A/N: So I've got more of Ronon and Emma for this chapter. Hope it's entertaining and not too much of a departure from the overarching story line. This is the kind of stuff that I love writing, so I hope you're enjoying it.

To those of you who reviewed recently but who have not received a reply back from me - there's a glitch in the FFN review system. I can see your reviews when I get the email notification but they have yet to appear on FFN itself and therefore I can't reply to them yet. I'm sure it'll all sort itself out soon, but until I can get a more personalized thank you back to you, thank you very much for your reviews!

I hope you like this next chapter. I'm so loving writing this whole night of Ronon and Emma spending time together.

The shower was running and he was wasting water, but he didn't care. He needed to figure out what to do with Rogers. He still thought she needed to go to the infirmary, but, for whatever reason, she was adamantly opposed to the idea. Maybe he could radio the doctor on call and have them make a house visit. But then they'd have to explain why she was essentially passed out in his quarters which, at the least would cause more rumors about Rogers to fly and at the worst, could land him in hot water. Maybe he could take her back to her own quarters – she wouldn't have to walk, he'd carry her if necessary – but the idea of leaving her alone all night, unattended, made him uneasy. What if she had an attack in the middle of the night? Maybe she could stay with him again, but then she wouldn't have access to her medicine. Perhaps she could prevent one attack without the help of her meds, but he saw what it had done to her; he didn't think she could withstand another one if it happened tonight.

His earpiece on the bathroom counter caught his eye. Slipped it over his ear, he changed the frequency, and spoke into it.

"Control?" he said, careful to keep his voice low.

"This is control, go head Mr. Dex." The voice on the other end sounded like Chuck's and he wasn't doing a very good job of concealing his surprise. Ronon never made calls on the radio and, to be frank, it was lucky if he even answered them.

"Yeah. Hey, listen. Was Eva ever issued a radio?" he asked.

"Eva?"

"Eva Dex." To say the girl's first name paired with his own made him feel both proud and unsettled. For over a decade now, he thought he'd be the last of his name.

"No, sir. She's not an official member of the expedition."

"Damn. All right." Well that was that idea, snuffed out.

"If you need to speak to her, though, I can patch you in through the interface in her quarters – assuming she's in there."

"Really?"

"Of course."

"Okay. Yeah. Give it a try."

"Yes, sir."

"Thanks," he added a bit awkwardly.

"No problem, sir. Give it about three seconds. When you hear the click, start talking."

There was dead air for about as long as Chuck said there would be, and then a soft clicking sound.

"Uh…Eva?"

There was no reply.

"Eva, it's Ronon. If you're there –"

"What?" Her voice was as sharp as barbed wire.

"Good, you're up."

She didn't respond to that.

"Look, I know you're mad, but I need you do to something for me."

"No. It's late and I'm already in bed."

If she could have hung up, he was sure she would have. But the benefit of talking through the com in her room was that she didn't have control over it. Their conversation would only truly end when he stopped the transmission. ...Or if she left her own quarters just to avoid talking to him. He wouldn't have put it past her.

He tried a different tactic. "What if I told you it wasn't a favor for me…but for someone else?"

"Like who?"

"It's…for Dr. Rogers."

There was a pause on the other side. "For Emma?"

"Yeah."

She didn't say anything else, which he took as his cue to keep talking.

"She's…she's here with me and she needs her asthma medication, but she doesn't have it with her. Did she, by any chance, give you access to her quarters?"

"Yeah," she said quietly. "She did. In case I ever needed anything from her."

Of course she had. Rogers was already so much better at dealing with this whole Eva situation than he was. And thank goodness for it.

"I need you to go into her room, grab her medication, and bring it here. East Pier, room 4524."

She let out a little growl of frustration. "Fine. I'll do it."

"I'd meet you somewhere halfway in between but…" He nearly gave her some excuse, but then realized, out of everyone in the city, Eva was the only one he didn't have to worry about concealing the truth from. "But I don't want to leave her alone," he confessed.

"Fine. I should be there in about ten minutes."

He heard rustling sounds from her end of the conversation, and assumed she must be putting on more clothes or a pair of shoes. It made him think of Rogers in the other room, wearing that threadbare V-neck that looked like it was about two washes away from falling apart at the seams and those soft, tight black pants that he knew must be comfortable for her, but left him feeling quite the opposite as he tried not to stare.

"Eva?"

"Hm?"

"Bring her a uniform, too, if you can find one."

"Roger that."

"Thanks."

There was no you're welcome.

"Leaving now," she said. He heard the faint swish of her door and ended the transmission.

He made sure to shower quickly and by the time he had toweled off and put his clothes on, there was a soft knock at his door. How Eva somehow knew to knock, rather than ring the chime, he didn't know, but he was grateful that she hadn't awakened Rogers, who was fast asleep in the chair by the balcony.

He opened the door and Eva peered around him before he stepped into the hallway to join her.

"One steroid rescue inhaler, as requested," she said, dropping it into his hand. She then slung a canvas bag off her shoulder and held it out for him. "I brought a few of her other inhalers and her peak flow meter, and there's a change of clothes in there, too."

"Peak flow meter?"

"Yeah, to measure her breath values."

"All right… Thanks, Eva."

She nodded and turned to leave.

"Hey, wait."

She turned back and raised an eyebrow at him. "What?"

"I'm uh…I'm sorry about earlier."

"Sorry for what?" she asked, shaking her head.

"For going as hard with you as I did."

She looked down at the floor and let out a deep sigh. "How else am I supposed to learn?" The irony of her tone was thick, as though the phrase had been said to her countless times in the past and she had learned to parrot it back.

"Still, I could have –"

"Don't worry about it," she said tersely, cutting him off.

"Well, I owe you one now." He lifted the bag of Emma's things as proof. "So I'm gonna make sure I talk to Sheppard tomorrow about going back to that planet."

"Great. That's great." She nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and was now avoiding looking at him.

He knitted his brows. "You all right?"

"Yeah, no. I'm fine." She gestured inside his quarters. "It's just… I saw the flowers in her room and made the mistake of reading the note and you two clearly have something planned for tonight, too, so I'm just feeling kind of icky and awkward, so can I go?"

"What? Oh no – it's not, we're not –"

"I really don't need the details," she grimaced, taking a few steps back.

A short laugh of amusement escaped Ronon's lips and he smiled at Eva, nodding. "Yeah. You can go. Good night."

"Bye," she called, already on her way.

"Thank you again."

She paused and looked back over her shoulder, a more serious and (dare he say) mature expression on her face. "Next time, don't even bother with the flowers; the pollen's bad for her asthma. Bottle of wine, or better yet – tequila – will get you a lot further."

He tipped his chin toward her. "I'll keep that in mind."

She disappeared down the hallway and he returned to the quiet darkness of his quarters, more curious than ever about these mystery flowers and the note that accompanied them. If there had been a note, why hadn't she known who had sent them? He pushed those thoughts temporarily aside and decided that maybe when Rogers was feeling better, he'd dare to ask her about them again.

Bag and medication in hand, he walked over to Rogers, knelt at her feet and touched her shoulder as gently as he could, then said her name.

Her eyes fluttered open, but she wasn't startled. A small victory.

"You should stay here tonight," he said, getting straight to the point.

She shook her head. "I can't ask that of you. Not again," she whispered as she straightened her neck. "Besides, I need –"

"This?" He held the inhaler out for her.

Her eyes widened and glossed over, clearly moved by the gesture. "Where did you get this?" she asked as she took the device from his hand. She read the label and once she confirmed that it was the right one, shook it quickly, popped the cap off and took a long drag.

"I had Eva grab a few things for you from your quarters," he explained as she closed her eyes and held her breath, before finally exhaling. "I figured you'd given her access to your door."

When she opened her eyes, he handed her the bag of supplies so she could take a brief look inside.

"Wow, she even grabbed my meter." The effect of her medication had been almost instantaneous. The residual wheezing that underscored her breathing lessened and when she spoke, her voice was much clearer. "Thank you."

She took what must have been the peak flow meter, brought it to her lips, and exhaled a forceful gust of air into it. He looked away, allowing her to have her privacy as she completed this odd little routine that seemed so normal for her and so strange to him, and heard her breathe two more times into the device.

"370," she whispered, prompting him to look back at her. "What's 370 divided by 450?"

"You're askin' the wrong guy."

With her index finger, she drew an invisible math equation on her thigh. "Eighty-two percent?"

He shrugged. "If you say so."

"I think…yeah. Eighty-two percent."

"What does that mean?"

"I'm supposed to seek medical help if my value drops below eighty percent of my personal best."

"And you're at eighty-two?"

She nodded.

"I'll take you to the infirmary, Rogers." He gestured with his thumb over his shoulder. "We could go right now. Dr. Cole's on tonight and she's –"

"Hey now," she said, cutting him off. "Last time I went to school, eighty-two was greater than eighty."

Stubborn woman. If that's the way it was going to be, if she intended on being stubborn, then so could he.

"Great," he said rubbing his hands together. "So then we agree. Since you're not going to the infirmary, that means you'll be staying here."

He stood to his full height and offered his hand to her to help her out of the chair. He watched her hesitate, watched as she considered still leaving him anyway, but ultimately, she gave in. She accepted his hand and he hoisted her up, only for her knees to buckle under her own weight, which caused her to lose her balance. She would have fallen entirely had he not still been holding onto her hand.

"Dammit, Rogers." He squatted down and lifted her into his arms so he could carry her to the bed. "You're a fucking mess."

She buried her face behind a hand and laughed quietly at herself. "I'm not usually like this, I swear."

"Only around me?" he teased.

They had reached the edge of the bed, but he stood there, peering down into her hidden face, still holding her in his arms.

She peeked at him through a gap in her fingers. "Yes," she replied sarcastically. "I save it all up for you." She moved her hand away from her face. "See, if I made too good of an impression on you, you'd fall for me just like Sheppard did." Her voice dropped and became hoarse again. "And we both agreed we can't have that, now can we?"

He remembered the night he had carried Melena, exactly like this, to their marital bed mere weeks before everything they knew, before their entire life together, was destroyed. That had been ten years ago, the mandatory length of mourning time on Sateda for those who had lost their spouses. He had waited long enough, hadn't he?

"No," he agreed. "No, we can't."

She gazed back up at him, sadness clouding her features. "You gonna put me down now, hoss?"

With a nod, he set her gently onto his bed, pinched out the candles, and joined her on the other side.

The wind whistled through the window as a wet monsoon passed over the ocean, the dark red curtains blowing wildly in its wake. Emma woke with a start as a particularly violent gust rattled the metal shutter. Had it been her own room, she would have gotten out of the bed, closed the window and gone back to sleep. But the arm around her waist and the enveloping heat of a man behind her reminded her that she wasn't in her own room.

The breeze was cool on her face and she closed her eyes again, relishing how each gust lightly ruffled her hair and chilled the tip of her nose. How they had ended up like this, she didn't know – there had been at least a foot of space between them when last she closed her eyes – but regardless of how she had ended up in his arms, she was grateful for it. She pressed her body closer against the sleeping Satedan's to ward off the chill and, to her surprise, he tightened his grip around her. His hand, at first on her waist, moved to the valley between her breasts, causing her heartbeat to quicken. She hoped he couldn't feel it.

Though stormy waves and ferocious gales of wind battered the outer walls of the city, she had never felt safer than she did in that moment, huddled in his leather-scented warmth and sleeping embrace. So safe that she started drifting off again, as though there were no tropical storm raging around them.

Before long, she found herself once again on the edge of sleep, warm and protected, when his hand began to ever so lightly knead at her breast. Her eyes shot open at the sensation, but she remained still. With her backside already in close contact with his lap, she could feel his slow but steady arousal growing and pressing up against her. Then, he spoke.

"'Lena," he mumbled, his breath hot against the back of her neck.

He was dreaming.

"Melena," he repeated, grasping her breast again with surprising dormant strength.

Paralyzed, she didn't know how to react. A large part of her wanted to shake him awake, slap him across the face, and remind him that her name was Emma and that she wasn't there for anything other than sleep. That if she wanted to be accosted, she'd go knock on Captain Hanson's door. But a smaller, more primitive part of her wanted to lean her hips into his arousal, arch her back against him, and make the rest of herself available for him to feel and caress. Before she could decide, he spoke again.

"No," he said in what could only be called a whimper. It was a sound she thought she would never have heard from him.

His hand had stopped exploring her chest and was now clenched into a fist. His head twitched roughly from behind hers.

"No, Melena, no."

He continued with a chorus of painful pleas until her heart couldn't take it any longer. She turned around in his arms to face him and watched his eyelids flicker in violent reverie. Bringing a gentle hand to his cheek, she spoke his name.

His eyes flashed open and bore directly into hers, making her heart skip more than a single beat. Within a couple seconds, she saw confusion turn to recognition turn to disappointment; that it was her and not Melena in his arms.

"You were having a nightmare," she whispered.

He looked away and she removed her hand from his cheek. "I'm sorry," he grumbled. "I didn't mean to wake you."

She shook her head.

"Did I…" He took a few steadying breaths as he oriented himself. "Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head.

"Did I say anything?"

Their eyes met again and she hesitated. "No," she breathed.

He swallowed hard and nodded, then lifted his head to look toward the balcony where the wind was howling. He got out of the bed to close the window, but when he returned to his side of the mattress, he lay on his other side with his back to her.

"'Night, Rogers," he said. "Sorry I woke you up."

"Oh, it's okay," she squeaked as she attempted to keep any emotion out of her voice. "Good night."

Latching the window helped shelter them from the elements, yet somehow it felt even colder on Emma's side of the bed. She drew the furs up to her chin and closed her eyes, trying to ignore the rapid beat of her heart, the dying, pulsating warmth between her thighs brought on by his touch, and inexplicable regret that her name was not the one he called in his sleep.

A/N: Thank you for reading? Did you enjoy? I hope you did! :)