- it would be you guys. All of you.

-E-

Someone screamed in the distance.

Ronon took off ahead of her, and she was right behind him as they hit the clearing. She slowed as soon as she broke through the trees - but Ronon kept heading straight ahead.

Then she saw why. He grabbed the Wraith leaning over Sheppard and threw him clear.

She had her gun trained on the creature a fraction of a second ahead of Ronon, but Sheppard's strained shout of, "Wait!" barely kept her finger from releasing the tiniest bit of pressure needed to pull the trigger.

The Wraith spun on the spot, looking at all of them in turn before settling his eyes back on Sheppard. He paused in his assessment as his eyes glanced over her.

The moment was long enough for recognition followed by white hot rage to sear through her.

Him.

Oh, he hadn't been the one to put the device in her that turned her into a Runner. He hadn't even been the one in the holding room which stank of flesh and blood.

He'd been the one giving the orders on the ground, leading the assault. He was the one who'd captured her, breaking through the feeble barricade she'd set up in the basement of her father's manor, trying to protect the people who'd fled their homes in search of safety.

She shook with unbridled rage. It took every ounce of her willpower to obey Sheppard's repeated command to 'wait.'

Intensity must have been rolling off her in waves, because Sheppard was looking her straight in the eyes. Then they flicked to Ronon. She could feel the tension radiating from him as well, somewhere off to her right. A hatred that ran bone deep. He didn't understand, either... but he lowered his gun. He only lowered it a fraction of an inch, but it sufficed for Sheppard.

She couldn't do it. No matter how much she wanted to (which admittedly, wasn't much) she couldn't lower her gun.

The Wraith must have sensed her struggle, because he turned back 'round to look at her, alien eyes unwavering and challenging as they met hers. He knew. She'd bet her life on it.

But Sheppard wanted her to wait. To not shoot. It went against every instinct she had, as if instinct had become a physical thing, pushing against her skin. She couldn't not shoot.

But she could give Sheppard her gun.

Rather, he'd have to take it from her, because she wasn't about to lower it.

She broke her staring match with the Wraith and focused on Sheppard (always keeping the creature in her periphery), and did the only thing her hands seemed capable of doing: raised her finger off the trigger. She pleaded him with her eyes to relieve her of weapon lest he want one dead Wraith at his feet.

Sheppard wasn't the military leader at Atlantis for no reason. A small, almost imperceptible nod indicated he knew what she was asking, and he crossed the small distance between them. She released her weapon into his hands, spun on her heel, and walked away. He made no effort to stop her, though she reasoned that he'd be asking why later.

If they were going to talk and negotiate with a Wraith, she couldn't be there. Not with that Wraith, anyway.

A not insignificant part of her screamed that she'd just made a terrible mistake, that she needed to go back and kill the bastard partially responsible for the demise of her society. The Wraith who'd decided that they could use more playthings, and the Surians so neatly packaged in the basement with nowhere to flee would make an excellent supply. "Don't kill them all. Take them back to the hive, where they can be preserved for later. The first batch through can feed those aboard."

With that, they'd been dismissed. Of no consequence, certainly not a threat.

She was so lost in old hatred and bitter thoughts that she didn't hear the purposefully heavy footsteps behind her. Her shoulders hunched forwards, like a wounded animal, as she leaned against a tree. She wasn't aware of the physical presence of someone standing next to her until a heavy hand gently fell upon her shoulder, causing her to spin about in a knee-jerk reaction.

If Ronon hadn't anticipated the maneuver, her punch would have connected. Instead, he deftly caught her fist and held it until she realized who she was punching, and let the tension melt out of her muscles.

They stood in companionable silence for a while, until Ronon finally broke it. "My first time after being freed and told to 'hold fire' wasn't easy, either."

Ah, so that's why he was here. It made sense, and she figured if it had been any other Wraith, she might have been able to bite down on the rising bile and lower her gun. She couldn't entirely keep the bitter edge out of her voice as she spoke. "Was that Wraith responsible for your capture?"

Ronon stiffened next to her, and she found someone knowing to be a huge weight off her shoulders, followed by the inexplicable urge to cry and hit things. Hard. On both accounts.

His hand twitched towards his gun, and a surge of warmth rolled through her. She shouldn't be happy that someone wanted to kick ass on her behalf, because she was fully capable of kicking said ass herself... but the idea was a warm seed in the ice in her belly.

"How do you do it?"

He glanced at her. "Do what?"

"Not kill them." No need to say who 'them' was.

Ronon took a moment to answer, green eyes staring off into the distance. "I trust Sheppard."

"More than you hate the Wraith?" Was it really that simple?

"Yes."

She paused. Perhaps it really was that simple. She may not have developed the same level of trust for Sheppard that Ronon had... "Ok."

"Ok what?"

… but she realized she trusted someone else. "I trust you more than I hate the Wraith."