Grace flipped off the lamp beside Anara's bed. The nightlight turned on automatically, bathing the room in a soothing golden glow. Anara's sleepy voice was soft, her gaze focused on Ronon, who crouched beside the bed. "Will you come again tomorrow?"

A lump rose in her throat as Grace's gaze landed on where Ronon's hand rested on top Anara's head. She didn't know what to say, didn't know what to do about any of this. Ronon's voice was confident as he answered. "Yes."

It wasn't that simple. Frustration began to mount all over again as Grace fought the urge to correct him, to tell him not to give Anara false hope. Ronon made it sound so easy. Grace leaned forward and brushed a kiss over Anara's cheek. "Goodnight, sweet girl."

"G'night." The sleepy mumble was proof that Anara was halfway to sleep already.

Grace rose from the bed and motioned for Ronon to follow. He lingered by the bed for a moment before rising and leaning to kiss the soft curls that looked so much like his. He brushed past her, large and solid as ever. She pulled the door so that there was only a crack and sighed.

Ronon's gaze flicked to her and his expression hardened. Without a word, he turned and headed down the hallway. Grace remained rooted where she stood, watching as he turned into the kitchen. It was unbelievable. Ronon was here. In her house. And apparently rummaging in her fridge. She shook her head to clear it and forced herself to follow him.

He was bent over the lower shelf of her fridge, inadvertently giving her a prime view of his perfect, denim-clad ass. Unbidden, memories of the night before flooded her, and her skin tingled as her body recalled his touch. His anger had been so visceral, just as much as hers, and their time together had been explosive. Her body still ached in the most delicious of ways.

He straightened, closing the fridge and plucking the magnetic bottle opener from the door, popping the caps off the two beers he held in one hand. He wordlessly slid one across the island to her. She slid onto one of the barstools and gripped it, never taking her eyes off him as he rounded the island to the other side, leaning against the kitchen sink. It wasn't until he'd taken a long pull from his own bottle that he broke the tense silence that had descended between them. "She's so smart."

Grace relaxed a little as she studied his face. His expression was guarded, but not angry. "Yeah. She can already read a little."

Ronon took another, longer pull from the IPA he held. His gaze flicked to the wall their daughter slept on the other side of. He was silent again, and Grace could see the wheels in his head spinning. She nursed her own beer, waiting for him to be ready to continue. When he did speak again, the words were unexpected. "Did I ever tell you about Inshen Var?"

She frowned, the name familiar. "Why do I know that name?" The bottle made a soft sound as she lowered it to the counter.

His gaze settled on her, his voice mild. "The books you gave me when I first came to Atlantis."

"Ah. Right." Grace nodded, remembering now. "The shopkeeper I bought them from told me. What about him?"

"I think I mentioned to you once that Sateda only unified after that last great culling, about two hundred years before the siege." He paused, looking to her for confirmation. At her nod, he continued. "Before the tribes came together and formed a central government, everything centered on war. Whether it was among the tribes or with the Wraith, my ancestors didn't exactly have the resources to focus on cultural advancement. They were busy just trying to survive. So what little poetry or art that survived up that point reflected that part of our collective heritage."

Grace leaned forward, fascinated. He sounded like a professor, and her chest warmed at the knowledge that he still trusted her enough to tell her about Sateda. She didn't quite see where he was going, but she nodded encouragingly.

Ronon drained the rest of his beer in one long pull and tossed the bottle into the recycling bin, then moved to the fridge, pulling it open and retrieving another as he spoke. "It was only in the last century or so, maybe even about fifty or so years, that the arts became something my people saw as necessary, instead of optional. Inshen Var was one of the first poets to be recognized for work that wasn't centered on war."

Grace frowned lightly as she watched him come around the island and take a seat on the other bar stool, turning to face her. When she mirrored his position, his knees touched hers and she had to force herself to focus on what he was saying.

"Eventually he wrote about nature, about the afterlife, about fate. It was fanciful and still visceral at the same time. But he started off just like all the rest. Battle songs and odes to the warriors of the past. But in his first book, tucked into the back, there was a poem, just a few lines, nothing most people would pay much attention to. But it was there. A little poem about his daughter."

She wasn't sure if Ronon had even spoken so much, and so she let him go. She loved hearing his voice again, even if she was still waiting for him to get to the point. His eyes focused on the wall behind her head, squinting ever so slightly. His lips moved soundlessly for several minutes. He spoke again, softer this time. "She is the song of my blood. She is the future given flesh. She is the marrow of me. She is the loving proof that I have lived."

Grace's vision blurred as she understood his point, though he'd taken a roundabout way of getting there. Ronon's voice was nearly a whisper as he continued. "I thought it was such a beautiful way of talking about a child. When I met Melana, I could see my future with her, I could see our babies. I could see…" He cleared his throat and tried again. "I thought that ended with Sateda. I wasn't just grieving Sateda, or my family, or Melana. I was grieving that future. That's why, when you asked me about children, I said no. It wasn't just the war, or vengeance. It wasn't focusing on my mission."

Ronon's eyes met hers, holding her in place, trapping her. "I said no because it felt like a betrayal. Like I would giving up that last little piece of the life I could have had and only getting a dream in return. And that was terrifying."

What had been a lump in her throat before was now a boulder. She couldn't speak. She could only stare at him. He shook his head ruefully, expelling a breath. "It was so stupid. It was like if I let go of that part of my past, if I entertained the idea of a family with you, of taking our vows as more than just a pledge, it was letting hope back in and hope was the one thing I couldn't afford to have. I couldn't let myself hope that there might be more, that I could have those dreams again."

"Why?" Grace breathed out the question, almost afraid of his answer.

He drew in a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, as if to brace himself against his answer. "Because if I let myself go there, and I hoped for it, and the worst happened and I lost it all… lost you or our hypothetical children, I didn't think I could come back from it a second time. But when I woke up in the infirmary after dying, I realized something."

She swallowed, staring at him. He continued a moment later, answering her unspoken question with only a moment's hesitation. "The worst did happen. It had already happened the moment you were gone because somewhere along the way, when I started loving you, that hope had already started to creep in. When I was bleeding out on the floor of that ship, with McKay freaking out over me, when I couldn't speak anymore to tell them to leave, the very last thing I remember was just this…regret."

The final word made her stomach clench. She had no words. Which was okay, because right now, Ronon seemed to have enough for both of them, enough to last a lifetime. He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "I died with so many regrets. As that cold seeped in, it was like a thousand of them slammed into me all at once. And it was over, it was done. There was no going back, no fixing them. And then I was brought back. And suddenly only one thing mattered."

Grace bit her lower lip, her fingers tightening on the bottle, gripping it as if it could anchor her against the gravity of what he was saying. But there was no stopping the flood of her own regrets as his words brought home just how much they'd wronged one another. "Us." She finished for him.

"Us." He echoed in confirmation. "I died loving you."

She wasn't sure why her hands were suddenly shaking, or why her vision was swimming with tears that threatened to spill over. She wasn't even sad. She was… broken. "We fucked up so badly, Ronon. From start to finish. I'm not sure we can fix it."

Ronon's hand came to rest on her knee. Her eyes lifted to his blurry face. He shifted closer on the stool, his hand sliding up to her hip, tugging her forward. "But that's just the thing, Grace. We aren't finished and we both know it."

And she did. Somehow she'd always known it. There was no fight left in her. Maybe it was the exhaustion of the day, the emotional upheaval of those hours watching Ronon with their daughter for the first time, but suddenly her fears seemed so small, and her guilt became a monster. She didn't even register his movement, but his forehead came to rest against hers, his fingers warm and reassuring on the nape of her neck. "I died loving you once, and I'll live loving you until I die again."

The first sob escaped her as a hiccup and in a matter of seconds, she was weeping. He folded her into his arms, letting her cry without judgment. Ronon simply held her in that way he'd done so long ago, offering her his strength in her moment of weakness. Long minutes later, his voice was a rumbled, gentle command, vibrating into her body. "Say yes."

The word was a whispered utterance into the warmth of his arms. "Yes." Because saying no wasn't an option anymore.