Please see first chapter for disclaimer, rating, warnings, pairings, etc.
Part 9/24
-Chapter 9-
Confusion
As late afternoon faded into evening, John left the mess hall and went in search of Elizabeth. What he was going to say once he found her he wasn't sure; he just needed to see her again.
She was exactly where he'd expected her to be: standing on the balcony off the control room, her elbows leaning on the railing, her gaze fixed on the horizon. She still looked concerned and unsettled. John sighed inwardly as he ventured outside. "Elizabeth?"
She turned to smile at him, her whole face lighting up. "John. Was there something else you needed?"
So Sheppard must have just been out on the balcony, even though he hadn't seen him in the vicinity. "Uh. . .I'm the other one."
"Oh." She turned away from him, back to the ocean. "We're going to have to try to figure out a way to tell you apart."
John shook off the sensation that made him feel like he was intruding. He crossed the balcony to lean on the railing next to her. "Sorry. I guess I'll start wearing a different color jacket. Will that help?"
That got the desired effect. She smiled, laughter briefly darting through her eyes as she shot him an amused look. Oh, how much he'd missed that smile. . . "I suppose that would work." Her smile faded, and she looked away from him, that concern-laden look back in her eyes and on her face. "I still get the feeling you're hiding something from me, something from the future. Maybe something you didn't want to say in front of the others." She looked up, her far-too-perceptive eyes burning into his. "What is it?"
"I. . ." He had to swallow back the words and feelings rising into his throat. He wanted to tell her what he'd figured out, how much he loved her: it wasn't his place, though. This might be his past, but this wasn't really his Elizabeth. She had ceased to be his Elizabeth the moment he appeared in the past. His Elizabeth Weir was dead. This was another Elizabeth, and he had to accept that. He couldn't tell her how he felt, no matter how much he wanted to. He had to let the other him figure it out and take his own course of action. But he supposed he could nudge things on a little. "I think I had better let your Sheppard tell you in his own time," he said softly, knowing this was the right decision, no matter how much it hurt.
Elizabeth tipped her head to the side a little, her confusion obvious. "What?"
"Nothing. You'll know what I mean when the time is right." He looked at her for a long moment, then leaned forward and gently kissed her forehead. "I'm just glad you're okay," he said softly. He left the balcony, his steps faltering only a moment when she called after him.
It hurt. But he had to hold onto the pain anyway. It fueled his anger towards the Wraith and his desire for revenge, a revenge he had to exact to keep Elizabeth safe.
He knew that his resolve was not all that strong, though. If he wasn't careful, he could get lost in Elizabeth and actually compete with himself for her love.
-Atlantis – Past-
It was early evening in Atlantis. The gym was abandoned, giving Ronon just the space he needed. He sat in the corner, head leaned back against the wall, holding the picture he'd found in Teyla's room. For a long time he just sat quietly, his gaze wandering around the room, from the stained glass windows to the Bantos rods resting against the wall.
He could so clearly see, in his memory, all the times he and Teyla had been in this room. At first, on their off-days they would meet in the gym and spar together. Then it more or less became playful fighting, enlivened by some mischievous flirting. They'd spend hours together in the gym, then usually go to the cafeteria to sit and talk, sometimes about their fight against the Wraith, but usually about mutual interests.
Ronon hadn't realized just how much he'd enjoyed those hours until Teyla had been snatched away. How stupid he'd been never to tell her how much their time together, how much she herself, meant to him.
Then, as suddenly as if she'd stepped from his memories, she was there, standing in the doorway staring at him in surprise. She was barefoot, her gym bag slung over her shoulder, and wearing that long, colorful skirt and matching top she always wore when training. Her hair was swept back in some random style that held it out of her face but did not lessen the ready-for-battle look. The last rays of the sunlight filtering in through the windows played in her eyes and made her skin softly glow. She almost looked like an angel there to save him from himself.
"Teyla. . ." He blinked and made himself look away. It hurt so much and yet felt so good being around her again, pain and pleasure locked together. He was going to go crazy if he wasn't careful.
"Ronon." She entered the room and set her bag down on the window seat. When she turned to look at him, most of the surprise had left her face, but still lingered in her eyes. "I was not expecting anyone to be here."
Ronon stood. "I'm sorry, I just came here to—" —Mourn you. But he couldn't say that, so he just said: "I'll leave you alone." Something inside told him he'd better leave before he said or did something stupid.
Teyla took a step forward, one hand rising in an unconscious gesture to stop him. "No, you do not have to go," she noticed her hand and lowered it, a shy expression on her face, "unless you want to leave."
"No, I don't mind staying." The moment stretched awkwardly as he was caught by and lost in her beautiful eyes. He finally cleared his throat, forcing himself to look away. "Come to do a little after-hours training?"
Teyla smiled, a little discomfort showing through. "Yes. Everyone else seems to be occupied with—other things. I wanted to come and get away for a little while, think things through." She suddenly noticed the picture he still held; she drew a sharp breath. "Where did you get that?" she whispered, sounding scared yet dangerous.
Ronon swallowed. "I found it in your room. In the future." He looked back down at it for a moment. "I don't know why I picked it up, I just did. Good memories, I suppose." He held it out to her. "I'm sorry. Here."
She looked at it, then up at him, her eyes sad. "No, keep it." She reached out and gently pushed his hand, and thus the picture, away. "I have been meaning to get you. . .or, rather, my Ronon, a copy, but I keep forgetting."
He closed his eyes and bowed his head, confusing emotions tumbling around inside him. He couldn't hold back the words. "I've missed you so much, Teyla." He opened his eyes when he felt her come closer, not even bothering to hide his sorrow.
"I—" She stopped, swallowed, then whispered: "Did—do—I die, too?"
Ronon nodded. "Doctor Weir died immediately in the explosion. You were still alive when I found you. I had hoped. . . But it was too late. Beckett kept you on life support, but you died three months later." He reached out a shaky hand to touch her face; stopped and started to draw it back, knowing it was wrong to touch her but wishing he could.
Then her small warm hand caught his, pulling it up to her face and holding it there. Her eyes, so dark and expressive, met and held his. She whispered: "That is why you came back." It wasn't a question.
He saw no point in denying it. "Yes."
It was a mutual decision, it seemed. He leaned his head down as she tilted hers up. Their lips met and held, her hand going to his neck, thumb brushing across the tattoo there; his hand slipped to the back of her neck and gently tangled in the few loose strands dangling from her hair clip. He knew he shouldn't be kissing her, it was so wrong in terms of the timeline; but it felt so good to be holding her again.
Teyla broke the kiss. Raising her other hand to his shoulder, she stretched up on tiptoe to touch her forehead gently to his, then stepped back from him. "Ronon, I—" she began but broke off, her eyes suddenly focusing beyond him, an alarmed expression on her face.
Ronon whirled around. His past self stood in the door to the gym. His posture—shoulders hunched, head thrust slightly forward, fists clenched—shouted hostility. Ronon felt it like heat washing over his skin, the irrational but absolute jealousy blasting from the man. Without consciously willing it, he shifted into an equally aggressive stance. All the guilt and rage and grief he'd been carrying came to a sharp point within him, filling him with a hate as irrational as the other Dex's jealousy.
You fool! He hurled the thought like a spear. You let her die! Emotions sizzled back and forth in their locked gazes, escalating, waiting for that tiny shift in body language that would trigger the explosion—
--And Teyla hurled herself between them, as angry as he'd ever seen her. "Stop it! Both of you! You cannot defeat the Wraith if you are your own enemy!"
She was right. Ronon felt the truth of her words. Evidently the other Dex did too; at least he looked a little less apt to murder.
"Sorry, Teyla." His heart was still beating too fast, so the words came out in a kind of half-growl. He strode out of the room, unable to resist bumping Dex's shoulder with his own on the way past.
As he stalked away, Ronon heard Teyla saying something else very urgently; then, like an echo of his own, hard footsteps going down the hall the opposite direction. His gut twisted.
Sheppard is going to kill me.
To Be Continued. . .
