd not even noticed had gone missing along with her. The dark wooden handle still had a low-sheen and when he tested the blade against his thumb he discovered it was razor-sharp. He traced his thumb over the markings on the blade, his full name etched by a bladesmith he'd found in a market on Belka not long after he'd come to Atlantis.
Ronon replaced the knife and returned it to its resting place. The words he needed to speak wouldn't come and Grace wasn't about to start talking if the thin set of her face was anything to go by. Finally he rested his palms on the dresser to brace himself, and asked the one question that had been plaguing him since Lorne had said the words that dropped a bomb on his world. He'd already been hanging by a thread, but now… he had no idea what to do, or how to feel other than angry.
"She's mine?" He already knew the answer, but he needed to hear her say it.
She inhaled sharply, her already somber expression growing stormy as she retorted without hesitation. "She's MINE."
Ronon's jaw clenched. "Don't play games, Grace. Not now. Just answer the question."
Grace didn't even flinch. "You already know the answer, Ronon."
"I want to hear you say it." He kept his voice as level as he could, never releasing her gaze in the mirror.
There was a moment of silence before she finally answered him, the single word coming out in a flat monotone. "Yes."
Ronon closed his eyes, letting that confirmation wash over here. "When you said there was someone else you loved more, you weren't talking about another man, were you? You were talking about her."
She swallowed, dropping her eyes away from his to stare at her lap. "Yes."
"So you'd prefer I think you'd rather be with another man than tell me about my kid? Why?" Nausea began to rise in his belly as he breathed out the answer to his own question before she could speak again. "So I'd get angry enough to leave without contacting you again."
"Yes." Another single word, but this time, her voice was softer. Ronon watched as she drew in a breath and averted her gaze to the double doors beside her. "You were never supposed to know."
Ronon pushed himself to his full height, balling his hands into fists and closing his eyes. He clenched his teeth to keep from shouting his rage, the presence of the child downstairs ever-present in his mind. He'd be damned if his daughter's first impression of him was him bellowing and raging against her mother. "You said you couldn't get pregnant. You said Beckett told you-"
"Carson was wrong." She interrupted. "Believe me, I had the same conversation with him when he told me."
That made his head snap up, realization ripping through him yet again. "You knew before you left." A second, even more sickening revelation went through him. "That's why you asked me about children. And that's… that's why you left. Because I said no. Isn't it?"
He watched the guilt rise to her face, the way the sheen of tears began to cover her vivid blue eyes. "It is." She confirmed. At least she wasn't bullshitting him anymore. "You said no."
"So you hid the truth instead of just telling me? You decided to test me without giving me all the facts? How the fuck was I supposed to pass that test, Grace? Why the hell would you do that?" The questions spewed forth now, though he kept his voice low. "You looked me in the eye, knowing you were carrying my child and you made the choice not to tell me. How the fuck could you do that?"
He watched as she dropped her head, covering her face with both hands as the first sniffle came. Ronon couldn't bring himself to care about her feelings though. He forged onward. "You lied to me about there being someone else to hide my kid from me. My child, Grace. My daughter."
The grief in her voice was palpable when she spoke. "You're right. And I have no excuse."
The admission did little to soothe his rage. He dropped into the edge of the bed, staring at her as he fought for control. "I've missed years of her life, Grace. I didn't get to be there when she took her first breath, or her first steps. I didn't get to hear her say her first words. I didn't get to help you through labor or plan her naming day. I didn't get to present her to the Satedan elders so they could do a proper blessing ceremony. You took that from me, without even giving me a choice."
The tears streamed down her face unchecked now and she kept her eyes closed, as if to do so would ease the sting of his words. "You didn't even give her my name, as if she were some kind of a bastard. I didn't get to sing to her of her grandparents and her heritage, or rock her to sleep when she was fussy. I didn't get to hold her, Grace. I've got a daughter and I've never even held her."
That tore him apart more than anything. He didn't even know his own child. His wife, however, was now sobbing silently without restraint. The first bit of pity for her began to rise, but the anger and the regret were so much more prominent that he continued. His voice was now softer, the words flowing from him as he stared at the picture he still held. "I don't know anything about her. I don't know her favorite foods, I don't know her nicknames, I don't know any of it and I have no idea what to do with that, Grace."
Ronon traced a thumb over the image. "I told you to leave. I knew the second I said it that it was a mistake, but I couldn't change anything. I had to fight. It turned out that Teyla was right all along." A rueful, humorless huff of laughter escaped him. "She was fucking right."
Grace sniffled, then her voice came, soft and curious. "What was Teyla right about?"
Ronon glanced up at her, answering her with a sad smile. "She told me that if I gave up the chance at happiness with you, if I gave up the life we could have together, that the Wraith had already won. She said that I was living a dead man's life if I didn't let myself have joy. I told her she was full of shit, but now, it turns out she was right."
When had it all gotten so fucking complicated? "I sent you away and then I blamed you for leaving. But it was my fault. And you thought you didn't have a choice, so you left and took our child with you. That's my fault too. You didn't-"
"I had a choice, Ronon. Don't take the guilt onto yourself. I made the choice. I made it before you ever said-" Grace's voice broke on the last words. She cleared her throat and tried again. "I hated myself, even as I did it. You didn't ask for any of it. Not the marriage, not the baby, not my feelings. You were never anything less than honest with me and I didn't want to derail you from your goals over something that wasn't your fault."
"But it was my fault, Grace." Ronon interjected, his voice bearing in it the regret and pain of the past three years. "We created her together and she would have been the best part of my life and yours. And instead, because I was too selfish to let go of my need for revenge, I lost you both."
He bowed his head, his gaze lowering to the floor. Ronon had never been a big believer in fate, or a higher power. But this… was something that made a man reconsider. He knew, without a doubt, that this was why he'd been brought back from the dead. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, pushing the words out. "I'm going to have Lorne book the flight back to San Francisco tomorrow."
"You're leaving?" Grace's head jerked up and she was staring at him, as if in disbelief.
Ronon answered with a slow shake of his head. "Atlantis is my home, Grace. When your government clears us to leave to go back to Pegasus, I intend to be there. You're coming with me. Both of you."
His wife's face paled all over again at those words. "No." She breathed out the words. "I can't take Anara to Pegasus. She's too young, she's too vulnerable."
"I don't think you understand." Ronon stated firmly, rising to his feet. "I'm not asking, Grace. She's Satedan. She's my daughter, and I'm not going to be kept from her. You can either pack and come with us, or you can stay here."
He saw the emotions playing over her face. She rose from her chair and stepped in front of him to block his path. "Yesterday you were willing to stay here with me, to make New Orleans your home. Now you've changed your mind. Why?"
Ronon scowled at her. "You really have to ask?" He moved to step around her, but found her blocking him once more, this time her hands were pressing to his chest to hold him back. Ronon bared his teeth for a moment and then spoke succinctly. "You're a cultural anthropologist, a linguist. I know you already know the answer to that, Grace."
The understanding dawned slowly in her eyes and the tears began to shine in the pained blue depths. She closed her eyes again, folding her arms over her stomach. "Because she's Satedan and you want her with your people."
"There are so few of us left. She deserves everything I can give her. She deserves to know where she comes from and you know you can't give her that. You can't raise her as a Satedan. So, you're going to come with me. You're going to come with us when we celebrate high holidays, when I teach her how to hunt, how to fight, and I'll be there when you celebrate Christmases and Halloweens. It's the only way, the only place, where she can have both sides of her. And you will NOT deprive her of that. Because if you try, Grace, you won't like what I do."
He stepped around her again, ignoring the shock and the pain in her eyes at the very idea that he would take their daughter from her. "I'm going to introduce myself to my daughter, Grace. You should be there when I do."