Title: Home
Author: Marianne H. Stillie
Categories: Introspective POV Episode Tag for Critical Mass
Rating: T
Pairing: Ronon/Elizabeth
Series: Atlantis 'Time' Stories – Story #7
Season: Season 2
Sequel To: Alone, Conversations, Secrets, Understanding, Feelings, Caring
Summary: Elizabeth's desire for Ronon has come dangerously close to the surface.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and places for Stargate Atlantis are the property of MGM Worldwide Television Distribution, Sony Pictures Television and Acme Shark Cooper/Wright Productions. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment, not monetary purposes and no infringement on copyrights or trademarks are intended. Previously unrecognized characters, places and this story are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Archive: Please do not archive anywhere without the author's permission.
Copyright (c) 2006 Marianne H. Stillie
Home
This room is so empty. Unlike the man who occupies it. What's important is what's inside him.
When he looked at me in the control room two days ago, the relief and happiness that showed in his smile, that this city had been saved, took my breath away. What he was willing to do for me and this place expressed more than any words that he considers Atlantis his home now.
I pick up a shirt he's left carefully folded on the chair. It's the only visible possession in the Spartan existence of his room. He carries all he is with him. The sword, gun and knives of the warrior are the simple outward manifestations. Pressing the shirt against my cheek, I feel the deeply emotional man he keeps secluded and unattached.
My body aches, here in the daylight, spilling over from my nighttime dreams. I've stopped pretending that I don't want him. I fight the urge to wrap the shirt around me and lie on his bed, my dream fantasies eager to pretend he's here with me. I want so badly to do those things here, where he's closest, that I permit myself only in my own bed.
My face burns with shame, not from my desire, but from thinking of him only in that primal way. He is so much more than fighter and imagined virile lover. I've seen him with the Athosian children. Even the smallest toddler is like precious glass in his arms. And he makes them laugh.
I put the shirt back on the chair, as carefully folded as possible, so he won't know someone intruded on his physical self. He will know someone was here. The master-crafted sharpening stone in its perfectly stitched leather case I traded for from the Athosian artisan will quickly be noticed on the empty nightstand. I chose a practical gift so he can keep his sword and knives at their best, to protect himself so he can come home safe and sound, to me.