AMONG THE STARS - by NotTasha
PART 14: GLUEBOOTS
Ronon could hear his own breathing as he took his first step clear of the Ironspot. A flick of a switch at his waist, and his right foot adhered to the ramp as if it had been glued there. Reluctantly, he let loose his grip on the side of the Ironspot, released his left foot and took a step. Once he was in place, he let the right foot go and took another step.
He didn't look around. He didn't care about the stars. He put his attention on only two things – the central core in front of him, and the toggles at his waist. It was slow going, as he moved one foot, ensured it was secure, and then released the other.
The suit was bulky and difficult. He couldn't turn his head. When he tried, his hair got tangled up in the helmet and he grumbled at the discomfort. One dreadlock became wedged in a crack to tug at his scalp.
"How's it going, Ronon?" Sheppard's voice was urgent.
"Going fine," Ronon responded.
"Planning on getting this done anytime soon," the scolding was evident.
Ronon frowned, and tried to increase his speed. He hated this. Hated that he was forced to trust this technology. He hated that he was forced to do something he had no right doing. He hated the sound of his breathing – so loud in the suit. He hated the tightness of the contraption, the way it limited his movements. Zeno was a little shorter and broader than him, leaving Ronon compressed in the ill-fitting suit.
He hated the pulled hair. He hated his slowness, his awkwardness, his general stupidity when it came to these sorts of things.
He hated that they trusted him to do this job. He was so skilled and so sure of himself in his usual element. This was like nothing he'd ever done before. He was clumsy and slow and unsure – words rarely used in conjunction with the name 'Ronon Dex'.
If McKay died because he wasn't good enough – because he was slow, because he was clumsy -- he'd never forgive himself. He clicked the levers with enough force that he thought he might snap one of the devices off. Damn it, he hated this.
And as he listened to his labored breathing, he realized he was afraid.
He didn't like being afraid.
The Satedan surged forward, flipping a switch one way and taking a step, switching the switch the other way, then toggling the other control so that the other foot might move. He stepped stiffly, keeping his head straight in the helmet. He kept his eyes on the core, drawing closer to it, step by stupid step.
"Ronon…" Sheppard called again.
Reaching out one hand, Dex stepped again and touched the side of the column. He sighed, grateful. "Made it," he proclaimed.
"Get with it then."
Fine. He pressed his gloved hand into the well just beneath the clamp, and pulled.
It took more effort that he had thought, but he was grateful for the glueboots that allowed him to gain some leverage. The clamp came open slowly, but once he'd gotten it started, he was able to tug it fully open.
"One done," he proclaimed and continued his task.
"Great. Keep going."
Dex kept moving, breathing too loudly, trying to get the hang of his own encumbered movements as he attached one foot, and then the other in his trek.
He made it a quarter of the way around the column, found the next clamp and released it with relative ease.
In his ears, he could hear Sheppard continuing his monologue to Rodney. "Hey, McKay, I'm thinking we're going to set up that Jacuzzi when we get back to Atlantis. That'll warm you up. Great place to meet girls, don't you think? You have something to wear, right? Somehow I wonder if it's... you know... fit to be seen in public. Wonder where you could get a new suit? We really need a mall or a department store. We should be able to get one set up on one of the empty levels, don't you think? Get the place stocked, import some folks from Macy's or whatever they have in Canada. What's up there, Hudson's Bay Company? Is everything plaid at that place? I'm just sayin'…"
It was all empty prattle – no meaning to it.
McKay said nothing, and Sheppard kept talking, "'Cause mail order sucks when you have to wait at least month to get what you want. I had a hankering for pretzels weeks ago. Ordered them, said I needed them 'now' – you know, special priority! Still don't got 'em. That sucks. You listening to me, McKay?"
Ronon ignored the words of the harangue because puzzling their meaning would have taken too much time.
He kept moving, as quickly as he could.
"You know what's really good? Those 'Little Smokies' in barbeque sauce. You've had that, right? Great with pretzels, by the way. But, get this, a while back, I was going to a party with this girl. It was all her friends and family, and we were supposed to bring a snack or something. I wanted to bring the Little Smokies, but all she could say was, 'they won't like that' and ' that's too trailer trash', but I brought it anyway -- mostly because I had the stuff in the fridge and it was easy. Guess which appetizer was the first to go? Guys were sucking up the leftover sauce. Yeah, I don't see the girl anymore."
Dex lost sight of the Ironspot as he reached the third clamp, and found himself breathing harder at that thought. It felt so alone with only the stars around him. I shouldn't be scared, he reminded himself, as he worked at the latest clamp – finding it a little harder than the other two.
"I know, I know. I couldn't be seeing her now if I wanted to, but I mean, how could I hang with a girl who doesn't know about how good Little Smokies are? Jeez, now I'm jonesing for some of those. Damn it! See what you've done to me, McKay? McKay?"
Teyla remained silent as John continued talking. Ronon was too busy to interject anything. He let Sheppard buzz in his ears. Rodney, too, was silent, even as Shepard called his name again. And that alone was entirely wrong.
When was McKay ever silent?
Ronon wrenched at the clamp with all his strength, hating the way the suit dug into his body at painful places. Hating that the hunk of stuck hair got yanked again. He was sweating, and he cursed himself for sweating when he'd only walked a few paces. And he was still breathing too hard.
"Ronon, how's it coming?" Sheppard asked.
Ronon declared, "Nearly done."
"You are doing fine," Teyla encouraged.
He didn't like this… did not like feeling so out of control. The sight of endless space made him queasy. As soon as they got back to Atlantis, he was going to head to the mainland and spend a few days with dirt beneath his feet and the sky above – yes, keep space above him, where it should be. As soon as they got McKay out of this thing…
He hissed out a breath. Why couldn't he go faster? The suit slowed him to a ridiculous pace. His skin crawled with the knowledge that his slowness might doom McKay. He narrowed his gaze, not wanting to dwell on that, not wanting to come back to Atlantis and listen to Sheppard tell Weir, "We almost got to him in time… we were so close."
It was getting easier to move, the rhythm of the levers combined with the movements of his feet, were becoming second nature.
"Anyway, McKay," Sheppard went on, his voice becoming a soothing backdrop to Ronon's journey. "If we had a mall on Atlantis, you could buy a new wardrobe. If there ever were a candidate for 'What Not to Wear', you'd be the one. Of course, I'm not applying to be one of the Queer Eye guys, but maybe we could work something out. Jeez, I can't believe I'm even mentioning those shows."
Ronon reached the fourth clamp, Sheppard droning in his ears. He'd never admit it, but John's conversation – meant for Rodney – helped make this a bit easier. The nonsense was so commonplace that it made the whole situation a little less – otherworldly to him.
Ronon pulled the final lever as soon as he reached it, grinning that he'd managed to move faster.
"Done!" he proclaimed. His eyes stayed on the wrecked bit of the central core.
"Hey!" Sheppard cheered over the radio. "Way to go, Ronon!"
"Excellent, Ronon!" Teyla joined in, her voice seeming to reveal that she'd never doubted him.
Ronon's breathing continued to reverberate within the suit, as he stared at the column. Nothing had changed. "How does it come loose?" he asked.
"Give it a shove," Sheppard suggested.
Ronon grumbled, first checking that his feet were still 'glued' before he reached out with both hands and gave the upper section of the column a push. He may have groaned.
The blasted bit of space station stayed put.
Disgustedly, he reported, "It isn't moving!"
"Is there a collar or something holding it in place still?" Sheppard asked. "McKay said there might be something."
Ronon examined the thing, and reached his gloved hands along the crack between the two sections. Yeah, there appeared to be an overlay covering the split between sections. He reached his gloved fingers into a groove, and pried. With a tug, the collar came toward him with a quick click, and he had to work the levers at his hip quickly to step back and keep from getting struck with it. Once that was loosened, he held onto the collar with one hand and gave the column another shove.
The massive piece of equipment came loose, easily, simply. The piece, probably weighing tons in a normal atmosphere, just drifted away, easily directed by a touch of the finger.
Ronon smiled. It was difficult not to feel mighty at that moment. Good… done! Time to get out of the way and let Sheppard dock the jumper. He attempted to step away from the airlock, but his foot didn't land.
Shocked, he flipped the switch on his hip to adhere to the deck, but the boots were now a good foot above the surface of the deck. The mooring device wasn't working. His desperate movement did nothing. He was floating free.
His breath came quickly, loud in his ears, as he lashed out a hand trying to grasp hold of the airlock, but there was no wind resistance, no friction, nothing to help him move back. He was drifting loose -- out into space.
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TBC - Ronon, Ronon, Ronon... now, look what you've done...