5
Ronon's walking down the corridor to the nearest transporter, getting the required daily exercise prescribed by Dr. Beckett—no running allowed—until his wound is fully healed. Since joining Sheppard's team, officially, he no longer has a shadow following him about and is permitted to explore the city of the Ancestors as any other member. Their team has been grounded for two weeks until Dr. Beckett clears him for duty again. Ronon would prefer going off-world, but Sheppard agreed with the doctor.
Ronon thinks Sheppard wants more time off to recuperate from his minor injuries. Besides that, the Colonel seems to keep himself busy following Dr. Weir around the base or pestering her in the office. Ronon's caught the occasional smile Sheppard gets whenever Dr. Weir enters a room; it's different than any other. The man hides it quickly, but not fast enough. Ronon wonders if Sheppard even knows he does it.
The last week has been particularly rough with nothing to do. He's not even permitted to spar with Teyla, even though he feels fine and has no pain in his leg. He's not even limping anymore. He's been feeling restless and in need of movement. So, even though Sheppard told him not to go into the unexplored sections of the city without an escort due to the water damage from the storm and the possibility of infection from some lab, Ronon's managed to slip away unnoticed for many hours at a time.
In the last couple days, he's discovered several balconies that overlook the city and the ocean below that others do not seem to know about. He gets his exercise on the walk to and from, but spends much time sitting in silence…clearing his head of thoughts…away from the noise of too many people. Ronon doesn't know if he'll ever get used to being around so many voices again.
Rapid pops of gun fire echo down the corridor and his hand immediately goes to his gun. Ronon pulls it out and stalks toward the noise. It's easy enough to follow the sound. He quickly ducks into the room. It's flush with red light and there are three paper targets mounted in the distance…at least twice as far away from the shooter than when Sheppard showed him the weapons.
Obviously this is not the normal practice range, though the shooter wears the required eye protection. Ronon holsters his gun as the lone figure takes aim on the paper target. This time he easily recognizes Jax from behind.
She has a good stance, though she could do better, and a double-handed grip on her weapon and she doesn't tense up as she squeezes the trigger, keeping the kick from pushing back her shoulders or lifting the gun into the air after each firing. He can see previous targets lying on the table, all center mass shots as Sheppard calls them. Given the distance she's chosen to put the targets, she's clearly an expert marksman.
Ronon crosses his arms over his chest and watches from the door. She finishes the clip, expels it from the gun and slaps in a new one. Then she flips the safety on and sets the gun on the table to her left, the only piece of furniture in the room. She takes off the goggles and sets them aside next. "What do you want?" She asks without turning.
Somehow she knew he was there. He would have known if someone was watching, but that's because of so many years on the run. He would have heard it…felt it. She couldn't have heard him over the gun fire. "Nothing," he says stonily.
"Then go away." She still doesn't look at him. Instead she goes to replace the three targets with fresh ones.
Ronon steps fully into the room, over to the table and fingers through the used targets. He holds up one and counts fourteen shots to the chest and a single kill shot in the center of the forehead. Ronon's brow creases. "You're good." He lets the paper rest on the table and watches her.
Jax puts the last target in place. "I know," she says matter-of-factly, without a hint of arrogance. Then she turns back and walks toward the table. She walks on the balls of her feet, gliding again. When she stands next to him, he once again realizes how much smaller she is. Tiny compared to him. He'd forgotten somehow. Even as she was putting up the targets, she seemed much taller. More statuesque. Though clearly she isn't.
She replaces the goggles, picks up the gun and easily slides a round into the chamber. Though she faces the target, she doesn't take aim. She turns slightly over one shoulder, not enough to look at him directly, but enough for him to clearly hear her words. "I don't bother you on the balcony."
Ronon's struck by that. "You followed me?"
She chuffs sarcastically. "You're a new arrival. I was here first." Now she does look up at him, catching his gaze fully. "Go away."
Ronon nods once and backs off. She turns back to the target, raising her gun. He should head straight for the door, but he doesn't. Something is keeping him here. Before she flips off the safety, he's behind her again. "Just one thing. The way you stand-"
His hands graze her hips to turn her ever so slightly but she slips through his grasp, twisting and falling forward and away, landing hard enough on her right shoulder to knock the wind out of most women, but she's down and her gun is steady in her hands, aiming at his face.
"I. Never. Said. You. Could. Touch. Me." Her voice is low, teeth clenched and her aim still steady.
Ronon knows he's a fast draw, but he didn't even have an inkling to move for his weapon. And he's not nearly as far away as those targets she managed to put several holes in. His first instinct is to take his chances, dive out of the way and take his shot at her. But the look in her eyes, that darkness that seems so familiar is like a drug. He's drawn into it. He can't look away from her. Ronon raises his hands and takes a step back. "Never again."
This seems to appease her slightly and that ice wall slides over her eyes again, locking him out of her world. Her pain. Without taking her eyes off him, she flips on the safety, which she must have taken off mid-tumble. Then she drops her gaze and gets to her feet with a smooth roll to the left. She shoves the weapon into the waistband of her pants, takes off the safety glasses and tosses them on top of the used targets. "Fine. I'll go." With that she glides out of the room without a look back.
Ronon hears his heart beating in his ears. And his stomach tightens as she moves away so fluidly. He once again remembers how easily aroused he was by the sight of her working with the women in the gym. How he'd been drawn to the leader…before his dislike returned.
As he watched her firing on the targets, as she boldly told him to leave, even as she held the gun on him, not once did that dislike surface this time. In fact, something else surfaced. Teyla earned his respect with her honesty, fighting skills and authority of leadership. But this woman…he swore he could never respect such a creature. Not after finding out what she did with her body. But now…the way she handles herself, her grace, and her skills, whatever she did in her past…none of that matters to him. It is what he saw in her eyes that makes his stomach quiver and his heart beat faster.
She's just like him.
Jax is a runner.