Okay, chunks of this aren't beta'd. Just a warning. This is the penultimate chapter...sort of the lightening of the clouds just before the sun comes out again. It's a bit messy, but...well, fingers crossed!
THIEVES IN ATLANTIS
BY TIPPER
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CHAPTER NINETEEN: RETURNING TO NORMAL
By the time night fell, everything was pretty much back to normal. The people who had been poisoned slowly filtered out of their rooms and the infirmary, making their way back to work or at least taking the opportunity to move around a little before going back to sleep again. The search teams had found nothing, and neither had the diagnosticians, so it appeared that the Genii's plan had just been to, simply, steal a jumper and kidnap McKay…and make the Atlantians suffer a little in the process.
Of course, "a little" was relative, as Beckett's condition was still a big question mark. He'd made it through surgery, but it would be a while before they knew the true extent of the damage. The doctor had yet to awaken, and it would not be overstating to say a dark cloud had descended on the normally bright city. Everyone had stopped by the infirmary at least once, some staying longer than others. Hurting Carson was akin to kicking a puppy—even the coldest souls in the City were affected by its wrongness.
It was midnight when Sheppard finally wandered into the infirmary, yawning and looking for a chair to sit in. He'd handed over the helm to Lorne, and was now looking for some needed rest. No one questioned when he grabbed a pillow off a free bed, stuck it on the chair between McKay and Ronon's beds, and settled down, propping his feet up on McKay's cot and letting his head fall to his chest. He was asleep pretty quickly.
He was awakened a few hours later by the sound of light, erratic tapping. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it wasn't even four in the morning yet.
McKay had been sleeping on his side, to give his back a chance to heal a little, and had stayed that way for hours. Upon waking, however, he had apparently rolled onto his stomach and shoved his pillow under his chest so that he could work on his data tablet. He was now stabbing at it with the stylus—the source of the tapping. Problem was, his hands were bandaged, and he was obviously having a hard time keeping hold of the small implement. The expression on his face would have been comical had it not been...Sheppard looked at his watch again...3:47 in the morning.
"Christ, McKay," he yawned, stretching and working out some of the muscles in his neck.
"Sorry," Rodney said, not sounding sorry and not looking at him. "Can't sleep." His voice was back. It still sounded rough, but it wasn't the painful sounding whisper it had been in the Bay. "You could go sleep in your own bed, you know."
Sheppard sniffed, not responding to the pointless statement about leaving, and shrugged. "Stuff they gave you wearing off, I take it?"
"Yeah," McKay grimaced, and he shifted a little on the bed. "Feels like every muscle in my body's on fire. Makes the pins and needles you feel after a stunner blast seem pleasant. Plus, my skin is sore as hell in the worst places."
"Ugh," Sheppard sympathized. Sitting up, he moved his chair closer to the head of McKay's bed so that he could rest an arm on it and prop up his head with his hand. He watched McKay work for a few minutes, then turned to look at the rest of the big room.
On the next bed over, Ronon slept quietly, his face finally returned to its normal color, though there were still obvious circles under his eyes. Asleep in the chair next to his bed was Teyla—unlike Sheppard, she obviously hadn't been woken by the typing. She looked uncomfortable, but, obviously, didn't care anymore than the Colonel did. They'd all gotten used to sleeping in the infirmary chairs. She shifted a little as he watched, pulling up the blanket someone had given her higher on her shoulders. On the far side of her, the shadowy figure of Elizabeth Weir dreamed away on her own bed.
A few more people filled the other beds—those, like Ronon, who had gotten really sick from Neera's poison. Sheppard also spotted the marine Neera had thrown her knife at, his upper shoulder swathed in bandages, and the one Freya had knifed in the hip. Both seemed to be sleeping comfortably.
Glancing to the far end of the infirmary, he met the eyes of the two marines standing in front of the doors leading to the small room currently housing Ren and Garron, and gave them a nod. They nodded back.
Turning to look in the other direction, Sheppard spotted the last occupant of the big room, his lips lifting in a soft smile. Sleeping on a line of chairs near the entrance to the ICU—where Beckett was—was Lieutenant Cadman. The young woman had her back to them, sleeping on her side, with her arms wrapped around herself. Someone had put a blanket over her, but most of it had fallen off.
Grunting softly, Sheppard got up, stretched, then walked softly through the infirmary to where she was. McKay stopped tapping, obviously following him with his eyes.
Reaching the blonde soldier, Sheppard reached down and lifted the blanket up and rested it around her shoulders again. She sighed softly, digging her head more into a pillow she had obviously purloined from one of the cots. Smiling at her, Sheppard turned and headed back to his chair. Soon enough, he was sitting again, and yawning spectacularly.
McKay was still watching him. "Seriously, why don't you go to your own room," he suggested. "Probably more comfortable. None of us are going anywhere."
Sheppard just gave him a lazy smile and settled into the chair more deeply.
He fell back asleep to the sound of McKay's soft renewed tapping.
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Sheppard, Weir and Teyla were all gone by the time Ronon finally pushed himself up into a sitting position on his bed, feeling truly awake for the first time. He'd seen all three briefly earlier in the morning, all of them feeling it necessary to pat his arm as they left. It sort of annoyed him—as if he were their pet. None of them patted McKay, who had been doped up again this morning (after he'd frightened Biro by not whining as much as normal. Apparently, the less McKay moaned, the more unwell he actually was. So Biro gave him something, and now he slept like the dead). Only Sheppard had touched the other man's head for a moment, before leaving, and it had looked more like a slap than a pat.
Ronon mentally catalogued his own aches and pains, and decided he was well enough to leave. As was his way, he hadn't complained at all when he finally woke. Unless he was dying—which he was pretty sure he wasn't—he didn't feel the need to let other people into his world. So he had just stared at Biro when she pestered him earlier, refusing to answer her questions. Fairly quickly, she had snapped at him, warning him she wouldn't let him leave if he stayed silent, and eventually stormed off in a huff. Next thing he knew, she'd ordered someone to take another blood sample from him.
He was beginning to understand why McKay called her the Vampire. He'd learned the legend from the Atlantians early on, and the more he dealt with Biro, the more he had to admit—it was a good comparison.
Still, they had all disappeared now—Biro, the blond medic, the dark skinned doctor Sheppard could never remember the name of, the nurses—and he was contemplating just getting up and taking off. Fact was, he really didn't want to be here anymore. The longer he stayed, the more he thought about the girl he'd killed.
Freya.
There had to have been a better way...
Just then, he heard a loud noise and a swear from somewhere over near the OR end of the infirmary. Biro had been the swearer—it was actually a pretty impressive cuss. He straightened up further, wincing a little as his stomach cramped painfully, and leaned forward to see the area more carefully.
Slowly, the plastic sheets were pulled back and the doors opened leading to the OR. As Ronon watched, someone wheeled out Doctor Beckett's still form on a gurney. He had yet to get the whole story about what had happened, but he knew enough to know that Neera had nearly killed him, throwing him off a balcony. And for what? As a decoy?
He grew cold just thinking about it.
McKay was smart, sure, and he knew that the Genii wanted the scientist to help them create more advanced weapons, but to nearly kill Doctor Beckett just to distract the people here enough to achieve it? That sort of reasoning was something he would never understand. You don't kill the innocent.
And yet...he'd killed a child. Hadn't he?
He lowered his head, shaking it, curling his lip as it caused his headache to grow in intensity.
Looking up, he watched as Carson was settled onto the empty bed on the far side of McKay.
He saw the medical personnel on duty hovering around, including those who really had nothing to do with Carson's condition. They just hovered.
Ronon felt increasingly sick.
None of them were looking at him. They were too distracted. And rightly so.
Quietly pulling the IV out of his arm, he slid off the bed...and left the infirmary.
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Teyla watched as Kate spoke with the two Lorrell boys, sitting next to where Elizabeth stood at the end of Garron's bed. On the other bed, which Kate sat on, Ren was awake, but wasn't speaking. He just stared at the end of his bed, looking like the world had ended. He had spoken only once, to ask if Doctor McKay was all right, and had looked unhappily at the blonde psychiatrist when Kate told him McKay was also in the infirmary. He had then asked to see him...but Kate told him now wasn't a good time. After that, he didn't speak again.
So Garron was forced to speak for both. Which he did begrudgingly, and only because he knew it would determine their future.
The more Teyla watched the two boys interact, the more she began to understand. Garron pretended a disinterest in his brother, even sending him glares every so often, but there was streak of protectiveness which had the older boy deflecting Kate away from asking too much about the younger boy. Teyla wondered how much Ren was aware of just how much his brother really loved him...and forgave him.
In the end, though, Kate had finally backed off and let Teyla and Elizabeth question them about who had set the plan in motion, what their objectives had been, and, lastly, what they felt their options were now.
Garron had stated, straight and with an undertone of anger, that they could not go back to the Genii now. Something about already having a black mark on their name, and not being welcome. Ren had flinched a little at that, but not, Teyla surmised, because he wanted to go home...but because he knew his brother did.
Elizabeth had taken the news with a grain of salt, but had nodded, telling them she would take that into consideration before calling Cowen.
Garron had accepted that, and settled back on his bed, looking suddenly very young and tired.
"Teyla," Elizabeth had said then, "do you have any questions?"
The Athosian stared at the two boys for a moment, then shook her head. "However," she said, looking to the leader of Atlantis, "I may have a solution, if you'd like to discuss it outside?"
Elizabeth nodded, and turned to leave.
"Teyla?" Garron called as she moved to follow, and she turned back.
"Yes?"
"Ronon's okay, right?" he asked, eyebrows lifted. Teyla arched an eyebrow, then nodded slowly. Garron suddenly smiled, looking down at his own feet. "Figured he would be," he said softly, a hint of awe in his voice. Teyla watched him appraisingly a moment longer, then turned to leave.
She wondered if Ronon knew he had an admirer.
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"I assure you, Doctor Weir, whomever those people were, they were not acting under the orders of the Genii." Commander Cowen's voice came through loud and clear over the radio, but the strong connection didn't make it sound any more sincere.
"So, what you are telling me," Elizabeth said, crossing her arms and glaring at the wormhole shimmering inside the Gate, as if she could see through it to Cowen on the other side, "is they were just...calling themselves Genii to malign you?"
"I wouldn't presume to know why they called themselves Genii," Cowen replied. "I suppose it is possible that they were, once."
"Once?"
"I would be lying if I didn't say that," he paused, and took a breath before continuing, "that we haven't had members of our military go rogue on us."
"Rogue?" Elizabeth said, not hiding the disbelief in her voice.
"Certainly. Actually, I believe you may even have met a few. I understand your...former... Lieutenant Ford even recruited a few members of our intelligence organization into his little army. How is your search for him going by the way?"
That was a slap in the face, and Cowen knew it. Elizabeth winced, sighed and glanced over at John, who was grimacing.
"None of your business, Commander," Sheppard spat angrily. Elizabeth shook her head at him, and the colonel rolled his eyes.
"Of course not," Cowen replied. "Again, my apologies. However, the point is, we don't like to speak of our...defections any more than you do."
Sheppard drew in a breath as if to argue more about Ford, and Elizabeth quickly held up a hand to his face, warning him with a look to be quiet. His eyes narrowed, but he acquiesced with a frown.
"So, in other words, Commander," Elizabeth said finally, returning her gaze to the Stargate, "you are denying all knowledge of these four people and their plans to steal one of our Jumpers and kidnap Doctor McKay."
"Yes," Cowen replied, his tone plain. "All I can offer you is my sympathies. After all, you've already lost your great City to the Wraith. I would hate to think of you losing any of your precious ships, or the good Doctor."
Elizabeth tried not to laugh at the man's false sincerity, "Thank you, Commander. We appreciate your...sympathies."
"Actually, there is one other thing we could do for you, if you like." There was another pause, then, "Seeing as these people are claiming to be Genii, if you wish us to take care of prosecuting them for you, we could—"
"That won't be necessary, Commander," Elizabeth interrupted quickly, standing up a little straighter. "Unfortunately, all four of the thieves are dead. When their plans to escape through a gate failed, they attempted to kill their hostages and fly away—we had to take them down."
There was a longer pause, then, "I see. I hope none of your people were hurt."
"They weren't. We're all fine. Again, thank you for your concern."
"Of course. Well, if there is nothing else...?"
Elizabeth smiled thinly, shaking her head and looking again at John. Sheppard looked livid, but he wasn't saying anything, for which she was glad. "No," she said to the airwaves, "there isn't. Thank you for your time, Commander."
"My pleasure, Doctor Weir. Until we speak again."
"Until then," she said, nodding to the gate technician. A moment later, the wormhole to the Genii homeworld was dissolved.
"Man lies like a wet rag," Sheppard muttered, crossing his arms. "A really big part of me just wants to fly through to his world and destroy his precious underground city. God knows he deserves it."
Elizabeth snorted, "Yes, well, he probably does deserve that. Just as he is probably lying. But," she shrugged, "we have no real proof. From the sounds of it, he still thinks Atlantis is lying at the bottom of the ocean, so..." She sighed, leaning against a console and crossing her arms again. "There's really nothing we can do."
Sheppard just grunted. Elizabeth watched him for a moment, then looked down at the floor. People buzzed around them, watching monitors and adjusting things. It was a little like standing still in the middle of a ballet.
"So," the colonel said, breaking the silence, "Ren and Garron are going to become members of the Athosian population on the Mainland, eh?"
"Better than death or being locked up for the rest of their lives, which we don't really have the ability to do," Elizabeth replied, shrugging.
"They okay with it?"
"Surprisingly...yes." She looked up, a contemplative expression on her face. "Garron claims they can't return to the Genii now, though...I'm not sure I believe him. I'm not sure I will ever believe anything either boy says ever again. But...for now...Halling has said he will keep them under strict supervision." She gave him a wry look. "It was Teyla's idea. She says she sees something in them...a bond stronger than the hold the Genii has on them, but...I'm not sure what I see." She snorted again, "She also wants Rodney to talk to Ren, which...seems insane. Of all people..." She shook her head, "I just don't know what to think. They've done so much harm..."
"And don't forget that they both have the gene," Sheppard reminded her, arching an eyebrow. "If they ever decide to ambush one of the Jumpers visiting the Mainland..."
"I know." She sighed, and frowned. After a moment, she straightened her shoulders and lifted her head, a clear sign she'd stick by her decision. "It's a risk we'll just have to take." She glanced at the colonel. "Fact is, I don't think we have a choice. We can't keep them locked up here, and I'm not about to sanction the death penalty, especially not for children. We just have to hope that they'll be true to their words...and that Teyla's right about them."
"Seems that's all we ever do," Sheppard said, staring down at the Gate and to the stained glass windows beyond, "Hope."
Elizabeth nodded, "I know."
Sheppard closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them with a sigh. Standing up from his lean, he nodded to Elizabeth and turned to leave.
She watched him go, then turned her own gaze to the Gate down below.
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The rest of the day passed quietly, except for one rather taut argument sometime after dinner between Atlantis' leader and its head scientist. As Elizabeth left the infirmary, gently touching the hand of the still mostly unconscious Beckett as she left (he'd woken twice, but never for longer than a few moments), she sent one more meaningful look back at McKay. The scientist sighed, rolling his eyes a little, but gave a short, unhappy nod. She smiled thinly as she disappeared out the door.
Despite feeling as stiff as a block of wood, McKay forced himself to get to his feet in order to walk to the isolation ward. He wasn't going to be wheeled in there—he refused to give either of the two Lorrell boys the satisfaction of seeing that.
The distance grew from feet to miles as he moved—he'd never felt so utterly tired before in his life.
When he finally arrived, he nodded to the marine standing guard outside the door, and the man opened the door for him.
Rodney stared at the open doorway for a moment, then, with a grimace, slowly dragged himself inside.
Sitting on a chair in the far corner, reading a book, Garron glanced up to see who it was, then straightened, looking oddly hopeful. Standing, he tossed the book behind him on the chair, and jogged over to McKay.
He was only a couple of feet from Rodney when he was stopped by a guard—the man materializing from nowhere to stand between them, holding up a hand. Startled a little by the action, Garron bit his lip at the treatment, but didn't try to get any closer. Instead, he just turned and gave McKay his most open smile. Rodney frowned when he realized it was the same smile as his little brother.
"Thank you for coming," Garron whispered. "Ren's been—"
"I'm here because I was forced to come," Rodney replied harshly, his voice still very hoarse, which was the only reason he kept his own voice low. "So, don't thank me. Thank Doctor Weir."
Garron's smile disappeared, but, after a moment, gave a short nod. "Right. I understand." He backed up a step and to the side, settling himself against the metal wall and looking at the floor, "Thank you anyway."
McKay didn't bother to reply as he looked away from the boy, just willed protesting muscles to move forward again. The guard with them maintained a buffering presence as the scientist limped past the teenager towards the curtained off end of the room.
This part of Beckett's infirmary was very quiet, the sounds of the City muted behind the thick glass and closed door, making it ideally suited for isolation purposes. Rodney knew it well—it was the same room that he had woken up in after the Enzyme overdose. It was also the same room where Sheppard had recovered from the Iratus bug infection.
The very end of the room was curtained off. Coming around the end of the curtain, Rodney came to a stop as soon as he was able to see Ren. For a moment, he just studied the twelve year old who, three days earlier, he had been attempting to console... Reliving that conversation with Ren in the Jumper in his mind, McKay realized just what a fool he'd been. He'd practically encouraged Ren to go ahead with his plan. Christ, he was so bad with kids.
So why the hell was he here? Oh, right...Weir. Christ, what the hell did she expect from him?
Ren was sitting up in the bed, legs bent so that his head could rest on his knees. One thin arm was wrapped around the spindly limbs, while the other was propped up on a pillow in a cast from wrist to shoulder. His head was turned to look out the window—Ren looked very small in that position.
Rodney cleared his throat, and Ren turned his head to look up at him. Like Garron, at the sight of McKay, he straightened up and something akin to hope lit his features.
"You're here?" he said, pale blue eyes appearing impossibly large and shadowed.
"What do you want, Ren?" McKay asked, not moving any closer to the bed. He was close enough standing next to the curtain, where he could turn around and leave quickly if need be. "Your brother asked me to come, because you apparently wanted to see me. So, what do you want?"
The twelve year old frowned, looking down at the bed. "I…I wanted to make sure you were all right. I heard…they told me…they said you were fine, but…."
"I've pulled almost every muscle in my body and ruined my hands," Rodney replied, "making it nearly impossible to do anything, even think. My back will never heal cleanly now, and I'll probably suffer nightmares for, oh, the rest of my life. And, to top it off, one of my closest friends is still hooked up to every conceivable machine in the infirmary, and there is talk he may never walk again. So, sure," he snorted, "I guess they were right, I'm perfectly fine."
Ren winced at the caustic tone and glanced up at McKay again. "I'm sorry about Doctor Beckett."
"Don't," Rodney hissed. "You didn't care about him before; don't pretend you care about him now."
Ren nodded, accepting that. "I…I…I don't know how to make this better. I don't know if I can. I never…I only wanted…." He trailed off, and buried his head in his knees. "I'm sorry, Doctor McKay. I'm so, so sorry."
Rodney looked down, then up again. "What do you want me to say? You want my forgiveness, is that it? You want me to tell you, it's going to be okay? Well, it's not. You made this bed, Ren. You lie in it."
Ren hiccupped a sob into his knees, and Rodney looked away, his frown growing. Turning, he saw Garron still watching him from where he was leaning against the wall by the door, a morose expression on his young face. When the teenager, accompanied by two guards, had approached him with Elizabeth half an hour before, he'd begged McKay to not blame his brother. Garron had claimed it was all his fault, forcing Ren to help, to take part in all that had happened. And he'd begged McKay to talk Ren out of killing himself, which was all the younger boy had apparently been talking about since he'd talked to Kate earlier. After the guards took Garron back to the isolation ward, Elizabeth had asked McKay to speak to Ren…and when McKay remained reticent, had eventually made the request an order, with a back-up threat of taking away some of his staff. But Elizabeth never said anything about his actually needing to make Ren feel any better...
Which was good, because McKay didn't believe in false sincerity. He was far too truthful for that.
But his truthfulness was also why he sighed suddenly—because he wasn't done.
"One more thing," he said, his voice softening a little, "I understand you tried to stop them from blowing up the Jumper Bay, which is how you got hurt." His eyes fell to the floor as Ren lifted his head to look at him, blue eyes shining. McKay snorted softly, offering a wry look.. "I suppose that's something," he told the boy. "If I were you...I'd start from there...when trying to fix this."
As he turned to leave, putting his back to the boy, he heard Ren sniff a little. "You mean...I can?"
McKay didn't turn to look at him again, eyes narrowing slightly. "Isn't that what you promised me you'd do?"
Ren breathed a little harder, as if from excitement. "Yes. Yes, and I will," the boy said, his voice lifting with hope. "I'll find a way."
Rodney just nodded again, and, without a backwards glance, headed back towards the doors to leave. He didn't look again at Garron as he left, but felt the teenager's eyes on him the whole time.
All he knew was that he was too exhausted to walk all the way back, and accepted the chair that waited for him when he made it back into the main infirmary with a grateful nod.
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The soft, repetitive sound of fists hitting a heavy bag echoed softly down the corridor as Sheppard approached the gym. The colonel slowed as he reached the closed double doors, looking first through the stained glass at the tall, shadowy figure inside before actually entering. There was no questioning who it was—Ronon's size and stature dwarfed most of the men here. John himself was over six foot, and the Satedan made the colonel feel small. The only other person to ever make him feel that short was Halling...and the one time he'd met Patrick Ewing in New York. There was something about looking up at a man a whole foot taller than you that was strangely humbling.
Ronon had never made Sheppard feel humble...until now. Ronon had known that something was wrong with Neera and the kids, and, for some reason, hadn't told Sheppard his suspicions. And the colonel knew why—because Sheppard would have shot him down, the same way he had Teyla in the Jumper. It was something he needed to fix—he needed to show his team he trusted them. All of them. Rodney he could question—the man was too fantastically egotistical not to require questioning—but Teyla and Ronon deserved better from him. He'd already apologized to Teyla in the infirmary, where she was currently keeping Rodney company, but he owed a bigger one to Ronon. He needed to apologize for the Satedan not being the one Ronon felt he could go to in the first place.
With a wave of his hand over the panel, the doors slid open quietly, and Sheppard walked inside.
Ronon paused long enough to see who it was, then returned to his bare-fisted pummeling of the heavy bag.
The man was a machine. Two days ago, he'd been lying in a near comatose state, dying from a barbiturate overdose. Today, he was hitting a heavy bag and making it move.
"Need someone to hold it?" the colonel asked casually, stopping a few feet inside.
Ronon paused again, and Sheppard had to reevaluate his initial thought about Ronon's constitution—the Satedan was nowhere near fully recovered. Sweat dripped down his face and he was visually trembling from the exertion, his breath coming out in painful sounding gasps. Sunken, bloodshot eyes pierced Sheppard from within skin that seemed faded, as if the tall man were growing increasingly insubstantial. And yet, despite obviously being sick, Ronon had been murdering the heavy bag like a man possessed by demons.
Ronon was punishing himself for something. And if he kept it up, it would drive him straight back to the infirmary.
"Or," Sheppard said, deciding to change his tactic, "maybe you'd do me a favor and sit with me a minute? I've something I'd like to talk to you about." He couched it as if it were an order, because he knew Ronon needed him to—he needed to give the Satedan an excuse to stop torturing himself.
Ronon grimaced, and turned a glare at the heavy bag as if the equipment had somehow failed him.
Sheppard walked over to the large window and sat down on the bench, leaning forward so that his elbows rested on his knees. His eyes he kept on the floor, the picture of patience.
The Satedan sighed, walked over to grab a towel off the side mantle, and, wiping his face down, walked over and joined Sheppard in the window, sitting down heavily.
The colonel licked his lips, arching an eyebrow but not actually looking at Ronon. "Biro say you're well enough to work out like that?" he asked quietly.
Ronon was back on his feet immediately. "Leave me alone," he snapped, already moving away.
"Wait," Sheppard said, straightening, his brow furrowed in annoyance, "Wait, wait...that's not what I meant."
Ronon stopped moving, and turned to look at his team leader with a confused brow. "Then what did you mean?"
"I'm not questioning whether you're well enough to work out," Sheppard said, keeping his tone even, "I'm questioning why you seem to be trying to kill yourself working out."
Ronon's eyes narrowed. "I'm not trying to kill myself," he spat.
Sheppard just lifted both eyebrows. "You sure?"
The Satedan's jaw muscles flexed at that, as teeth ground together inside the closed mouth. "Yes."
"Then what are you doing?"
Ronon shrugged, looking back towards the heavy bag. "Taking out my anger."
"At me?" Sheppard asked, eyes narrowing slightly. "Because, if so, I'm pretty sure I deserve it. But I'd rather you just yell at me instead of torturing your body anymore."
Ronon turned around to look at him again, and there was no questioning the surprise on his face. "What are you talking about? Why would I be mad at you?"
Sheppard shrugged nonchalantly, "Because you couldn't come to me with your suspicions? Because you know I probably wouldn't have listened?"
"Oh," the confusion lessened on Ronon's broad face, "that."
"Yeah, that," Sheppard confirmed.
"Not really mad at you for that," Ronon said. "Not really mad at you for anything, Sheppard."
"Well, you'd be entitled," Sheppard said.
"Why?" Ronon's brow furrowed, "I didn't go to anyone else with it either. I only talked to Teyla about it because I'd been following Garron around, and he'd just lost me in the Jumper Bay...and I was annoyed." He snorted, grimacing again. "It just so happened that it occurred at the same time Teyla was there, coming back from the Mainland. She thought I was there to meet her. Didn't dissuade her. I bounced the idea off of her, to see if I was crazy. She didn't help much." He frowned again, shrugged, then moved to sit down next to Sheppard again. "Fact was, had it been you there, I probably would've told you. Or Lorne." He frowned, "Not sure about McKay or Weir, though. I don't really get how they think. Weir in particular...McKay I can anticipate. Weir...really not."
Sheppard took all this in with a sort of stunned surprise. By the end, it had turned to sheer amusement.
"So...then you're not mad because...you were right and everyone else was wrong and all this could've been avoided had someone listened to you?"
Ronon's eyebrows lifted at the long sentence. "No. If I'd really known something was wrong, Sheppard, I would've told you."
Sheppard's shoulders collapsed and he bowed his head in relief, closing his eyes and grinning. Releasing a big sigh, he smiled up at Ronon, "Thanks, man."
Ronon just shrugged, and reached over to grab a bottle of water by his feet. Taking a big swig, he looked at Sheppard again. The colonel's face had grown serious again. It had just occurred to Sheppard that he'd just been incredibly self-centered. If Ronon wasn't working out like a kamikaze pilot because he was mad at Sheppard and the rest of Atlantis' personnel, then...
"So who are you mad at?" he asked, turning to meet Ronon's eye. The Satedan grimaced, and leaned back against the side of the window frame.
"Me."
Sheppard frowned, "For what?"
"For not knowing. At least, not in time to stop them."
"Ronon..."
"And for eating too much at breakfast. I was suspicious of Garron and maybe Freya, but I didn't think to question Neera's cooking." He snorted, his brow furrowing in a sneer, "Stupid."
Sheppard had to shrug at that one, "Well, I did offer my food to you. So, really, it's..."
"But mostly," Ronon interrupted, his voice suddenly going incredibly soft, so much so that Sheppard looked up in surprise, "I'm mad because...I killed that little girl."
That shook the colonel—like someone had just frozen his lungs. "Ronon..."
"She was barely twelve years old, Sheppard. Just a girl. And I killed her." The Satedan's eyes had grown very distant, as if seeing something he didn't really want to see, but unable to stop himself. "I should've...I should've found another way."
"She was insane, Ronon," John said softly. "She was inches from killing Beckett. You saved his life. It was the only thing you could do."
Ronon closed his eyes, shaking his head roughly. "I should've found another way," he repeated.
"Listen to me," the colonel's voice was gruff, "I know, right now, all you're seeing is a girl. A blond, pretty girl. But that girl was old, Ronon. In her head and in her heart. Some kids...they aren't like other kids, Ronon. And Freya was one of them. I don't know how she ended up the way she did, but she wasn't innocent. And she wasn't sane. What you did...? It was the only thing you could do. She gave you no choice."
Ronon opened his eyes, but kept them downcast. He'd heard, but he hadn't listened. Not yet.
"Do me a favor," Sheppard coaxed, resting a hand briefly on Ronon's arm before lifting it away, "Just remember how she looked the moment before you stopped her. Right before you threw that knife. And think about who you saved."
Ronon sighed again, looking up at the gym. After a few moments, he closed his eyes and nodded.
"All right," Sheppard gave him a small smile.
Ronon opened his eyes again, grimaced, then stood up, looking vaguely towards the heavy bag.
"Oh, and hey," Sheppard said, standing up as well, "I was going to go check on Beckett and McKay. You want to come? I think Teyla could use a break—she's been sitting up there for a little while."
Ronon gave him a sidelong glance, then snorted, "You're just trying to get me out of the gym."
"Yup." Sheppard's smile grew.
Ronon offered a wry look back, and he straightened, rolling his shoulders. "Is McKay awake?"
"No. At least, not last time I checked."
"You promise?"
Sheppard laughed.
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TBC...
I realized I could go into the fallout from this story for twenty chapters more—I even caught myself doing it, and forced myself to stop! I won't torture you with that, I promise! So...just one more to go...When the clouds finally lift. :)