The angw/Pranksta production continues :) Thanks Angela!
Correspondence
"Stop! Stop!"
Ronon's hands fisted at his side. He could not sit and watch, could not bear to see a woman in such jeopardy, even through the ugly magic of a memory screen.
"Stop! No! No! STOP! NO!"
A hand comes, snakes around a young woman's neck and large brown eyes see only the smiling face of her assailant. He is a nice looking man, dark hair, darker eyes, a slight bulge under his chin from indulging in the good things life can offer. She attempts to move, to dislodge him, but he presses her down against the grass, pressing in so her airway is partly blocked.
"Beautiful. Miss Emmagan, you are simply beautiful. You haven't been to visit in so long. I have missed you."
"You are shaming yourself, your family and your people!"
"Now, now, play nice little girl, wouldn't want to make me angry now, would we?"
"I can assure you, I would!"
Venom coated the voice of the person watching this event and Ronon recognised Teyla's unmistakable threatening speech pattern. This Miss Emmagan, held against the ground, was not a younger Teyla, though she did look quite like her. Teyla has a sister. Had a sister.
The man laughs. "If your intentions were malicious, Teyla Emmagan, you would have dealt with me long ago. Yet, here I am and so are you. I can only assume you have come to take your rightful place so that I can cease to settle for Adene." The man has released the girl he held and is facing Teyla, his lecherous gaze roaming freely over her form.
"You will cease." Teyla moves so fast, the man is left with no time to move. The small knife slides rapidly in his neck and his face registers surprise before alarm. Blood pours out of the wound left gaping by the vicious removal of the knife He falls to the ground in a loud thump, sending a small cloud of dirt in the air. Teyla has already turned away, she cradles her sister in her arms and rocks her gently. "Adene, you are safe. He will never touch you again."
The environment around Ronon was a bright red, at the apex of its depth. It would soon glide into a slow orange, but for now, it was red as the blood Teyla had spilled, as red as the anger that coursed through him, that was unmistakably coursing through her. He couldn't help but understand her a little better. He had seen what he might've brought to the forefront of her mind with his disposal of Kell. He had known then that Teyla had lived through many difficulties, had known hardship, like him. He had thought that perhaps her life had been easier whilst she was surrounded by the people she loved. Secure, in this dangerous world. Now he saw that she too had known betrayal, had known anger beyond any reason. He thought, maybe she understood him better than he did her.
The next image came and right away he realised who this one would feature. So strange, so incredibly familiar; he assumed this one would be angry as well, and he wondered if this was the angriest John Sheppard had ever been. It surprised him and yet it did not; Sheppard defined intensity, but embodied an easy-going nature so his anger was rare, short-lived and always came in extreme circumstances. He allowed others to revolve around him without ever letting them touch him, affect him, change him. Ronon believed, now more than ever, that they had changed Sheppard.
McKay is typing furiously, his back to him. He speaks, "I can bring it back under control! Just give me a second!"
A few steps and he grabs his jacket, turns him around. They are standing so close, too close. McKay's face is worry and fury combined. Sheppard's voice carries the same intensity. "No you can't!"
McKay pulls away, roughly, turning back to his screen. "Just one second!"
Sheppard walks around, speaks fast and low, close to McKay, who isn't looking at him, not at all, until he hits the console and gains his attention. "I've seen this before, Rodney: pilots who wouldn't eject when something went wrong. Trying to fix their planes right until it hit the ground!"
The image changed at that precise moment. It was not a smooth, continuous show. It was bits and pieces, erratic. Sound came and went. Highlights, Sheppard's remembering of a memory inside a memory.
The sky is impossibly blue, there are no clouds, the sun is shining brightly. The air is tranquil, an amused voice speaks through a radio.
"Ya know, you're the biggest jerk to ever grace the soil."
"That's why he's a pilot, jackass. Nobody wants him on solid ground."
The man flying through the sky doesn't answer, simply chuckles quietly. A moment, all is peaceful, beautiful, breathtaking. The next, an angry black cloud follows a diving metallic bird. Sheppard shouts orders.
"EJECT! EJECT! EJECT!"
A small voice comes to him, through the radio, the same one that was teasing him only a moment before. "I can fix it! A second! Just need a second!"
He dives and sees the fireball that comes from below, the massive explosion that makes a hole in the ground. He hits the side of the control panel. A shudder, he's suddenly standing straight, listening to a man speak about the eternal grace of God. His hands are fisted on the back of the wooden bench in front of him. He doesn't hear a word, only the whine of a plunging plane and the voice that asks for one second. His eyes are fixed on a long, flat wooden box, highly polished, garnished with a wreath. He doesn't see it.
The image disappearedOnce again, Ronon was torn. He hated the intrusion, but couldn't help the knowledge from seeping into his being. He knew Sheppard like he never could have, like he never would have been permitted to. He wanted to know more, and Ronon wished he didn't. He sighed as another image came, knowing this one would be Rodney's anger and he wouldn't look away, couldn't bring himself to ask for it to stop.
Violence, not what he would have expected.
"DAMN IT! DAMN IT!" A fist collides roughly with a metallic box. It's long and narrow and stands besides many others. A hollow sound escapes when the fist hits it again, again and again. It leaves an imprint, a small curve in the otherwise smooth surface.
Eyes moves, left to right, barely taking in the environment. "DAMN IT!"
Quick steps take him down the stairs, through a corridor. He keeps screaming, cursing, hitting random walls, kicking random things. A chair, a trashcan, a discarded piece of paper.
He seems to reach his destination. He wrenches the door open and walks into a lush office. Dark wood, soft buttery leather. A woman sits primly at a large desk and eyes him over half-moon glasses.
"Yes?" He face is impassive but her tone speaks of her dislike.
"I need to see Doctor Ross."
"He is not available. He sees student only on Mondays and Thursdays. You know that very well Mister McKay."
"Listen…" his tone is threatening. He places one hand on the desk, leaning forward, the other raised, a finger pointing in accusation. "I need to see Doctor Ross. Today. Now!"
"Really, this is unnecessary. If you wish to make an appointment…"
"Ah forget it!" Rodney stalks away, enters a door to the left and stops, dead in his tracks. A man is sitting on a big leather chair, comfortably reclined, smiling up at a young woman sitting on the desk. He turns his gaze to Rodney and loses all trace of pleasure.
"Ah, Rodney. Come in. I assume you want to speak of your thesis, ummmm? It's lucky, Miss Harrington is here. We can resolve this little matter right now, can't we?" His eyes move past Rodney and take in the woman who followed him. "Thank you Mrs. Smith."
The door closes, Rodney moves closer to the desk, his eyes moving over Doctor Ross, who is still sitting in his chair, straightened up, his hands linked on the desk. Miss Harrington smiles prettily at Rodney before claiming a chair. He sits next to her.
"Let's see what we can do about this, shall we?"
"You can expel her! She's a thief!"
The woman laughs coquettishly, as if Rodney has made a terribly funny, yet inappropriate joke. "Oh Rodney. You don't believe that! It's just, a misunderstanding!"
"You stole my project! You took my notes!"
"I didn't! Be reasonable!"
"I am reasonable! You stole my research! You copied everything!"
"I'm sure Heather didn't intent to steal. Great minds think alike?"
"Oh no! You can't seriously think she's in the same league as I am! Are you insane! Jesus! She'll be lucky is she makes it as a lab assistant!"
"You don't need to be mean!" Heather pouts prettily. She's playing dumb and Doctor Ross seems to be playing along with her.
"Yeah well, the truth hurts!" Rodney crosses his arms over his chest and he huffs. His voice is loud, he's aggressive. "I want her expelled! I want written apologies!"
"There will be an inquest. We'll get to the bottom of this…soon, very soon…" Doctor Ross is interrupted by the voice of his secretary, telling him someone important is on line two. He dismisses the two students with a wave.
They exit the office, walk down the hall. The woman strives to keep up with Rodney's fast pace. "You know McKay, I would've thought you'd be a lot more original than this. I dump you and you tell everyone I stole your thesis research. You're pathetic, and jealous. It's not my fault I had the idea first."
"You're lying! You're lying! I can't believe you! You'd risk your career…my career, because suddenly you don't like me!"
She lowers her voice and sneers at him. "Ah come on Rodney, you can't be that clueless; no one likes you! Ok, I'll admit, you were…entertaining, but I have no use for you now. Let it go, you're the fucking genius, just find something else and give me a fucking break."
She turns and walks away. McKay stands still, watching her.
Ronon did not understand what had happened. He saw the anger, practically felt it emanating from McKay, but did not really see the problem. He thought he had seen betrayal; the woman was humouring him, using him…but…thesis? Perhaps, when it was all over, when they were safe in Atlantis, Ronon would ask, subtly, what might've been the situation.
He sat and waited, but no more images came. He was both sorry and relieved. The orange faded into yellow and the voice spoke. It was no longer enticing, caressing. It was simply a voice that surrounded him.
"They will rest. You will be…fed." The voice paused before the last word, as if it was a foreign concept.
"They need to eat too."
"That is…inconvenient…"
For a long time, Ronon didn't hear anything. He prowled in front of his team, somewhat like a caged animal, even though he was the freest of them all. He hadn't thought about food, about water, about sleep. Thought about nothing but his team and the memories that were now burnt into his mind. He'd seen abandonment, loss, grief. Anger, betrayal, powerlessness. He'd seen what had never been meant to be seen.
In a way, Ronon was the luckiest of them all. He'd had a loving family for so long and although he had been alone, truly alone, for quite some time, he had never doubted that he had been loved. Never had to fight for his siblings to be safe from anyone, anything but the Wraith. Never had been told that he was alone, a burden, unwanted. He hadn't chosen the military because he had no place else to go. Never had been discarded when in pain, when in tears, never left outside to cry. He'd been a happy child, grew into a happy young man. The Wraith had destroyed his life, made it painful, not his family, not his people. Of course, he carried the burden of his difficult journey, but that had occurred later in life. They had lived through so much hardship, even as children. How was it, that for Sheppard and McKay, a life without the Wraith hadn't meant freedom and happiness? He'd known more of the good things life could offer than they had and wasn't that a situation upon witch to ponder. Thinking back to the chasm that had nearly driven them all apart, he understood why they had not been able to speak, why they had hidden behind anger and silence. He was as guilty as they had been, but now he thought he could help them all move past their need for stoicism, form a stronger bond. All he needed was the courage to admit he had watched as private moments unfolded.
The voice came. "We will allow them to feed, to sleep."
Just like that, the squishiness released them and they fell into a pile. Ronon felt soiled as his eyes met with theirs, yet strangely encouraged. For all the danger they might still face, much right would come out of this wrong.