A/N: Thank you so much for all of your kind comments on the last chapter! They all made me so happy.
This next chapter gets...steamy (pardon the pun that you will understand after reading this chapter). I do think it needs a content warning or two, but I'll pop those at the bottom of this chapter so as not to spoil any of the plot.
Hope you enjoy! I tried to keep it both tasteful and purposeful and I hope that comes through.
She practically floated through the dimly-lit corridors on her way to her room, something like an electrical current surging through her body. It made her skin prickle, the raised hairs on her arms and the nape of her neck catching the wake of the cool breeze created by her own swift movement. It had been such a long time since she had felt the telltale flush across her cheeks, the heart palpitations, the light headedness…
She tried to shake it off. Her blood sugar was probably peaking too quickly. It had to be from finally eating after practically fasting all day. That's all it was.
"It's the complete apathy demonstrated by your team that worries me, Doctor. We can't risk another outage like that."
Like an anchor, she fell back to earth, immobile. She knew that voice. It was the voice that had given her this new bout of insomnia, the voice that had driven her to seek refuge in another man's bed. Looking to both sides, she located the nearest empty laboratory, ducked inside and kept her ear close to the doorway to listen.
The voice that replied was Zelenka's. "I agree, Captain. It was most inconvenient."
"Inconvenient? It was a safety hazard."
Why the hell was Hanson on this side of the city? The security office was located at the city's center – not all the way out here.
"The outage was connected to our naquadah generators – not to the ZPM," Zelenka explained. "The city's shield and the Stargate were not impacted by the outage. I assure you, we were still protected from any outside threat for the five minutes during which the power was out."
"Not all threats come from the outside, Doctor."
"I'm…not sure I catch your meaning."
"All my security cameras are powered by those naquadah generators which means, for five whole minutes, our city lost every last bit of its surveillance."
She could hardly hear their distant conversation over the hammering of her heart in her ears. Even if it meant risking another malfunction, she regretted her decision to not take the transporter again. Being trapped alone and in the dark for an hour would have still been preferable to crossing paths with Hanson even for a second.
"Are you suggesting the power was cut intentionally?" Zelenka asked. "Foul play?"
"I'm saying we shouldn't rule it out. Anything could have happened during those five minutes and we would have no idea it happened because we don't have the footage."
"But do you really think –"
"It's my job to be paranoid, Doctor. Every place has its bad apples."
Emma almost released an indignant snort. Took one to know one.
"If I find any sign that someone intentionally tampered with the generators, you'll be one of the first to know, Captain."
"I appreciate it. I just want to make sure everyone under our roof is safe."
"Of course."
With the conclusion of their conversation, the sound of approaching footsteps grew louder and louder until, right in front of the door to the lab, they stopped. Pressing herself closer to the wall, she covered her mouth, holding her breath as the red light of the security camera in the corner blinked ominously in the semi-dark.
Was there any way he could know she was in there? Had he seen or heard her? Or had he simply stopped to look at something…to tie his shoe?
After a long moment in which she refused to move, refused to look, refused to breathe, his footsteps picked up again signifying his departure. Quickly, she fled her hiding place and hurried the rest of the way back to her quarters, hardly stopping longer than a couple seconds to greet Zelenka who was still hovering outside the generator atrium.
Only once she was in the privacy and safety of her own room, did she take a moment to stand still, take a deep breath, and try to relax. Eventually her heart slowed its frantic rhythm, but her thoughts wouldn't stop racing. By now, the hour was on the later side, and she knew that if she intended on getting any sleep, she needed to find a way to calm down. Catching a glimpse of her face in the mirror, she took in the puffy, purple bags under her eyes, tugged at the delicate skin and realized, as well as she had slept the night before – and she had slept very well – the five hours in Ronon's bed hadn't been enough to make up for several full days without sleep. As soon she began to hope that maybe tonight would be better, a twinge of panic flared in her stomach and she felt suddenly compelled to check that the door was locked.
It was. Of course, it was. Locking the door had been the first thing she had done when she arrived.
She headed to the bathroom, told herself she was being paranoid, and started brushing her teeth. By the time she had begun to remove her makeup, she realized that even if she put on her pajamas and lay in her bed, there was no way she would fall asleep. She needed something to ease her worries first.
It was the odd gurgling sound of the drain that gave her the idea. Being part of a floating city, the bathtub did that sometimes. Normally, she wasn't the kind of person to indulge in a bath. Her mother and her sister were that type of person, not her; fifteen minutes in the shower was more her style of bathing luxury. For some reason, though, it felt right and so she turned on the tap, poured a bit of the lavender oil she had brought back from her time in France, and let the water fill the basin.
The surface was glossy and steaming by the time she carefully lowered herself into the bathtub. At first it felt strange, almost lazy, to simply sit without anything productive to do. For a moment, she seriously considered getting out and making a naked dash to the bedroom to grab a book, but the warm embrace of the water enveloped her and made her surrender to it. Closing her eyes, she rested her head against the back of the tub and tried to clear her head.
Her body relaxed before her mind did. It felt both heavy and weightless, like it knew precisely how to achieve the inner calm that her mind could not. No matter what she tried to distract herself with, the memory of Captain Hanson dominated her thoughts. Soon, all that worry and fear turned to resentment. What right did he have to monopolize this moment – this evening? If there was anyone who deserved to be the focus of her thoughts tonight, it was Ronon.
She sank lower into the tub, the heat of the water making her recall the heat of the transporter and the warmth of his hands as he held on to her. The ripples lapped gently at her neck, making her ache for a heavier, more substantial touch, and there was a pulsing, hollow tightness low in her belly that longed for a release. Her heartbeat, strong and steady, pounded visibly through her breast.
Once more, her body had come to the conclusion before her mind had. She wanted him. She wanted him here and she wanted him now. She wanted him near her, around her, inside her.
It had been a long time – over a year – since she had let a man touch her and, if Ronon had told the truth about his lack of feelings for her, it would be a lot longer still. Her hand trailed down her stomach, past her hips, and as she slipped her fingers between her legs, she couldn't help but wonder if he knew that she was naked and alone, thinking of him, would he maybe change his mind?
Sated, a bit weak-kneed, and – more than anything – tired, she drained the tub and leisurely tied a towel around her body before making her way back into the bedroom. The bath had had the desired effect and gave her hope that she would actually be able to fall asleep in her own bed tonight. As it turned out, thinking of Ronon worked the same way physically being near him did; it kept all thoughts of Hanson far away.
Across the bedroom, her cozy little bed looked so inviting, but before she reached it, something to her right drew her attention and stopped her dead in her tracks. Atop her desk was a large bouquet of yellow flowers. Hyacinths. And they hadn't been there before her shower.
Looking frantically about the room, she tightened the towel around her chest.
"Hello?" she called, but to no reply.
She ran to the door and checked the sensor: still locked. Cautiously, she approached the flowers, and, with shaking hands picked up the note attached to them.
"Hope you had fun last night, beautiful."
She dropped the note to the floor and took a step backward. Her adrenaline spiked and, for the second time that night, felt woozy.
Headset. Where was her headset? She picked it up off her dresser and shoved it into her ear.
"Ronon?"
No answer.
"Ronon Dex? This is Dr. Rogers, please respond."
But he didn't.
"Ronon, this is Rogers, please pick up."
Static. Nothing.
"Dammit," she hissed, tossing her headset back onto the dresser. She threw on some leggings and a t-shirt as quickly as she could, and shoved a pair of shoes onto her feet, not even bothering to check if they matched.
This time, she didn't hesitate to use the transporter. She rushed through the halls of the city and before she fully comprehended where her feet had taken her, she was in front of Ronon's door.
First, she rang the chime and waited for a moment, but he didn't answer. She rang the chime again. When he didn't come to the door after the third chime, she started to knock and soon, the knocking turned into banging. Anyone passing by would have thought her insane, desperate, but she needed to talk to him. She needed to know if the flowers were from him because if they weren't…
Just as she was about to give up, the door slid open and she was face-to-face once again with her dinner partner.
He raised his eyebrows with surprise when he saw her. "Hey," he greeted before an air of concern took over his features and she realized just how unhinged she must have looked. "You okay?"
"Did you send me flowers?" she asked immediately.
He looked bewildered. "What?"
"A bouquet of yellow flowers. Hy-hyacinths, I think. Did you send them to me?"
He shook his head. "No." His eyes widened with worry.
Had the situation been different, she would have found his reaction, his fear of infringing upon some custom, unknown and foreign to him, beyond endearing. But all she could feel was panic.
"Was I supposed to?"
She brought a hand to her forehead and turned her back to him. Her heart was racing so fast, it hurt. Captain Hanson. He had been there, in her room. He had overridden her security code like he said he could and went in there while she was bathing. He had been so close, heard her while she was…
"Sounds like you have an admirer," Ronon joked from behind her.
She spun back toward him and brought a hand to her tightening chest. "Don't fuck with me," she hissed. "You're sure it wasn't you?" Tears began to blur her vision.
Sensing her fear and desperation, he became serious once more. "I'm sure, Rogers."
The speed with which her throat closed surprised even her and she wheezed so loudly, it echoed through the corridor.
"Whoa," he said with alarm as he reached out for her.
He had been in her quarters. He had touched her belongings, seen where she slept, looked at the pictures of her family, of her daughter, on her desk. He had been feet away from her bathroom door. He could have opened it and barged in on her. And since he clearly had no qualms about violating her privacy, then she would bet that he wouldn't have had any about violating her, either. And what could she have done? She had been completely undressed, unarmed, and aroused. An easy target, she thought bitterly; she had already done half the work for him. What could she have done to defend herself?
Nothing.
She wanted to sob, but couldn't take in enough air to produce one. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks while her neck and shoulders tensed upward and together, her body's way of expanding her chest cavity; all the while, her torso spasmed with each attempted inhalation.
"What do you need?" Ronon urgently asked. "Do you have your—your medicine?"
She shook her head. Rule one of being an asthmatic: always have your inhaler on you. She could picture it sitting on her nightstand, but her leggings didn't have pockets and, in her panic, she had left it there. How careless could she have been?
"You need to go to the infirmary," he said, gripping her by forearm, bent on taking her there.
She planted her feet and shook her head as forcefully as she could. She couldn't explain to him that the infirmary was too far away, that she would likely stop breathing entirely before they got there. She couldn't explain to him that the impending attack hadn't yet taken root, that if she could calm herself down within the next few minutes, she could still try to reverse it. She couldn't explain to him that she was going to have to stave off this attack without any medical assistance. But she had done it before and she could do it again.
"Air," she wheezed.
"Air?" he repeated. "You need air. I know you need air." He clenched his jaw. "Rogers, you gotta tell me what to do."
She closed her eyes. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth.
"Fresh air," she managed to say.
Without a second's hesitation, he took her by the hand, pulled her into his quarters, and led her to his small attached balcony. Knuckles white, she gripped to the railing with both hands and stretched her torso as much as she could, rolling her shoulders and arching her back to lengthen her airway.
In through the nose, out through the mouth.
She kept her eyes shut, trying to match her breathing to the rhythm of the waves. Ronon's hand was heavy and solid against her back and she focused on its weight, on its warmth. She envisioned sending her breath to that spot, imagined her lungs expanding so fully they would meet his hand on the other side.
In through the nose, out through the mouth.
The waves and his hand. They were all that existed.
They probably stood together for ten or fifteen minutes, waiting for the attack to pass. As her breathing finally normalized, she felt his hand slip. He ran it slowly, reassuringly, up and down the length of her spine and her heartbeat accelerated at his touch – exactly what she didn't need at the moment. She forced her eyes open and turned carefully to face him.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
He looked down at her, eyes wide with…fear? Had she scared him?
Her eyes dropped to his chest, rapidly rising and falling, as she finally took in his appearance. He was undressed from the waist up, just like he had been the night before. Droplets of water fell slowly from the ends of his soaked dreadlocks and damp beard, trickling down the bronzed skin of his shoulders, back, and torso. The dark hair on his chest and arms stood erect against the chill of the sea air. She could tell how cold he was, and she hastily crossed her arms across her chest, hoping that he couldn't tell the same about her through the thinning fabric of her old college T-shirt. Her inhaler wasn't the only thing she had left behind in her quarters, she realized.
"Your lips are blue," he finally said.
"From the lack of oxygen," she explained, the raspiness of her own voice startling her. "I need to sit down now."
He nodded and drew up a wooden chair from the other side of his room, placing it close to the balcony door so that she could still breathe in the cold night air. She sat and straightened herself against the back of it while he disappeared into the bathroom. She heard the sound of the sink, and watched as he returned with a glass of water in his hand, which she gratefully accepted, taking a tiny sip out of it.
"What the hell was that?" he asked, his voice low, tone stern.
She swallowed carefully. "My asthma."
"No shit. Where's your medication?"
"In my quarters," she replied, unable to raise her voice above the level of a whisper.
"I should take you to the infirmary," he said.
She shook her head. "I should stay where I am." The trek there could put too much stress on her lungs.
"Why did you have it? What brought it on? Why now?" He gestured to the door. "One second you were fine and talking and the next –" He stopped himself short, and ran his hands through his wet hair. "You scared the shit outta me, Rogers."
She looked away from him and shrugged. "It must have been the walk over here," she lied. "It's a long way…from the South pier to the East."
He narrowed his eyes at her and tried to catch her gaze again. "You run miles and miles on the track all the time, but the walk from your place to mine is what gave you an asthma attack?" He clearly wasn't buying it.
She shrugged again, still trying to avoid his scrutiny.
He sighed with reluctant acceptance. He knew she wasn't going to tell him the truth. "Look," he started, "you interrupted me in the middle of my shower …"
That explained the lack of shirt and dripping water. She felt herself flush and tried not to wonder if his bathing thoughts had been anything like hers tonight.
"So I'm gonna go finish that real quick. Stay here and if you need anything…knock, I guess."
She nodded feebly as he headed toward the bathroom.
"And Rogers?"
She looked back up at him.
"Remind me to never get you flowers."
Had she not been so traumatized by the whole ordeal, she would have laughed. After half a minute, she heard the water turn on and she shifted in the chair. It was hard and uncomfortable and she entertained the idea of moving to the bed, but decided against it; she didn't want to make herself too at home, lying in his bed like some deranged, wheezing Goldilocks.
She fought it; she really did. But the attack had exhausted her to her core and, on top of that, she had only gotten five hours of sleep in the past four days. Resistance was not only pointless, it was impossible. The breeze was soft, and the waves were steady, but it wasn't the air or the ocean that lulled her to sleep – it was that she finally found herself in a place where she felt safe.
A/N: Thank you for reading! Let me know what you thought. :)
Content warnings: implied masturbation, stalking (I guess?), and fear of potential sexual assault (that does not occur).