~ 11 ~

Damn, I forgot my bag! Well, I'm not going back, that's for sure. He's still there, standing all manly man in his tight black T-shirt showing off his pecs and those not baggy enough military pants. Gawd, I need an icy shower after that.

What's up with those lip-locks of his? On that first night, it was so clear what he wanted, how he wanted me. Sure he was gentle, but…a different, feverish kind of non-ape man gentle. Then he threw in all that tenderness and warmth. And those arms around me…

Damn! Damn!

I start running as fast as my feet and legs can take me. Unfortunately the sudden burst of panic induced energy is short lived and by the time I make it to the transporter, I have a stitch in my side, sending a sharp cramp around my lower back. I squeeze it with my hand, trying to massage it away but it doesn't work. I'll just have to let it fade on its own.

So much for self-discipline.

I'm not letting him get to me this time. If he keeps persisting…I'll leave. Even if I-zoola isn't an option, there has to be some other planet I can find. I'm not without resources, I can build stuff if I need to; maybe live in a tree-house.

Without electricity? Plumbing? Without DVD's? No Ronon to hold your hand. No contact with Jack? I'd hate it.

Shut up, Jax.

Man, how'd this get so complicated! I was so happy on I-zoola…

Liar! I was miserable, only refusing to admit it. Denying every thought of him. Pretending there were no dreams…memories of him touching me…making me feel…

Am I really willing to throw away my whole life just to keep John away? Just to keep him available for another woman?

Yes.

Well, that's pithy, unrealistic, but pithy. What happened to fighting? I've never been the cowering type. Fighting is what I'm here for. It's what I do. It's what we do. You and me together. One mind, surviving.

No fighting. I'm tired.

I make it to my room, strip and jump into the shower before I even turn it on. The cold water hits my face and I shriek a little at the chill. But it's all good. Well, not all good. Perhaps cold isn't the only way to go. So I turn the nozzle a bit and let the heat scour away the mess that is my pathetic life.

The last time we stopped fighting, catatonia set in. I won't do that again!

I close my eyes and suddenly I'm back in the gym: his lips are so soft, eager but not possessive as before. And he tastes like mint…cool mint and coffee. I can't feel my feet anymore…just his lips against mine and I never want it to end.

Breaking the spell, I open my eyes, sucking in air but also a lung full of water. Great, now I'm gonna choke to death in the shower and he'll never-

Stop it.

My body racks with coughs and the next breath is a painful, but filling one. I'm trembling and my chest hurts from the near-death by shower drowning. How embarrassing would that be? My face is covered in salty tears from the effort so I lean into the stream and let the water wash away the stains. It's not long before I'm sobbing…and I don't even know why. Really, is that possible, to start crying for no reason? It's just so…crazy.

But here I am, clutching my waist because the sobs renew the tension from the earlier side-stitch. I fall backward against the stall and slide to the floor, bringing my knees to my chest. And there I sit in the corner of the shower, crying. But at the same time, my mind is screaming at me.

Stop being such a baby!

But I can't. All I know is my chest hurts so much I feel like I'm being ripped in half. My stomach is in knots but also fluttering in a nauseating way. That sharp muscle spasm in my side is forcing me to re-evaluate the chronic pelvic pain I had prior to surgery…was that even this bad? And my mind keeps swimming with images of John, the sound of his voice, the feel of his hands on me. I brush my fingers over my lips and it's him kissing me again. Any part of my body, I can feel him, where he's been, how he's touched me. And it all burns. My forehead falls onto my knees and more sobs shake my body. I can't stop. I don't know how to make it stop.

Somebody make it stop.

Please.

Somewhere far away, Ronon's calling to me. I call back, but I don't hear my voice. And I can't see him. I can't see anything except Johnny. He's on top of me, inside me, moving so wonderfully slow and deliberate, sending ripples of pleasure through my body.

"Angie."

I'm here Ronon. Light as a feather…but cold. Why am I so cold? John's skin is unbelievably warm, tantalizing…embracing me. Well, in a moment, I'm snuggly warm, toasty even. But my body's trembling and I can still hear the horrible sounds of weeping.

Yeah, that's something to share with him. Maybe that's the trick to getting him to leave. No man likes to see a woman manipulate him with tears.

"Angela?"

What? Can't you see I'm busy? Don't I rate some form of privacy?

John's eyes are on mine, trying to delve into my brain and steal my secrets. He's smiling. That devilishly adorable grin with dimples of utter destruction, but then something changes. His eyes grow cold, heartless, dark. He's standing in front of me, no longer John but Col. Sheppard in full gear. He's aiming the P-90 at me. I want to look away but his eyes lock me in. I can't move. Can't speak. I call to him but he just stares at me.

He wants to kill me.

"Angie, wake up!"

What? I turn looking for Ronon, but I can't see anything except John. Everything else is a hazy white blur. Only he exists to me. Now, even I know that doesn't make any sense.

Ronon? Where are you?

For that matter, where am I?

John's smile returns, but it's ugly, it sends a flutter of fear through my gut. Not the 'roller coaster ride' fear…actual 'I need to run and hide' fear. It's harsh, angry…dangerous. "You did this to me!" he snarls. "It's your fault."

And then he pulls the trigger, spending hundreds of rounds on my body. I stand there and take it. I don't even fall over. I just stand there. I look down and see each impact exploding inside me like liquid fire, but I remain standing and he pelts me with more ammo.

"Angie!"

Finally something bursts from my chest. It hangs in the air in front of me. A bunch of white crystals explode out. Hey, it's like the Matrix…and I can see each individual crystal. They look like ice cubes…only each one has a face reflecting in it.

Charlie, Ronon, Lily, Laura, Mom, Jack, Dad, Ryan…Johnny! The cubes finally drop to the floor and shatter at my feet. I'm not bleeding. Why am I not bleeding? Shouldn't I be? He did just shoot me full of holes. Why am I spewing ice cubes?

It's so cold and my teeth are chattering.

And then there are hands on my arms, rubbing up and down. Strong arms holding me close and I can hear a distant heartbeat. Not my own, of course, because it's lying in melting pieces on the floor.

I look up, seeing Col. Sheppard watching me with outright rage. And suddenly I'm behind him. Not me, me…but another me. I'm seeing myself walk up behind him, glaring with the same amount of anger and…betrayal. The other me puts a hand on the Colonel's arm. I tried to warn you.

He glances at her and nods. "So you did, Jax."

Jax? What's happening?

So weak, Angela, Jax glowers. She taps the man's arm then pulls away. Then he's glaring at me again. And firing.

Col. Sheppard wants me dead. That means John hates me. And Jax. Jax hates me too.

Finally, I collapse to the floor in the icy pool left behind by the cubes. Sobs wrack my body, making me tremble. I bury my face in my hands, just letting the tears take me. I don't know what else to do.

I should just curl up and disappear.

"I won't let you," Ronon says from behind me. I look over my shoulder, but only find more of the hazy white. No one there. No Ronon to save me.

Always needing to be rescued, Angela, Jax spits. So pathetic. And she kicks me in the face, sending me onto my back, hard. Then she nails me in the side, the pain exactly like when I ran down the corridor. She pulls her leg back to kick me again, but for some reason her foot doesn't connect.

I lie on the floor, shivering, waiting for the attack, all the while I can still feel warm arms about me, and that distant heartbeat calls to me, keeping me safe, even from…myself.

~ 11.5 ~

Ronon's outside her door, his hand moves over the crystal.

Five minutes ago, Sheppard caught him on the way to the mess. The man didn't look well, his eyes wild with energy, face pale and sweaty. "I need you to check on Jax," he said nearly breathless.

"What's wrong?" The fact that Sheppard, of all people, was standing before him worrying about Jax triggered all sorts of alarms in Ronon's head. Sheppard's supposed to be staying away from her. Ronon made that very clear. "What'd you do?"

He closed his eyes and licked his lips, running a shaky hand through his hair. "Just talked."

Ronon felt the growl growing in his chest and leveled his gaze on the other man. "If you only talked-"

Sheppard nodded. "She got upset. Let's just say, I get the feeling she's…very upset."

"What do you mean?"

He shook his head, running the hand through it again. "It's just a feeling, Ronon. Please. Check on her."

So, Ronon ditched the mess hall and raced to the nearest transporter to take him to Jax's quarters. He figured he'd start there and if he didn't find her, he'd check his room and then search her known haunts if necessary.

It isn't necessary.

The door opens instantly, she didn't bother to lock it. He pokes his head inside and calls her name. He can faintly hear water running so he goes in and leans his back against the wall separating the bathroom from the bedroom. He crosses his arms and tosses her name over his shoulder. "Angie? You okay?"

Nothing. He tries again, but still doesn't get a response. Taking a deep breath and bracing for an all out shouting match from a very angry naked woman, Ronon steps into the bathroom and stands next to the shower. "Angela!"

As he waits, he hears a soft keening sound, like an animal caught in a trap. His heart slams against his ribs. He yanks open the shower door, seeing her huddled in the corner, legs drawn up, arms wrapped tightly around them and her head on her knees, a ball of quivering flesh. "Angie?"

She doesn't respond, not even to look up. Ronon shuts off the shower, pulls her robe from the door and wraps it around her before picking her up and carrying her into the bedroom. Her weight barely registers in his arms.

He lays her down on her side, she stays in that curled position, weeping. He pulls all the covers up to her shoulders. She's shivering. "Angela?"

Still no response. He pulls her hair back, her eyes are shut tight. She's murmuring something even as she continues to cry. Ronon can't understand; it's too soft. Kicking off his boots, he lays down facing her, wraps his arms around her, pulling her close to him, her wet head resting on his chest.

"He wants to kill me," she whispers, repeating it over and over.

"Angie, wake up!" For a moment there's nothing and then her body starts shaking violently. "Angie!"

He should call the doctor. He should call somebody. But that would mean leaving her. He doesn't have a headset; he only wears it when going off-world.

The shaking subsides and she lays limp against him. "Cold," she says, her teeth chattering. Ronon wraps his arms around her, holding her as close as possible.

She's crying again, a continuous, barely audible sob. And she's still trembling, muttering the same thing over and over. "He wants to kill me," her voice full of despair. After several more minutes, she adds: "Just curl up and disappear."

"I won't let you," Ronon says firmly, holding her tight and kissing her forehead. "Not a chance."