Author's note: Thanks, as always, for your support! huge hugs to all! I think most of you will enjoy the music I have on my site (link in the first chapter) for this chapter, but if you read there, please remember to let me know what you think somehow! Either here or the guestbook, I suppose.

V. Wilted Bouquet

He'd returned to the hospital two weeks after he'd first seen her. Melena's shift was already finished the first time he came but had yet to start the second. So he'd waited for four hours with a small bouquet of wilting flowers he'd bought from a street vendor. He'd passed the vendor every day on his way to and from training and for the past week since he'd gathered his courage enough to return to speak with Melena, eyeing the blossoms as he passed, wondering which ones would most please the nurse. In the end he'd had to choose a bouquet that he could afford, which was the cheapest for sale.

Around fifteen minutes to the time Melena was scheduled to start her shift his palms began to sweat. At five minutes to he was fighting the urge to hide in the bathroom or run out of the building all together. His stomach was filled with frightening dragonflies and felt heavy, weighting him to his seat in the waiting room. He'd chosen the same chair he'd been seated in when he first saw her.

When she came through the door he forgot to breathe. She walked up to the administration desk and pulled out a chart from behind it, signing in with a few playful words to the dark woman behind the desk. She tucked her hair behind her ear as she read over a notice, smiled at the woman, then disappeared down the hall. It all happened so fast to Ronon that he hadn't even left his seat, much less swallowed enough to speak with her. His lips parted in surprise and a sigh of his own idiocy as double doors swung shut behind her.

The dark-skinned nurse who'd been watching him ever since he walked through the door gave him a funny look, as if to say, "wasn't that what you were waiting for?"

The look was enough to shake his senses and he rose, following Melena only to pause outside of the double doors that were marked "hospital staff only." He was tempted to turn back until he reflected on how much of his day of leave he'd spent waiting to see her. He set his jaw in determination and glanced over either shoulder before slipping through the doors, freezing when he found himself at the end of a long corridor lined with identical-looking doors. He bit the inside of his cheek and wondered just how much trouble he'd get into if caught here. His planned defense was to play the part of a wandering mental patient.

He took a few tentative steps forward, relieved when he found most of the doors to be supply closets void of people. If most of these were closets, then where had the nurse gone? He looked through the window of one of the closet doors and did a double-take when he spied drawers labeled after body parts. He took a few steps down the hallway until curiosity got the better of him and he doubled back, slipping inside the closet to investigate.

He stared at the list of drawers before him. Left hands. Right eyes. Big toes and teeth. He stuck his tongue out with a small sound of disgust yet cracked open a drawer of toes anyway. He blinked in surprise when the scent of new plastic wafted out and he opened the drawer further. They were all prosthetic limbs. He fished out a toe and held it to the light, examining the soft vinyl exterior and wondering how many people in the world went around with fake toes like this that he never noticed before. His grandfather's toes had always frightened him, but his mother had explained their yellowed appearance as fungus. If his grandpa had wanted a replacement toe, could he color one like this to match the yellow of his other toes so that it'd blend in?

"Young man," an authoritative voice halted his playful musings and he turned around to face a scowling doctor. "This area is for medical staff only."

Ronon stood with a big toe in one hand and his wilting flowers in another, at a loss for words, remembering his defense yet struck with the sudden fear that if he acted mentally ill, the doctor before him might admit him to the psychiatric ward. "Uh... I..."

The doctor plucked the toe from his hand and returned it to its drawer, slamming the drawer shut with a frown. "This is medical equipment, not a museum." He glanced at the flowers in his hand. "Or a place of courtship." He grabbed Ronon by the upper arm and escorted him toward the double doors. Ronon nearly tripped over his feet, praying that the nurse he was looking for was nowhere nearby to see him. The intercom voice echoed the name of a paged doctor and the man tugging Ronon along cursed. "That's me." He glanced around and spied Arya exiting from the ladies' room. "Miss Clare? Could you please escort this impertinent young man off hospital premises?"

Arya fought a knowing smile when she recognized the young soldier. "Of course, Dr. Bennett."

Bennett gave her a curt nod then jogged off. Arya raised her brows at Ronon who, once he recognized her, paled. "I knew that you were a troublemaker from the start. You've got it written all over your face, you scoundrel." She folded her arms over her chest.

Ronon looked slightly offended. "I didn't mean to cause trouble, I was just-"

"Stalking my best friend?"

He straightened. "No ma'am, I came here to speak with her. Only she got away before I could think of what to say."

Arya laughed and grabbed his elbow, steering him towards the double doors. Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "You're a poet, I'm sure."

If she was going to be so bossy then he'd could be a shit right back. He adopted his cockiest tone. "No Miss, I'm a soldier in the finest regiment of the Satedan militia."

"Exactly. And she's studying to pass her medical board tests to become a doctor. The last thing she needs is a flyboy like you."

She shoved him backwards through the double doors. He stumbled to keep his footing and bumped into someone behind him. The someone gave a cry of surprise and shoved him away, one of her feet having been squashed. "Do you mind?" Her voice had a husky quality that squeaked when she stressed it.

"I'm sorry, I-" he paused when he turned around to see the very nurse he'd tried to follow hobbling before him on one foot. The shock propelled him and he used whatever momentum he had, shoving out the wilted bouquet. "Th-these are for you."

She flicked a stray curl out of her brown eyes and set her foot back on the ground. "You don't have to give me those to apologize."

"They're not to apologize. Here, I want you to have them."

She blinked and leaned back since they were so close to her face. "I don't want them." He lowered his arm, never having plotted this in his possible scenarios in the two weeks since he'd first seen her. "Go ahead and give them to whoever they were meant for." She brushed past his shoulder.

He blinked and moved his lips but no sound came out. Realizing that he was letting her get away again, he spun on his heels and fell into step next to her. "But they were meant for you."

She looked at him askance then slowed as she recognized him. "You're the boy from the waiting room."

He nodded with a lop-sided, hopeful smile that proved so infectious that she couldn't fight back her own.

"And I came back here to see you." He offered her the flowers again and this time she took them with a small amount of wonder in her laughing eyes.

Then her look shifted to one of duty as she let her hand with the flowers fall to her side. "Thank you, really, but I'm sorry. I'm not interested."

His chest froze up and he forgot to breathe. His first instinct was to pretend that he didn't care and to waltz off but he didn't. His voice was quiet. "You're not?"

She arched a brow as she looked him up and down, her eyes lingering on the fresh blue military tattoo on his throat. "No, I'm not. I don't date soldiers." The crestfallen look in his eye wasn't making this any easier and she continued walking again, hoping he'd stay where he was. But he tailed after her.

His voice betrayed his struggle for words. "Well, why not?"

She kept her gaze ahead. "Because they're trouble, that's why."

"Trouble? I'm no trouble."

She let out a small laugh. "Oh please, Soldier. You're still a boy." Her tone painted the comment as an observation on their age differences rather than a belittling remark.

"My name's Ronon."

She raised her eyebrows at him as she glanced at him over her shoulder. "Fine, Ronon. You're still a boy and by this time next month I'll be a doctor."

"Well, maybe my rank will be higher next month, too."

She sighed as she paused and turned about to face him. "This isn't about rank, Ronon. I could never get along with a soldier."

He caught up and halted in front of her. "Why not?"

"Because soldiers break people, and I fix people."

He couldn't follow her logic. "The only breaking we're going to be doing is the Wraith."

She placed her free hand on her hip. "Fine then – because your part of a wild bunch and I'm an intellect."

Ronon grinned at her changed answer, knowing that her squirming meant that she wasn't as sure as she tried to seem. "Alright then. Ask me any intellectual question and I'll see if I can answer it."

Her lips parted in surprise and she looked away in disbelief. "You're really desperate, aren't you?"

He shrugged. "I don't think so. I'm just trying to get to know you."

She closed her mouth and cocked her head at him. "Alright then Mr. Smarty Pants. What's the difference between wild wheat and domesticated wheat when ripe?"

His grin grew, knowing he was about to wipe that smug smile off her face. "Wild wheat falls to the ground and domesticated wheat stays on the stalks."
Her smile faded.

"Besides, that's not intellectual. Every farmer's son knows that."

She glanced away and tried to sound disinterested. "You're a farmer?"

"Sort of. I grew up in the farmlands but my family was never very good at it. I spent more time chasing chickens than plowing."

She allowed herself a small, genuine smile. "I'm from the farmlands, too. But I moved here to study on a scholarship quite a while back, when I was about your age. My family held onto the farm until my father died. Now it's sold into a lot of pieces."

"...I'm sorry. That's a sad story."

She plastered on a fake smile again. "Story of my life, Soldier."

"Ronon," he corrected.
"Ronon. If you'll excuse me and please accept my declination I'd be much obliged."

He laughed a little. "I can't do that."

She arched a brow. "And why not?"

"Because this is my day of leave, and I came here to see you."

"Well you've seen me, now you can go." She turned around and started through a door.

"Wait." He followed her. "Our dads were farmers, doesn't that make us enough alike?"

"No." She continued down the warm hallway that smelled of various flowery scents.

"At least common enough ground to see me again?"

She sighed. "I don't date soldiers, Ronon."

His voice was playfully cocky once more. "But I'm not a soldier, I'm a farmer, remember?"

She couldn't help but laugh at his persistence and walked through the open archway into the women's locker rooms. A fellow nurse in nothing but a towel with soaking wet hair screeched when she saw him and began beating him with her trousers. "Out! Out! Get OUT!"

Ronon shielded himself from the flurry of pant legs beating against him as several other women took up the chorus, marching towards him to add their clothing to the beating. "Can I at least know your name?"

She laughed as three women reinforced the towel-clad nurse, beating him with their clothes. "Melena."

She thought she caught a smile through the flying cloth. "Melena? I get leave in another six weeks, Melena. And you can bet I'll be right here waiting for you."

"You'll be dead if you dare come in here again!" threatened the woman in the towel, shoving him towards the entranceway. He caught sight of Melena shaking her head in disbelief and grinned at her as he backed away from the women who gave up their beatings as he retreated. "I look forward to seeing you, too!"

"OUT!"

He disappeared around the corner and as he retraced their steps down the hallway to leave, he heard one of Melena's co-workers refer to him as handsome. He almost skipped out the door.

Teyla returned with the glass of water, moisture sticking to its side. She greeted him with a smile. "Dr. Beckett says you are only allowed half a glass more, I am afraid." She resumed her seat next to his bed. "Just for the time being."

He nodded a little and she cocked her head. "How do you feel?"

He took a moment before he answered then croaked out, "Lost."

She looked away and set down the cup after he declined a drink from it. "I am sure it is only natural to feel such emotions after-"

"It's alright, Teyla."

A thin line formed between her brows at his quiet interruption. Her heart sank as she watched him study IV bag to his side, watching the clear liquid drip. "...Do you wish to be alone?"

He didn't know what he wanted. Half of him wanted to curl up and cry over the carved out portion of his soul that Melena once filled, but the other half wanted to feel Teyla's arms around him in a comforting embrace. He looked to her and slowly shook his head.

She smiled at him and placed her hand on his again, her fingers warm and soothing. He swallowed before speaking again. "How long have you been here?"

Her expression was suddenly self-conscious as she glanced to the clock. "I am uncertain."

He studied her face and noticed that she looked tired. He cocked his head, trying to recall any other moments of wakefulness that he may have had with her at his side on the return from Sateda.

"Do you remember waking on the Daedalus?"

He reflected for a moment then shook his head again.

She couldn't help but think that that was just as well, knowing that he'd have hated for his teammates to see him in such pain. Instead of reminding him what had happened, she forced a smile and cheer into her voice. "John and Rodney were also there. We've all been very worried about you."

The gravity of the fact that they had all risked their lives to save him began to creep into his consciousness once more and guilt snaked through the workings of his mind. "...I'm sorry."

She was taken aback. "For what?"

"For what I put all of you through."

She gave his hand a squeeze. "It is not your fault, Ronon." Her voice was taking on the firm assurance that it had had when she was attempting to convince him to remove the knife from his throat while they were imprisoned together. She'd told him that it wasn't his fault then, too. He hadn't believed her then, and the way his eyes had drifted away from hers and his brows had twitched together, he didn't believe her now. She lifted his hand in hers and leaned forward, her vice stern. "Ronon? Look at me." He hesitantly met her gaze. She spoke slowly. "It is not your fault."

He heard Melena's screams as she was killed by a blast. Old guilt over his failing to save her engulfed him. The fear of Teyla and Sheppard being punished for whatever crimes he had committed lingered in his mind. "...not your fault." Her words fought through his warring emotions.

Teyla clenched her jaw as she watched his eyes cloud over with doubt, guilt and self-loathing. She gently pressed a hand to his cheek, forcing his eyes to clear from her uncharacteristic nearness. She waited until she was sure he was listening to her again. "You have to let it go, Ronon."

He took a deep breath, his throat swelling with unshed tears of pleading forgiveness and the desire of relief.

She could both see and feel his facial muscles tense with a torment within and her own tired eyes start to sting. Her voice became intimately quiet. "Let it go."

He squeezed his eyes shut with a silent sob as her words washed over him, his eyes quickly filling with tears. He blinked and they trailed down each cheek, one pooling where her hand met his flesh. "I'm sorry," he whispered again.

She felt her throat wrench at the unwarranted apology. A crocodile tear slid down her cheek as she removed her hand from his face, unable to sit by and watch him in pain any longer. She carefully climbed onto the bed and lay down next to him. She tentatively reached a hand to rub his shoulder, whispering, "It's alright, Ronon."

He leaned forward with another half-repressed sob. She lifted her chin so he could rest his forehead against her collarbone, slipping one arm under his neck to tangle with his hair and resting her other on his shoulder blade, too far from his wound to cause any pain. She rubbed his side as her own tears fell. He hugged her back, his hand tightly clenching her clothing, as if terrified to let go. "There is nothing to be sorry for, Ronon." Her voice was choked by tears and she kissed the crown of his forehead. "You've been hurt, and it's not your fault. You don't deserve any of this pain."

She felt his muscles shudder slightly beneath her touch as he finally gave in and allowed himself to fully cry. Her small frame shook with her own tears, fed by too many hours awake and worried, and by the pain she felt for what he'd been through, and would have to live with. A few tears still escaped her even after he slipped into an exhausted sleep, his grip on her only loosening ever so slightly.

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