A/N: Hi everyone! Welcome back! First of all, a huge thank you to everyone who has been reading this story. Since my last update, I've gotten several more followers and favorites and it makes me so happy to see that people are enjoying this story. And another thank you to everyone who has been reviewing. I love hearing all of your feedback.
Hope you like this next little update! Let me know what you think. :)
He had intended to dine alone that night. It was something he frequently did – he had done it for seven years straight, after all – and had actually come to enjoy. But as he turned away from the buffet line and appraised the commissary, he realized those plans were about to change. Along the far edge of the room, Eva sat alone (aside from her ever-present guards, of course), and stared blankly out the window. Her silver pendant, safe in his pocket, had weighed heavily on him the entire day and it looked like this was finally the chance to rid himself of it.
He wasn't sure what had possessed him to do it – to first figure out which jumper his team had taken on Eva's rescue, to wait for it to return from being off world, and then to finally scour it, stern to bow, until he found the jewelry in question. If he were lying to himself, he would say it was because he had been bored and hadn't had anything better to do. But if he were being honest, it was because he couldn't deny the truth anymore; as impossible as it was to believe, the results of the DNA test irrevocably proved she was his child.
He fiddled with the chain of the necklace with his free hand, threading it between his fingers, as he approached her. He couldn't disagree that they shared certain similarities. They had the same hair, eye, and skin color. She carried herself just like he did, she sat like him, stood like him… she even fought like him. He would never say it out loud, but Sheppard was right; the resemblance between them was strong. But as he got closer, he noticed how the light from the setting ocean sun filtered through the window and onto her brown hair, illuminating fiery shades of copper and mahogany from deep within. It was only a touch of auburn, but enough to remind him she wasn't just his. Every time he looked at the girl, though he absolutely detected aspects of himself in her, he saw Dr. Rogers even more. Eva had her nose, her hands, her voice. And while her scowl could rival his own, her smile –elusive as it was – undeniably matched her mother's.
He set his tray of food onto the table and, torn from her thoughts, she looked up at him with surprise.
"Hey."
"Hey," she greeted with a suspicious lift of an eyebrow.
"Can I sit here?"
"Sure," she shrugged.
He sat across from her and she stared expectantly back at him. "This is weird," he finally asserted.
"Yeah." Without another word, she returned her gaze oceanward.
Definitely his daughter.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out her necklace, and set it on the table. "This yours?"
She at first gave it nothing more than a cursory glance; but upon realizing what it was, she instantly perked up in her chair and snatched it off the table. "Where did you find it?" She was already unclasping the chain and placing it around her neck.
"Floor of the jumper," he replied.
"Oh my God," she breathed. "Thank you. I thought I'd lost it forever." She took the little placard in her fingers and studied it, as though she were making sure it truly was the same necklace.
"No problem." Ronon surveyed her, looking her up and down, trying to figure out what she was thinking. He glanced down to see a few gnawed chicken bones discarded on her otherwise empty plate, and without a second thought or hesitation, lifted her tray and replaced it with his own.
She looked up from her necklace, at him, down at the tray, then back at him, and furrowed her brow.
"Eat," he ordered. "You're too skinny."
She dropped the pendant from her hand and it fell slack against her chest. "You know you don't have to pretend to be concerned for me. I know you're not actually my dad."
"No," he agreed, "I'm not. But I was a Runner too, and I know how hungry you still are."
He watched her concentrate, trying to keep her eyes fixed on him and not dart back to the heaping plate of food in front of her.
"I can always get myself more," he offered with a nod of the chin toward the buffet line.
After a brief moment of consideration, she shifted in her seat, picked up a fork and shoveled a small mound of mashed potatoes into her mouth.
He leaned back in his chair and watched her eat for a bit, mesmerized by the miracle of genetics. Any of her features, he could pick one out at random and definitively say whether it came from him or from Dr. Rogers. Ears, his; eyes, his; eyebrows, his (poor girl); lips…hers. Once he realized he was staring, he decided to make an attempt at conversation. "Do you miss 'em?" he asked.
"Who?" she murmured, mouth full of chicken.
"Your parents."
She set the chicken down on the plate, swallowed slowly, and nodded.
"Are they together…in your time?" he asked, trying his best to sound only casually interested.
She frowned. "My parents?" she confirmed. "Are my parents together?"
He nodded.
"Yeah." The tone of her answer indicated that yes, in fact, there was such a thing as a stupid question. "They're married," she revealed, as if it were obvious. "For like seventeen years or something."
Seventeen years? For some reason, he wanted to believe the kid had been an accident – the product of a one-night thing both of them would have wanted to forget the next day. But it wasn't that at all. Where she was from, he had a wife, a marriage…and an evidently successful one at that. For seventeen years, he and the linguist shared a bed, shared a child, shared a life together. He suddenly pictured the red-headed woman waking up in his arms, smiling back at him until he shook his head to rid himself of the image.
"You're clearly not," she stated.
He brought his eyes back to hers. "Not what?"
"Together," she answered, "with Mom…Emma."
"No," he scoffed.
A mischievous glint appeared in her eyes and she picked up her chicken leg once more. "Why not?"
"Why aren't me and Rogers together?" he clarified.
She nodded, eyebrows raised, waiting for a good explanation.
"I don't think that's any of your business."
She shrugged a shoulder as she went to work on the chicken leg. "Fine. It's not like I know everything there is to know about y'all's relationship."
"I'm good," Ronon said tersely, turning down her thinly-veiled offer. "Besides, I thought McKay said you weren't allowed to talk about the future anymore."
"Your loss." She raised her shoulders again and took a big swig of her water.
"You're not here to play matchmaker, kid," he chastised. "You're here as a guest until we can figure out a way to get you back home."
She put her glass down and stared at it for a spell. "And if you don't figure out a way?"
Her voice was quiet, withdrawn, and he found himself suddenly moved by the look on her face. He knew how she felt. No friends, no family, no home.
"We will," he assured her.
She shoved the tray, still half-loaded with food, back at him. "You shouldn't make promises you can't keep," she whispered before turning her gaze once more to the window, shutting him out.