Chapter 1: Running
Chapter Text
One: Running
+
The thing about the Pegasus Galaxy that always struck Slayer were the names.
The giant interstellar gateway in circular form was the Ring. The bone white monsters, with skin so cold they might have been dead, were Wraith. Guns that stunned were stunners. Ships sharp as needles that cut through the air like knives, were darts.
And people victimized by the Wraith; tagged, turned into playthings and made to run for their lives, for their very existence, were simply Runners.
On Earth, back home in the Milky Way, there would have been some complicated, meaningful names for all of those things. Something metaphorical, something named after its discoverer, probably something in Latin. Grand names that conveyed the heaviness of those things, those horrors.
Not Pegasus.
In these parts, things were simply called what they were.
The woman who killed whoever and whatever she needed to survive, was Slayer. She was something else once, something more, but whoever that had been, she’d lost them a long time ago.
+
The world was populated. That was always a risk, but the few hundred people who lived there were primitive, simple, and not worth the dart it would take to cull them. Because that was the word for the terror, the grief, the destruction and loss; they didn’t call it kidnapping or murder. Just that, a culling. Humans were just cattle raised to be slaughtered.
If she made sure to stay for one night and no more, they’d be fine. There were rules to this game. One night had destroyed planets before. She’d never forget the villages that had been razed because she spent one night there.
But she’d just come from a hunt. On the other side of the Ring, she’d left behind six Wraith corpses. They'd leave her alone for a little while. Maybe it was to let her regroup and heal so she’d be just as much of a challenge. Maybe it was a reward for surviving. Whatever the reason she knew, she knew that after a slaughter she had some time to herself.
Longer than a day, and the Wraith might come just to spite her, to remind her that Runners weren’t allowed to stop moving. To make her feel the guilt of all those lives lost. But one night, a little trade, a warm meal and a bed; those she could afford.
One night, which began now. The Ring’s portal collapsed with the sound of a cresting wave and she started moving in the direction of the settlement at a brisk jog.
The inn was the highest building in the village, by virtue of having a second floor, and she made a beeline for it. She found the owner behind the bar and opened up her pact to show them her haul. They haggled with her, but they both knew the meat she was offering was good, and not something they could easily access themself.
From a previous visit, she knew the hunting on this planet was sparse, too gamey to be tasty and too ferocious to be worth the effort. The rabbit-like creatures she brought from her last stop, on the other hand, would be delicious.
In the end, they waved their daughter over and sent her to get Slayer a room and a bath. She didn’t even have to offer any of the scavenged weapons at the bottom of her pack.
It wasn’t Wraith gear, never Wraith. No one would touch those. But there were other villains here, human ones often enough. She’d long since learned that the dead didn’t miss their things much. Not as much as she’d miss the supplies she traded them for.
Since she had no time to work for honest money, it was either scavenge or steal, and she’d rather take from the dead than the living.
She followed the timid girl to the back of the inn, idly watching the girl’s auburn hair bounce as she was led to a small back room. In a manner so practiced it was more instinct than thought, Slayer’s eyes darted around the room, marking possible escapes and avenues of attack.
Two easy exits, two hard ones, three potential improvised weapons, limited room to maneuver. It was an environment she could work to her advantage. She could feel comfortable here… for a moment.
Slayer began helping the innkeeper’s daughter fill the wooden tub in the corner with tepid well water. They talked casually, laughing and joking as they filled the bath. It was the closest thing to human connection she’d had… in a long time.
When the tub was almost full, the girl disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a large stew pot. Steam curled off of it from the boiling water inside.
Mixing the two produced a bath that was lukewarm at best, but it still felt heavenly to the touch after a month of scrubbing down quickly in cold streams and lakes. She was always too wary of her surroundings to do more than wash the top layer of dirt and blood off her body.
Slayer started peeling off her clothes, letting them and her weapons fall in a pile. As she was doing so, she felt eyes staring at her back.
She turned to look at the door where the innkeeper’s daughter lingered, staring silently. Her eyes seemed drawn to Slayer’s back, no doubt to the ugly knot of jagged scar tissue between her shoulder blades.
When Slayer turned to face the girl, she looked down quickly, letting her hair fall forward to hide her face, unable to meet Slayer’s harsh gaze.
“See something you like?” Slayer asked, her grin predatory.
The girl shook her head and without looking up from the ground pulled a sliver of soap from her apron pocket.
“Don’t tell Baba,” she murmured. “You didn’t pay for it. But–“ she started, stopped, then seemed to think better than to ask about the scars. Instead she said, “D’you want me to clean your things for you? I reckon I can get that shirt neat by morning.”
Slayer’s predatory grin disappeared. “Would you?”
The girl nodded.
“Thank you.”
The girl nodded again, grabbed all the clothes out of the pile, left the leathers and weapons behind, and departed.
Slayer waited for a solid minute, listening at the door, her ears straining for the shouts of ‘Wraith-bringer!’ that the sight of those particular scars usually brought. But there was nothing. No change in atmosphere, no silencing of the jovial mood in the front room. If the girl knew what Slayer’s scars meant, she didn’t say it out loud.
Slayer sunk into the tub with a groan and a sigh. The knife shoved into her braid remained but she was comfortable enough here not to need the rest of her weapons in arm’s reach.
She lay in the bath until the water had gone cold and turned murky brown.
Instinctively her foot moved up to flick an imaginary warm water knob to reheat the water before she remembered where she was. It was the little conveniences she found herself missing most often, sports bras, shampoo, indoor plumbing.
As she lay there she imagined that after this, she would dress in dryer-warm clothes, snuggle up on the sofa with her sister and watch TV while they stuffed themselves with greasy pizza from Dawn’s favorite place. She pretended she’d call Faith, ask her how patrol with the minis went, make jokes about old age and sleep in a bed that smelled only like her. She pretended that when she stepped out of this tub, she’d have washed away ‘Slayer’ with all the grime, and be Buffy again.
She rinsed her hair and wondered quietly if she even could. ‘Some things,’ she thought to herself, ‘you can’t come back from.’
+
Ronon clocked her as soon as she stepped into the room.
It wasn’t because she was beautiful or alluring, far from it. She drew his eye because she moved like the women in his squad used to, armed and dangerous. Every movement she made said she was prepped for a fight. She carried the same wary energy that Marika and Ara had when they served together, back on Sateda, so long ago. Half the reason he loved Melena, he sometimes thought, was that she was a healer. She didn’t hold herself like that. She didn’t remind him of the war.
He identified three visible weapons on the woman’s body. No doubt that meant at least as many he couldn’t see. She scanned the room for exits, dangers, and vantage points, then planted herself at a far table, with her back to the wall; where no one could surprise her.
Her eyes lingered on him long enough that he knew she’d made him the same way he had her. She was someone to be wary of.
He turned back to his ale, wondering idly if he had enough coin for another. All the while he kept watching her out of the corner of his eye. She ordered stew and water, got served promptly, and ate quick and messy.
Someone long since used to dining alone and in a hurry.
He turned away deliberately, made himself look at the pretty barmaid instead, something innocent, something untainted. This was his first night among people in months and he didn’t want to spend it alone. When she looked up at him, he smiled at her. She had a pretty face, framed by auburn hair.
She flinched as she met his eyes. He couldn’t really blame her.
He didn’t want to spend the night alone, but maybe he should. Kill and run, that’s all he really was these days, all he had left. It showed even in his smile; more sharp teeth than friendliness.
The warrior woman was halfway done with her meal when one of the drunk farmhands in the corner stood, meandered over to her, and dropped onto her bench; too close. He chuckled, murmured something lewd into her ear. She ground her teeth, and shifted away.
A trickle of anticipation raced up Ronon’s spine.
The fool followed, touched her, back first, then lower, touching where no man should, not without permission. The barmaid might tolerate it, too sweet to retaliate, or too timid, but this warrior woman wouldn’t. Her teeth were every bit as sharp as his own.
For a moment, Ronon was sure she’d gut the worm, he could see the impulse in her eyes. But instead she shot to her feet, muscles wound tight with rage, grabbed her things, and looked straight at him.
She marched over and sat down next to him. Her furious, crackling energy came with her.
She resumed eating.
“I’m not gonna play hero for you,” he said idly, without looking up.
Up close she smelled like the wild flowers out by the Ring; clean. There was a blade hidden in her long, honey braid. He resisted the urge to find out the color of her eyes. Seducing her would be like sleeping with a knife and he’d done that often enough to know how dangerous it could be.
Kill and run, he didn’t have room for anything else. The barmaid would be sweet, a pleasant hour of laughter after closing and it would cost him nothing. This woman though, would be a war. She would cost him.
He didn’t do that. He didn’t get close to people who could touch him; who could mean something.
Not anymore.
“Never asked you to. Just need you to be big and impressive, so the asshole gets the hint and I don’t get thrown out for kicking his ass. I already paid for the night.”
She flashed him a grin that was all teeth.
He grunted in response. Her words were odd but he got her meaning. Eventually he raised his head enough to level a glower at the drunkard. The man’s eyes widened with the fear he should have had for the warrior woman and he turned back to his meal, unwilling to meet Ronon’s gaze.
Beside him, the woman snorted. “See, all good.” She clapped him on the shoulder and he stiffened. “Thanks, big guy.” She was strong, despite her size. He could feel it in her hand.
After a contemplative silence, she told the innkeeper, “His next one’s on me.”
Against his better judgment, he smiled. Half an hour later, over his third drink of the night, he grunted, “Ronon Dex.”
“Slayer,” she returned.
+
She didn’t know what the ivory skinned alien men had done to her, not at first. They cut into her, that she knew. She could feel the sleek silver blade with the ghostly blue handle slide smoothly through the flesh of her back and she screamed.
But she was a slayer, she’d fought through far worse. She ripped loose, took the creature’s knife from them and jammed it into their neck. She killed seven before she managed to break away. She thought the deep cut down her back was the worst of it, she thought she’d gotten away before they’d managed to do more.
She found some kind of fighter bay and that’s when she discovered what the superstructure she was in was. The Wraith hive was a spaceship. She managed to sneak into one of the little fighters, the canopy was opaque and she couldn’t read the heads up display but she reached the surface somehow, even if it was a rough landing.
There was a village on the planet and she hid among them. She thought she’d escaped. She thought she was safe. They eyed her warily, distrustful of strangers, but she could fight and they needed that. So they let her come with them to the caves, where they hid.
The monsters came for them, at first in their darts. Anyone in the open vanished in a beam of light the darts shone across the ground like devouring search lights. When the village had scattered into hiding, they came on foot. They took those who didn’t resist and fed on the ones that did.
Amongst all the demons she’d fought, the feeding of these creatures was by far the most gruesome way she’d ever seen someone die. They aged before her eyes, rotting away to shriveled corpses in a matter of moments.
Some villagers tried to fight them. They had weapons they had traded for, but the Wraith healed even as they were shot, again and again.
They ran again, they hid again and the monsters found them again.
She killed one, injured another, and dragged a family of seven to safety.
The monsters found them again.
It took almost two weeks of hide and seek for the entire village population to be eradicated. Only then, only when it was just her left standing, did they tell her why everyone was dead, how they’d found them so effortlessly.
It was her, they said.
It was always going to be her.
Then one of them threw that silver and blue scalpel she’d left in one of their necks at her feet, and with mock bows they cleared a path to the Ring for her.
“Run!” they shouted, in their distorted, inhuman voices. “Run. Make it fun for us!”
+
She shouldn’t.
She really, really shouldn’t.
The people she slept with ended up dead. That had started long before she met the Wraith. Angel and Spike and… But it had continued after, after this endless race to nowhere. Burned bodies and frightened screams of people she should have known better than to think she could protect.
So she shouldn’t.
But she couldn’t remember the last time someone touched her without the intent to hurt. The last time she’d had hands on her that were kind… Was it the soldier girl who’d kissed her sweetly and held her when she cried? Or the farm boy who’d been rough with her in all the ways she liked?
It was hard to sort one thing from another, which had come first, which was recent, which she wanted to forget. The faces all blurred together, those people that had given her comfort for a night that she’d had to leave before morning.
Would Ronon Dex be just another one of those? A face that blurred at the edges until she was only sure of an impression of him.
His hands were calloused and big, rough and dirty, but they were also warm and almost unbearably kind. When everything else faded away she thought she’d still remember his kind hands.
She shouldn’t. But she wanted to.
+
They spun into her room, she kicked the door closed and he wedged her up against it, their eyes met and she could see her own hesitation looking back at her from his dark gaze.
“Bad idea,” she said to him, with a smile that stopped being reassuring years ago.
“I know,” he said back. His expression was a mirror of her own.
Neither of them let go.
Instead she buried her hands in his dreads and he dug blunt fingers into her waist, her legs wrapped around his hips, his tongue was in her mouth and it was worth it. Even if he might end up dead because of her, even if she never saw him again and the guilt ate her alive, it was worth it.
The Wraith were always cold, like corpses.
He was burning, and so very alive.
They kissed, they groped and eventually, she undulated against the door hard enough to send him backwards, shoved him onto the bed and landed on top of him. Her hands went to his belt. She placed his guns and knives on the small nightstand with care, he did the same with hers and then there was only clothing left and that they sent flying in all directions until they were both naked, tan, and wiry. His tattoos were gorgeous, he was gorgeous, and with his wild hair and dark eyes he didn’t remind her of home or lost lovers, or anything at all.
Just a warm body and kind hands.
She went for another kiss, fingers traced his collarbone, up across his shoulder and back and… she froze.
+
There was an old Satedan children’s tale about how everyone had their mirror image in the world; their reflection come to life.
“Doppelgangers,” his father snorted at the notion once, derisive of such superstitions. They’d grown beyond that, beyond tall tales. They were an enlightened society. They kept the Wraith at bay with weapons and science, not prayers.
But Ronon’s mother shook her head, pressed a hand to his chest and said, “No. They don’t have to look like you. It’s not that sort of mirror. It’s a mirror of the soul.”
And when you meet them, the story went, one of you would devour the soul of the other because you were the same and your soul was the same.
Later, on other worlds, he heard another ending to the story. An ending where ‘mirrors’ were called ‘soulmates’ and they lived happily ever after in a world free of horror.
For a while, with Melena, he believed in that version of the story.
Now, as he looked up into a face that was nothing like his, except for the perfect reflection of all his horrors and all his sins, he knew his mother’s version was the truth.
+
Her hands found the edge of the jagged mass of scars on his back and she froze. Tentatively her fingers traced one of the outer branches of the scar down to the solid lump in the center, four or five deep cuts stacked on top of each other. She didn’t even blink at all his other scars, didn’t hesitate, but this one made her freeze because she knew–
She knew.
His muscles tensed, ready to throw her to the floor. His eyes flicked sideways to the nightstand where she’d put his particle pistol.
Some people turned Runners over. They hoped to curry favor with the Wraith, fundamentally misunderstanding the way the game was played. It was no fun if they didn’t fight back. It was no fun if they didn’t run.
But even as he prepared to kill her, the expression on her face wasn’t greed, or even fear and disgust. It was surprise and… sorrow?
After a long moment of stillness, she slid backwards off his lap. She found her feet and brought her hands to her braid. Her movements were careful, slow and deliberate. The dagger was still in her hair, but her hands didn’t twitch toward it. Instead she slung the braid over one shoulder and, in a show of trust, turned her back to him.
There, between her shoulder blades, the same place as his own, was a mound of scar tissue.
It was like his.
One long clean cut a few inches down the length of her spine with half a dozen jagged scars carved over top as if someone, or several different someone’s, had attempted to reach what was inside the mound with an imprecise knife.
It was exactly like his.
He sat up, hand raised to touch, but he hesitated; unsure. “How long?”
She shot him a look over one shoulder. Her eyes were green. “Does it matter?”
Did it? It felt like a thousand years of running since the very first day. Numbers and dates could never really express what it meant to live in stolen snatches of time between terror and death.
“No.”
She chuckled. “Four years.”
“Three,” he echoed as he ran his finger over the scar. The center of it was thick over the implant he knew lay beneath but all around were smaller branching scars, the most jagged of which he expected were from where she tried to cut the thing out herself. The cleaner ones were from doctors who couldn’t fulfill their promise. He imagined he could hear the little thing humming with power but he knew it was too deeply embedded for that.
He pressed his palm to her back, it covered the entirety of the scars with ease and more besides. She was tiny. He wrapped his free arm around her waist and hauled her back.
She let him.
+
By the time dawn rose, neither of them had slept, bodies sore and throats tired from so much talking.
It was a languid thing at first, stories exchanged, easy jokes, laughter. Then, as the night wore on, Ring addresses and hiding places, techniques and tricks and growing urgency and now it was time.
She knew the rules of the game. The Wraith would give her the night for the kills she made but they’d give her no more. And with a second signal crossing hers, they were probably already on their way.
It was time.
But they still dressed too slowly, put on their weapons with clumsy hands, stared at each other for too long. People would die if they didn’t move, but Slayer couldn’t; for once in her life, she just couldn’t.
She started to say, ‘Come with me’ a dozen times but she never let the words leave her lips because she knew it was impossible. She knew the Wraith wouldn’t allow it. The game was no fun if they didn’t fight back, but it was also no fun if they fought back too hard.
Those were the rules and to bend them meant death. Run. Make it fun for us.
Surviving as long as possible, killing as many Wraith as possible, living five more minutes just to spite them, that’s all there was; that’s all that mattered.
Not even warm bodies and kind hands and someone who understood could change that.
So she didn’t ask and neither did he.
Before any of her clothing, before her weapons, she pulled a scavenged computer in a dirty leather bracer onto her left forearm. She’d found it in a temple ruin in her first month of running and it sang to her. It was her prized possession and probably the only reason she was still alive. In the lonely hours on the move when she thought she’d lose her mind without another human to talk to, she’d call it Willow and pretend it was a friend that could hear her.
When they were fully dressed and packed, he took a deep breath and pointed towards the computer.
“Cassian time?” he asked.
It was the time most people who traveled between planets adhered to in this galaxy, a standardized day so they didn’t have to constantly switch between local times. She didn’t have a watch to compare it to, but if she had to guess, she thought one Cassian day was about thirty Earth hours long.
Thirty two Cassian hours made a day, six days a week, four weeks a month, eleven months a year. She did the math once and a Cassian year was a few weeks short of an Earth year. Close enough that she stopped calculating the difference a long time ago.
“Yeah?”
“Half a year?” he asked, pulling out his own handheld device, which he entered data into. It looked a lot more basic than hers but no less dirty.
“What?”
“Half a year,” he repeated, then held up the screen for her to see six symbols spelling out a Ring address, “on this world?”
Oh , she thought, oh.
+
Ronon was right about her. She was a war. She cost him. She was a mirror. She was harder than the barmaid, sharper than Melena ever got. She was a bad idea.
But as he shouldered his pack and dialed his next destination, he couldn’t regret her.
Kill and run, there was no room for anything else. He told her that, sometime around dawn, and she laughed, “Slayer means kill; has for a while now.”
He didn’t know what she meant but he laughed with her, and then kissed her until they were both gasping for breath.
+
The planet they met on after the first five and a half months didn’t have a name.
It was childish and naive, but in her head, Slayer called it Hope. She never said it out loud. She knew better.
+
Year One happened on an empty world legend said the Wraith wouldn’t set foot on. It worked for a while at least. They stayed together for a month before the hunters came.
She taught him everything she’d ever learned from Giles about how to handle a sword. He taught her to hunt; Wraith so she didn’t die, and game so she didn’t starve.
+
Year One Point Five got interrupted by a culling. She told him her name–her birth name–before she ducked off into the woods, leading them away so he could make it to the Ring. She didn’t give him time to make a joke about silly, fluffy names.
+
He made it the next time, instead.
+
They stopped counting by years eventually, just numbered them. Five was the one where she dug an arrow out of his hip first thing.
+
Six. They stuck together for almost nine weeks, longer than they should have, laughing while they fucked.
+
Seven was fifty minutes of clutching each other in the rain before they took off running in opposite directions.
+
Eight. Buffy cried almost the entire time because there was a dead village three worlds behind her and she knew, she knew the Wraith were to blame, not her, not ever her, but she couldn’t stop sobbing.
+
Nine. Four and a half years, a grand total of three months and seven days spent in each other’s company, seventeen injuries, forty two dead Wraith between them, and he didn’t come.
“Well,” she told the empty, crisp air of the cave they agreed on half a year ago, “Well,”
She meant to say ‘always knew it was gonna end this way’, cavalierly, like she didn’t care, but she couldn’t seem to get the words out.
+
+
Chapter 2: Chasing
Chapter Text
Two: Chasing
+
Ronon slashed his way through the vines that hung in their way. He was covered in mud, was dulling his sword cutting their way through foliage and had given up on this survey actually yielding anything of value about ten minutes after they’d left the puddle jumper.
He glanced back at McKay who was holding up one of the strange devices he’d brought from the City of the Ancestors, taking some readings.
“Rodney, you done?” said Sheppard, giving voice to the mounting frustration Ronon felt, knowing they were wasting their time.
“Not yet,” he said absently. He was splattered with a generous layer of mud as well but surprisingly he was content to keep taking his readings in silence instead of giving them an earful about the dozens of alien diseases he was no doubt being infected with by getting a little dirty.
After a few more feet in which the rain forest became even denser Teyla tried to get McKay’s attention again. “There certainly doesn't appear to be anything here that would help in our fight against the Wraith or the Replicators.”
Teyla was, of course, too graceful to slip and slide on the mud soaked slopes and so was clean from the knee up, not a spot of mud on her face. But despite that she was less than thrilled to still be moving through the forest, away from the jumper, away from the Ring.
McKay looked up at the second interruption. “Come on, you guys are killing me. Planets are huge, you know.”
Ronon nodded. “Yeah, and usually you're the one complaining.”
Teyla stepped closer to him, a subtle threat in her calm expression. “Yes, this enthusiasm is most unlike you, Rodney.”
He shrugged, squirming away in a motion that brought a smile to Ronon’s face after the miserable morning. “I'm turning over a new leaf.”
Sheppard, who’d taken a bad spill and was covered in more mud than any of them, laid a hand on Mckay’s shoulder. “We did the standard fly-over in the Jumper, scanning for life signs–nothing.
“You can't fly around for ten minutes and decide there's nothing here.”
Sheppard nodded in a mockery of thinking it over. “Huh. Yes, I can.”
McKay pushed Sheppard’s hand away as his device started to make a strange noise. “Look,” he said, pointing to the screen. “I'm getting anomalous energy readings from all over the place. They flash into being one second and they’re gone the next. I think the jungle is deflecting the signal, these trees seem to be some kind of organic super insulator.”
Sheppard looked at their surroundings. It was more trees and rain drenched ground in every direction. He looked at McKay skeptically. “I don't know. It's almost as if somebody in a warm, cosy room typing onto their computer sent us here for their own amusement.”
McKay stopped. “You don't really think Zelenka would do that?”
Ronon growled. “If he did, he's gonna be sorry.” A miserable day spent carving their way through a dense jungle in search of nothing was not Ronon’s idea of a good time and if a certain scientist had sent them on this trip knowing it would go nowhere they would pay.
McKay was apparently not done arguing his case. “Look, do you have any idea how many gate addresses there are in the Ancient database that have no accompanying description?”
“Forty-two.” Sheppard responded with no hesitation.
“No, I–I think it's a little more than that.” McKay was easily distracted by hard data and Sheppard knew it. “Look, I don't really remember. That's not the point. Nothing–no information at all. I say that has to mean something.”
“Maybe it means there's nothing worth writing about on those planets.”
“Or there is, but the Ancients are trying to hide it.”
“From themselves?” asked Sheppard with a note of condescension.
McKay tried a different tactic. “A lot of time has passed since the Ancients were around. You know, things change–maybe there's something here they didn't know about.”
Teyla cut into the conversation that was quickly going in circles. “You have a bet riding on this, don't you?”
“What makes you say that?” He tried to look nonchalant but the way his eyes widened to the size of dinner plates betrayed him.
Sheppard took a step forward and his leg sunk up to his knee into a hole that had been hidden by the mud. “All right. That's it!” he shouted.
Ronon moved forward and with a squelching sound, pulled him free.
“I'm calling this one. Everyone back to the Jumper.”
“Aw, come on!” McKay complained.
Ronon grinned and clapped him on the shoulder, relieved to finally be leaving. “Face it McKay, you lost this one.”
They turned to head back, McKay looking ready to complain the whole way about the possible things they might be leaving behind, when his computer started making a sharp beeping sound.
“Ooh! Ooh! Hello?” he said triumphantly “What's this, then, huh?” He examined the readouts from his device and Ronon saw his face fall. “Oh no.”
“What?” asked Sheppard.
“We’ve gotta go! Now!”
“Rodney, what did you find?” asked Teyla.
“Those intermittent energy signatures I’ve been detecting, they’re electrical discharges.” When no one reacted he shouted. “Lightning!”
Ronon glanced up. The sky was cloudy but there was no trace of rain. “I don’t see any storms.”
“Yeah you wouldn’t.” McKay shot back. “The atmosphere on this planet has an unprecedented level of ionization. That creates a strong negative charge in the air which is attracted to the positive charge of the ground, creating…”
Sheppard cut across him. “Random lightning strikes without a storm.”
“Why haven’t we heard them?”
“The charges are highly localized, you’d need to be really close but that’s not the issue. They’re going to get bigger once the weather turns bad, more moisture, higher conductivity, bigger bolts. And if you haven’t noticed we are in a rainforest! That could happen at any time. I’d like to be back on Atlantis before I get roasted like a turkey.”
Sheppard looked between Teyla and Ronon. “You heard the man. It’s time to move!”
+
Colonel Samantha Carter watched the active Stargate from the control room balcony, awaiting the return of Sheppard’s team. He’d said they were coming in hot and past experience had taught her that meant just about anything could follow them through the Gate.
When the puddle jumper emerged into the gateroom Carter could see several sections of the outer hull were decorated with scorch marks. “Raise the shield.” she shouted at the technician on duty, Chuck.
A shimmering field of energy materialized in front of the wormhole, preventing anything from following after them. Around ten seconds later the gate shut down.
Carter strode to the other side of the control room, awaiting AR-1’s descent from the Jumper Bay stairs.
She heard Rodney’s voice echoing off the walls before she actually saw Sheppard’s team.
“I think that last bolt winged me. Someone check my back.”
“You’re fine, McKay.” came Ronon’s deeper tone.
Sam relaxed, if Rodney was complaining so casually then there wasn’t an immediate danger.
She couldn’t help but smirk with barely contained laughter when she saw them emerge from the stairs. They were all soaking wet. Teyla was the only one not covered from head to toe in mud. Rodney looked like the creature from the black lagoon.
“Laugh it up,” he snapped when he caught sight of her face. “Do you have any idea how many different disease causing bacteria are found in mud? I’m probably on my deathbed right now. What’ll happen then huh? This city’d sink within a week without me to keep it going. Who’s gonna be laughing then, huh?”
“Not you,” Teyla calmly concluded. “You shall be dead.”
He stuttered, waving an angry finger in her face. Apparently unable to think of a comeback he instead said “I’m taking a shower.” and slouched out of the gateroom, leaving clumps of mud in his wake.
Sam smiled at Lt. Colonel Sheppard. “Looks like you had an eventful trip. Anything to report?”
He shook his head. “Nothing of note ma’am. Just a lot of jungle and some very unpleasant weather. On the bright side, if we need to power a time machine built into a delorean then I think we’re set. Otherwise the place was pretty bare of anything interesting.”
She nodded. “Cross P3M-468 off the list.”
+
Ronon dreamed of her, he dreamed of her often. Those dreams were usually full of fire and steel. Sometimes because of her wild passion, and sometimes because of her anger, the rage in her eyes that said ‘You left me behind, you saved yourself and you left me behind.’
This dream was cold and sad.
They were on Sateda at the old military museum. He was wearing his dress uniform, newly enlisted in the Specialists program and she was wearing a soft and flowy summer dress. She smiled at him.
“I want to see ‘Victory over Vetariss’,” she said, pulling on his arm. “Marika says the tour guide tells the story beautifully.”
It should have been happy. Two young people in love spending time together. But the day felt cold in spite of the shining sun. Buffy had never been to this place and Marika, along with Ronon’s entire squad had died long before he’d met her.
Inside, the painting Buffy was so excited to see wasn’t where it was supposed to be, on a central pillar prominently displayed so that each visitor to the museum would get a chance to take it in. Instead it was along one of the walls, eight other paintings neatly displayed next to it in a line.
For a moment it looked just as he remembered it, a group of Satedan warriors triumphant in battle. All in uniform standing in the burned ruins of the Satedan city Vetariss, the sky blood red behind them. One wielding a sword, one aiming his rifle, and the one in the middle holding his weapon in the air in defiance of the Wraith destruction.
And then it wasn’t. Then it was Buffy standing naked in a dingy inn room, turning her back to him so he could see the scar between her shoulder blades.
“Our first meeting.” The Buffy clutching his hand said.
He couldn’t answer.
All he could do was stare at the painting as it changed again.
Now it was a forest with a cozy cave and a lake nearby. He splashed her from the shore, keeping watch so she could properly wash herself the way neither of them ever had time or security to when they were running solo. It was their first rendezvous, it was One.
“You made me a promise.” she whispered to him. “Do you remember what it was?”
He still couldn’t answer her, couldn’t even look at her.
Her hand tugged him on, dragging him to look at the next painting in the line. But he knew what it would be before he saw it.
Two. He showed her what his grandfather had taught him about hunting and snares. She showed him how to use a sword with a jagged nasty edge that he thought might have been carved from the hull of a Wraith hive.
She dragged him down the line, each painting showing him a moment of their past.
Three got interrupted by a culling. She led the Wraith away from the Ring so he could make it out. She kissed him and said “My name, back home, was Buffy.” before running into the woods.
Four was calm. She had a look on her face when he arrived, like someone had just died. He knew that look, knew what it meant, and knew better than to ask what collateral damage she’d left behind this time. Instead he punched her playfully on the arm and said “What kind of a name is Buffy?”
Five. She found him on his side, having rolled through the Ring with an arrow sticking out of his hip.
Six. They got cocky. Stayed together for almost nine weeks, laughing and flaunting their togetherness to the Wraith that came for them; getting lost in one another’s arms.
Seven. Rain drenched them to the bone, the water hiding their tears. For fifty minutes they clutched each other tight, sobbing in each other’s arms before they took off running in opposite directions.
Eight. She cried almost the entire time, weeping silently into his shoulder for the dead left in her wake. And he could do nothing but hold her, tell her wordlessly that he was there for her.
When the Buffy in the museum dragged him in front of Nine he couldn’t look at it.
“Look.” she snarled.
In the painting was the cave they’d agreed on. Their meeting point, secluded and dry. Leaning against the wall, staring at the empty place was Buffy. “Should have known.” said the painting. “Can’t count on anyone but myself.”
“Where were you?” asked the Buffy by his side.
The painting shifted. He was in a cave but it looked lived in and comfortable. He sat at a large wooden table with Teyla and McKay. He snatched some of Teyla’s food with a playful smirk.
“Don’t you look comfy.”
He shook his head. “It wasn’t like that. We were hostages.” A Lantean turncoat had captured them to enlist help in destroying a Wraith hive. He tried to get back to her before it was too late but by the time he reached their meeting point she had been gone for days.
“Must be nice. My captors weren’t that courteous.”
Her hand squeezed his, her fingers became sharp. Pain shot up his arm as her grip tightened. “You made me a promise.” she whispered. “What was it?”
“That I would always find you. That if I left you alone it was cause I was dead.”
“Death looks pretty cozy on you.” she said. And now he turned to look at her. She had shrivelled, her skin pulled tight over her bones as though every drop of water had been pulled from her body. Her dress was torn and bloody and he could see a gash in the shape of a hand on her chest.
“No one can run forever, Ronon.” the corpse Buffy said “Not even me.”
+
He woke to the sound of his radio crackling on his bedside table as someone tried to contact him. His eyes wandered the room and came to rest on the painting ‘Victory over Vetariss’ that now hung above his bed; scavenged from the ruins of Sateda. He stared at it for several moments before finally snatching up the radio.
“What?” he snarled into it.
“Ah Ronon, you’re awake.” It was Zelenka, a scientist that acted as McKay’s right hand. Ronon could hear a loud screeching sound in the background.
“Yeah, what?” he said, his voice heavy with sleep and irritation.
“Can you come down to the lab? We are having slight problem that you might be able to help with.” The screeching was getting louder. He felt like he knew the sound but his brain was too tired to place it.
“Yeah, whatever.” It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do and being on the move would help distract him. He swung his legs off the bed, grabbed his gun but didn’t bother to change into day clothes.
The corridors of Atlantis were much less crowded at night and the darkness of the outside world combined with the soft internal lights gave the place a serene beauty.
He hoped she’d written him off as dead. It was better than her believing that she’d been abandoned.
He should have told someone in the city. If he’d trusted them back then, someone could have been there to meet her. The then still living Dr. Beckett could have done for her what he’d done for Ronon even if Ronon wasn’t there to watch it happen. But he’d decided he could handle it on his own and he’d lost his only chance to find her.
He’d thought he lost her, so he buried her in his memories like he’d buried Hemi, Rakai, Marika, Tyre, Ara, Melena and so many other comrades. And in so doing he’d abandoned her again. Last year in a moment of need McKay was able to use the city’s sensors to detect every signal from all the Runners’ in the galaxy.
If Ronon had asked them for help, told them she was out there, they could have found her that way. But he hadn’t, and he lost his chance. It got around to the Wraith that someone was tracing their Runners. The signals blinked out, one after another. McKay said the Wraith must have changed their wavelength.
Even so he visited every world Atlantis had gotten a reading from. But Runners didn't stay put. The point of a Runner, at least the ones like Buffy, the ones who survived, was that they were impossible prey. Even with a tracker telling the Wraith their precise location they didn't go down. Without that, Ronon had no hope of finding her.
+
When he got to Zelenka’s lab, the scientist was sitting at one of the desks, his head down, his forearms pressed against his ears. It wasn’t hard to see why. The screeching sound Ronon had heard over the radio was deafening in person.
Zelenka looked up as Ronon walked in. “You are here, thank god.”
There was a computer tablet sitting on the desk and it was making the caterwauling sound. Ronon looked at it with dead eyes. It was the computer he’d used while he was still running. When he first decided to stay on in Atlantis, he gave it to the science team. They seemed more than happy to have a chance to study technology from another world, mundane as it was compared to the city’s wonders.
He had the alarm off in moments, but his gaze stayed fixed on the screen. Was that why Buffy had been in his dreams? Some part of him remembering that Twelve was approaching?
“It’s off,” he grunted.
Zelenka looked at him warily. “Okay... but this is not the first time. Is it off like ‘problem solved’ or off like ‘I will be calling you again in six months?”
Ronon turned and walked away without answering. He could hear the little man swearing at him in an Earth language he didn’t know as he left.
+
Every six months he got a call from the lab, every six months he took personal time away from the city.
He spent Ten searching for her, tracing his way back through their previous meeting places, a desperate part of him hoping to see her again.
When Eleven came, he grieved for her, knowing he’d never see her again. He returned to the world where he'd failed to meet her and carved her a headstone; put it in the cave where they were supposed to rendezvous. But what name did he put on the grave; Buffy Anne Summers or Slayer? How would she have wanted to be remembered?
In the end he hadn't been able to decide and had simply left the stone slab blank.
Twelve. He had work to finish; a name to give her grave. Once that was done he would... what? Pour out a drink for her? Talk about the Wraith he'd killed since he lost her? He'd do... something. But having a task kept him focused. He could decide what came after once it was done.
+
The next morning he dropped a bag just inside the door of Carter's office and leaned on the frame. He'd dressed in fresh clothes suited to the woods, strapped his sword to his back, his particle magnum pistol to his hip and packed supplies for two day.
Looking into the office it was strange to see the blonde woman with her short cropped hair in the style of the Earth military behind the desk instead of Weir.
Carter looked up from her work. "Ronon, is there something I can help you with?”
"I need to go.” He motioned his head to the Ring below. "Through the gate. Sheppard said I need your authorization.”
"Why?”
He grunted in response. He found that around here that was often enough to get people to do what he wanted.
She got up from her desk and faced him down. She was a head shorter than he was but there was power in her voice. "Ronon, I'm going to need a little more to go on than that. I can’t just let people walk off base whenever they feel like it, especially alone. Where are you going and why?”
He gave a disgruntled sigh. "It’s a dead world. Wraith culled the population into oblivion about five years ago. It’s not dangerous.”
"And why are you visiting an empty planet?”
"That's my business. I'm taking, what do you call them, ‘vacation days’.”
"You know a great deal about this base which makes where you go my business too.”
Ronon looked calculatingly at her. But she had steel in her eyes. As much as she might talk like McKay she had more in common with Sheppard. She was a career officer, she wouldn’t be pushed into letting him go.
“Ronon, I'm not asking for much. Teyla comes and goes regularly to see to her people's offworld needs. I just need some assurance that you aren’t going to do anything reckless.”
“I'm going to see an old friend.”
"Is this friend someone I need to worry about?”
"I doubt it, she’s... gone.”
“Oh.” Some silent understanding passed between them. That of two soldiers who knew what it was like to lose people in battle. “Of course, take what time you need. Do you want company? I'm sure Teyla or Colonel Sheppard would be happy to join you.”
"I'm fine on my own. I'll be back in two days.”
Carter radioed the control room and gave them the go ahead. Ronon could feel her eyes following him as he descended the steps of the gateroom and walked through the Ring.
+
The rules had changed. It took Slayer a while to realize it but after three years she couldn’t be anything but certain. It used to be a game. A horrible, cruel game that preyed on her sanity, but still a game. It had definition, it had rules, it had dos and don’ts. But now it only had the chase.
She couldn’t guess why, not for a long time, but the chase had become frantic. Make it fun for us. That’s what they wanted in the beginning, a good sport. Now it felt desperate. They came in greater numbers, they didn’t leave her time to rest or heal. Sometimes they weren’t even coordinated. Two groups of hunters would come after her and they weren’t together.
On one memorable occasion that still brought a smile to her lips she’d turned the hunters on each other. They’d massacred one another; Wraith blood turned the dirt to mud that day.
The stories started to make their way to her, even as she ran. The Wraith, all of the Wraith had awoken at once. She thought the cullings and the hunts had been bad before but it had become so much worse. In some sick way she’d felt like she understood what she was to them before. Now, she didn’t know what they wanted from her.
Maybe they wanted to bring back her head to their queen to curry favour. She’d heard chilling stories about Runners who’d lost their race. Captured and tortured till they lost their sanity and swore allegiance to the Wraith. Whatever the end goal, all she knew was that the hunts had become more vicious and she didn’t have time to rest.
She had a few hours at most till the Wraith came through the Ring. Time enough to lay false trails and traps. Once they were close Willow, her trusty wrist computer, could scatter her tracker’s signal. It wasn’t a block, not by a long shot or she wouldn’t still be running. But it turned their pinpoint precise location into a thirty meter radius.
Most Runners had some kind of gadget that gave them an edge. She had Willow which warned her when they came through the Ring and disrupted their ability to hone in on her. She’d heard tales of Runners who could vanish like smoke, and of course Ronon had had his particle magnum pistol, the only gun she’d ever seen that could down a Wraith in one shot. Even their own stunners usually took two or three blasts.
Not that she ever kept Wraith weapons. They weren’t to her taste.
As Ronon popped into her thoughts her insides writhed, twisted into knots. She’d gotten good at not thinking those sorts of things; of people she’d lost, of worlds that had fallen because she visited, of family and friends she knew she’d never see again.
It was somehow worse with Ronon. Maybe because she could find him again. The possibility was slim to none. Runners survived by being untraceable, even to other Runners. But he was still running in her circles. There was a chance, however small, that with each new world she dialed he might be standing on the other side, purely by chance, like how they’d first met. They still walked in the same worlds, even if they couldn’t find each other.
Assuming he was still alive.
But she couldn’t think that about him; never.
Everyone else was lost to her. Earth was gone. She tried, for a long time, to find it. The Ring led to so many worlds, it wasn’t unthinkable that it could lead back home. But no one she encountered had ever heard of Earth. The descriptions of her home got her blank stares, or sometimes an address to a dead world with cities that looked a bit like home, but it never was. She knew she must have fallen a long, long way. If Earth had a Ring, no one knew its address.
When she finished laying her traps, she thought she could rest. She’d bought herself a few hours and Willow’s scatter field would keep the Wraith confused long enough for a bit of sleep.
She knew of a cave near here. An empty void of longing filled her at the thought and for a moment she wasn’t sure why. Then it came to her. This was supposed to be her last meeting place with Ronon. This was supposed to be Nine.
As she approached the cave she knew something was wrong. The dirt and mud around the mouth had been disturbed, large boot prints left behind. She positioned herself against the rock face and slowly looked within.
Inside was something that caused a numbing chill to spread through her body and the colour to drain from her face. She was paralyzed as she looked at it, forced to keep staring at the thing that had invaded her safe space. It was a great slab of stone, rough and jagged. But it was the words etched into its surface that held her attention.
Buffy Anne Summers.
It was written in the language of the Ancestors, blocky glyphs the same as the ones Willow’s screen displayed. Her breath started to come in shallow gasps as she saw in a blink another gravestone bearing her name, looming over her as she clawed her way out of the ground that had swallowed her. Her hands bled, her face covered in dirt, she was choking on the debris that poured in on her as she dug relentlessly to reach the free air of the surface.
Buffy Anne Summers
She Saved the World. A Lot.
It had seemed to mock her as she clung to life.
Slayer turned and ran, not bothering to conceal her trail behind her. She didn’t care if she ran into the Wraith, she needed to get to the Ring and find a different world. A world where she hadn’t been marked as dead.
+
“Lt. Colonel Sheppard, suit up and report to the gateroom.” The voice crackled over John’s radio.
He grabbed it and responded. “What’s going on Chuck?”
“Not sure sir. Ronon dialed in and said there was an emergency. Asked for AR-1 and Dr. Keller with whatever supplies she needed for field surgery to follow him. He tossed a scrap of cloth with a gate address scrawled across it through the wormhole. That was the last we heard from him.”
“Field surgery? Is someone hurt?”
“He didn’t go into details sir, said he’d fill everyone in planet side.”
John sighed. Ronon preferred to communicate in as few words as possible.
+
John met his team in the gateroom along with Dr. Keller who was loaded down with two bags of medical supplies.
“I wasn’t sure who was injured, how badly, or how many so I packed for the worst.”
John nodded and motioned for Teyla to take one of Dr. Keller’s bags.
“Do we know anything about this planet?”
“Dense woods,” Rodney responded. “Looks a bit like British Columbia.”
“England?” John asked.
“No–nevermind.” he said.
When they emerged on the other side of the wormhole they found Ronon knelt close to the ground examining tracks left in the mud near the foot of the Stargate.
Dr. Keller was the first to speak. “Where’s my patient? I was told someone needed surgery?”
Ronon gestured to the woods which were the only thing in sight. “She’s somewhere in there.”
“I can’t exactly treat her if she was not here. What’s she doing out there?”
“Running.” The air seemed to grow thick at the word as everyone straightened, suddenly on edge.
“You don’t mean…” Dr. Keller said, the question going unfinished.
Ronon nodded. “There’s a woman somewhere in this forest who has been on the run from the Wraith for the last ten years. She has a tracker in her back which is currently signaling this location to her hunters. We’re going to remove it for her.”
+
When Ronon officially got folded into Sheppard’s team, John spent a slow evening reading the file various people had compiled about him; DoB, parents’ names and status, medical history. It was all there.
The personal history was mostly a graveyard of ‘deceased’ and ‘MIA’s, the medical history was a nightmare, but what stuck out to John was his service record.
‘Ronon Dex achieved the rank of Specialist at age eighteen.’
John knew he became a Runner less than a year later. From what Ronon had told him of Sateda, soldiers recruited young weren't uncommon.
John had seen soldiers in the field who were eighteen; younger, sometimes. He’d seen what war did to them; the nightmares, the paranoia, the screaming. He’d only been a few years older the first time he flew a plane over a warzone and came back with a death toll to his name.
When they’d first met he’d wondered if there was even a person left to salvage under seven years of being hunted by the Wraith. But after two years John knew someone was still in there. Ronon was still under that mess of issues and scars. He was a person. If he weren’t, he wouldn’t be here. He wouldn’t have stayed, wouldn’t joke with Teyla and make fun of McKay with a quirk of his lips. He wouldn’t clap John on the shoulder and wink.
But, John knew that even if Ronon was still someone he wanted on his team, someone he could see himself being friends with, the Ronon they knew wasn’t the same one that had been captured by the Wraith at the age of nineteen.
Some things you couldn't come back from.
Ronon was the strongest man that John knew and even then, seven years of running from the Wraith had nearly broken him. Leaving behind scars he was only now starting to acknowledge. How much worse shape would this woman be in, having endured that fate for three years longer. John remembered what Ronon was like when they’d first met. He was afraid that they may not be on this planet to rescue a victim, they may be here to put down an animal.
+
If it had been anyone else John would have had a lot of questions about precisely how Ronon knew this other Runner, but because it was Ronon he only had one. He clapped his friend on the shoulder and said “Which way?”
Ronon pointed, not in the direction of the muddy footprints but off to the left along more densely packed ground. “She has a forty minute lead.” John nodded. “And Sheppard, she’s clever, she’s dangerous, and she may not see me as a friend. Be on guard.”
Ronon set the pace; moving fast. He darted carefully through the underbrush, scanning the ground for clues. His precision had little impact on his speed as his hunter’s instinct and training brought them closer to the girl he was looking for.
John could match him but McKay and Keller were both lagging behind while Teyla had taken up her usual position orbiting the rest of the team. As they moved Ronon called out traps that had been set to the rest of them. Sheppard avoided the trip wires easily but more than once McKay or Keller needed to be pulled out of the way of an incoming sharply pointed branch that had been set to impale them. Ronon wasn't kidding about this woman being deadly.
John watched where he went, keeping his P90 at the ready and tried to figure out what was going on inside Ronon’s head. He was deadly focused, grinding his teeth hard, as he moved. Ronon normally made some accommodation for the less physically able members–member–of the team but today he barely glanced back to see if they were keeping up or if they were alright.
There was a look of almost murderous determination on his face which John had only ever seen the Wraith elicited from him. He felt as though he may be getting a glimpse into what Ronon had been like as a Runner; the practises that had made him worth hunting.
Once, early on, Ronon told John he didn’t feel guilt anymore. The Wraith had killed countless innocents in their hunt for him, trying to cripple him emotionally, or to simply draw him out. He learned to feel hate for them, instead of guilt for the dead.
“They forced this on me. This is on them.” he said, and John felt some measure of respect for this man, who ran from everyone’s worst nightmare for seven years without rest or aid, pushed on by the stubborn refusal to let the monsters win.
Looking at him now, John thought maybe Ronon was wrong. Maybe he was still capable of guilt. That look on his face–it looked like the sinking realization that he’d left someone behind. John knew it all too well. That look had very nearly ruined his career, more than once.
“We’ll find her, big guy.” he tried to sound reassuring.
“I should have come for her two years ago. I left her behind.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Thought... thought you wouldn’t care at the beginning. She wasn’t one of yours. We had a scheduled meetup. Figured if I brought her to Atlantis you wouldn’t be able to turn her away. You’d have to remove her tracker cause it was a threat to the city.” He gave a shrug that John would almost have called sheepish. “It was early days, I didn’t know I could trust you.”
“Why didn’t you? Bring her to the city, I mean?”
“I missed the meetup. We were… dealing with Ford.”
“Ah.”
Ronon stopped, held up his hand for John to hold his position. “Sheppard,”
“Yeah?”
“I wouldn’t worry about finding her.”
“Why not?”
“I’m pretty sure she just found us.”
Ronon stopped in a wooded clearing at the edge of a broad ravine. Within a few minutes McKay and Keller caught up to them, breathing hard. Rodney was the first to catch his breath, or enough of it to start shouting between gasps. “What the hell–got into you? We could just wait–by the gate. This friend of yours–presumably–will want to leave eventually–no need to give me cardiac arrest ahead–of time. My family has a history of it–I’ll probably be dead by fifty.” He puffed.
“Quiet,” Ronon dismissed absently, scanning their surroundings with a particular frown on his face.
John knew Ronon was right. Someone was watching them. He couldn’t tell precisely from where but his instincts were screaming ‘danger’. There was something about the tension in the air that reminded him of the Wraith. It had a touch of their darkness to it. Like they were prey being stalked by a natural predator.
She had to know that Ronon was among them, which meant she kept herself hidden because she wasn’t sure she could trust him anymore. If she was anything like Ronon then she wouldn’t be easy to subdue if she chose to attack, even five against one.
Ronon lifted his hands up, palms out, showing he was unarmed. “It’s me, it’s Ronon.”
She dropped into their middle from above, one jagged knife pressed to Ronon’s throat, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to let him know she could if he moved at all.
What struck John first was that she was short. He’d expected someone large, someone Ronon’s size, but she couldn’t be much more than five feet, her shoulders slim and her frame wiry. But he had to admit, she looked no less dangerous for her small size.
Her muscles were densely packed and wound tight like a spring, ready to strike. Feet bare, but firmly planted, ready to take a blow or shift at the slightest provocation. Her clothes were dirty, mismatched and stained with blood, hers, or more likely, someone else’s. Her hair held traces of blonde but, like her clothes, was so matted with dirt and hints of blood it could have been any colour. She had it bound in a tight braid, holding several blades just as jagged as the one in her hand. Her green eyes were the only points of light in the mask of dirt that coated her face and they shone with a feral cunning.
“Ronon.” She said the name as if she wasn't sure he was real. John thought he’d glimpsed a rare moment of seeing this woman with her guard down. As quickly as it came, the vulnerability in her eyes vanished, replaced with a hard appraising stare. The grip she held on the knife against his throat tightened.
“Honey,” she drawled, her voice casual but cold, “you’re supposed to call ahead if you’re bringing people over for dinner. Especially if you’re late .” The last word had a strong bite to it, that of betrayal; of abandonment.
Ronon couldn’t meet her accusing stare. “They can remove the tracker.” he said, still not meeting her eyes.
It seemed to be the only thing he could offer by way of apology.
+
She thought he was dead and here he was, cleaner and better armed than she had ever seen, more meat on his bones and less tension in his shoulders, moving with people at his back, more people than she’d seen in months, and he said–
Well, he promised her a miracle, a magic spell to cure her ills.
She knew better than to fall for it. She stopped believing in magic when she’d lost her world. What was the point when the witches were gone? Even when she did believe, she knew magic came at a cost.
“For what price?”
There always was one. The kind of people that had offered to remove her tracker never did it out of kindness. The last three had wanted her services, her weapons, and her body respectively. There was always a price. She left two of them alive, but the one who wanted her body, who thought he could drug her–well, no one was entirely sure what was left of him was even human. There was always a price.
“You see, where I’m from, we have this saying. ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ If helping you screws the Wraith, we’re all for it. Payment rendered.” said the man with the flyaway hair, the authority in his spine and–the knife fell out of her hand as she lunged towards him. He saw her coming and aimed his gun but it was a long range weapon and they were in close quarters. She pushed it skyward before he got a shot off and slipped inside his guard.
Rather than strike him, she grabbed his right shoulder to stare more closely at the patch that adorned it. It was impossible, but there it was as plain as day. It was the American flag. She couldn’t say her experiences with the United States Military were good, but the fact that there was still a United States Military, that they were here, that truly was a miracle. Maybe Ronon had delivered a little bit of magic after all.
“Where are you from?” she asked the question quietly, so quietly that only the man with the flyaway hair could hear her.
“California,” he said and her heart skipped a beat just to hear the word. “Little place called LA.”
He really was from Earth, even from her neighbourhood, but some part of her didn’t believe it, couldn’t believe it. She needed to hear it. “What planet?” she hissed.
“Earth.”
The word blotted out the world for a moment. Impossible yet somehow true. When the world came back the air was full of shouting, both the man she’d gauged as a noncombatant and one of the women had guns aimed at her.
“Let Colonel Sheppard go now.” the woman said in a loud but calm voice while the scientist with his sidearm was yelling.
“Let him go! I will riddle you with holes if you move!”
She had eyes only for Ronon. She could see his hands twitch as he fought his instinct to go for his gun. “Promise me Ronon, promise me they can take it out.”
When she’d met Ronon, he was in as bad a shape as she was. He didn’t believe in miracles, running pounded that kind of optimism out of you moment by moment. If he believed it could be done, then it must be the real deal. Kill and run, that was Ronon’s creed. But he stood so easily among these people, wearing their clothing, their weapons; probably ate their food, too. That was more than kill and run. It was almost like he… stopped.
She scanned the rest of the group. She spotted a Canadian flag on the man whose hold on his gun was erratic. There was another American flag on the woman she assumed was the surgeon Ronon had such faith in and the woman who calmly held Slayer in her sights was a native, she could tell.
Ronon stood with these people like he was one of them. She didn’t know he could look like that. She’d never seen him comfortable enough to show that kind of ease. And he was at ease with these people. The native woman was at his back and he didn't even try to keep her in sight. He trusted her. He trusted all of them. The question was: did she still trust him?
He looked her dead in the eye. “I promise, they can take it out.”
At this moment the doctor raised her voice. “Um, hi. I don’t mean to intrude on what is clearly a tense situation but I don’t want anyone making promises that I’m going to have to keep. These trackers are embedded very close to the spine specifically to make them difficult to remove. I’m not comfortable making any promises till I’ve had a chance to examine you.”
“Jennifer, you’re not helping,” said the Canadian.
“No, she is.” Slayer said in a quiet voice that nevertheless carried through the clearing. “Honesty goes a long way.” She let go of Sheppard. “What have I got to lose? I live in a nightmare and death wasn’t so bad last time I tried it.”
She took a step away from Sheppard and while the weapons trained on her didn’t leave, they did relax. “Are we doing this here in the woods or did you wanna check me into the hospital?” The thought was not appealing. She didn’t like hospitals.
“Well,” said the man she had just released, Sheppard, the native woman had called him. “We don’t exactly want to be inviting any of your friends home for lunch. Doing it here is the better option.”
“Right here?” Slayer asked, gesturing to the trees surrounding them and the ravine to their left.
“These aren’t exactly ideal conditions.” said the doctor “Even for field surgery.”
“Would some shelter help? There’s a cave up the ridge.” Slayer offered.
“It’s better than nothing.”
+
“That’s not good.”
Dr. Keller had gotten Slayer to remove her shirt and the leather binding that approximated a sports bra (hers had worn away to nothing years ago). Ronon and the native woman, Teyla, remained inside. Slayer was more comfortable being topless around them. Sheppard and the scientist, McKay, remained outside the cave, surveilling the ridge.
Dr. Keller was running a portable medical scanner up and down Slayer’s bare back, whatever it reported causing her worried tone.
“Problem?” Slayer asked.
“Yes actually. This tracker looks a lot more complicated than the one we removed from Ronon. It almost looks like organic growth extending outward from the original device. Rodney’s really the one to ask but I think its repaired itself, becoming more deeply embedded in the process. It’s fused to your spinal cord in several key places. If I try to take it out, I’m risking your life and the likelihood that you’d be paralysed even if you do survive is high. I’m sorry.”
She gritted her teeth. “What if I don’t care?”
“I’m sorry?”
“This is my choice, isn’t it, Doc? Ronon said you were the best. If you can get it out, do it. If you can’t, or won’t, you might as well shoot me now. Paralyzed is better than being a dead girl walking.”
She didn’t need to explain why, and she doubted the doctor would believe her if she did but she knew she would be fine. The gifts of the Slayer, her speed, her strength, they had kept her alive all these years but most important of all of them was her healing. A normal person might not be able to walk away from this operation, but she would.
“You’re sure this is what you want?”
“No good choices.” she bit her lip. “I’m sure.”
“I’m going to have to put you under. It’ll feel just like falling asleep.”
Slayer hissed almost involuntarily at the words. She remembered the last time a doctor had put her under. The drugs had taken a little longer to kick in than he’d expected. He’d gotten ahead of himself. She still had nightmares about what he would have done to her if he’d been a little more patient.
Dr. Keller’s expression softened, her voice lost the clinical tones of a woman explaining a procedure and became gentler. “I can't imagine that anyone who's been through what you have likes the idea of putting themselves entirely in someone else’s care but this won’t work if you’re awake for it. I promise, you’re safe with us.”
Slayer turned slowly to look up at Ronon who was pacing back and forth. She bit her lip nervously before asking. “Will you watch over me while I’m asleep?”
He nodded “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
Slayer nodded solemnly, steeling her nerves. “Put me under Doc.”
+
Everything was blurry, like her vision was filtered through a TV with a bad signal. She knew this place, somewhere she’d been so long ago; when her hell was still new. She wanted to stand, to run, to be anywhere else but she remained unmoving. This tiny cave was where she killed her first human.
She was hurt, her last encounter with the Wraith had left her the worse for wear. Her torso was bare except for ragged bandages she’d wrapped around her chest, but she’d managed to retain a small fortune in weaponry, dropped just out of reach as she struggled to stay conscious; when she thought she was alone.
Then he was there. His weapon said hunter. She’d seen snares nearby, tripped over one of them in her delirium. He spoke and his voice was soft, seemingly compassionate, but his words were just noise to her, all that she could focus on was the greedy gleam in his eyes as they roved over her body.
His expression turned sour when she didn’t respond and then his hands were on her and they didn't leave, not till she drove a knife between his ribs.
She gathered her things and ran into the rain, searching desperately for shelter. In the dark of the night she found a door. She pushed her way through it and on the other side was Faith. She was wearing leather and smoking up a storm. They were in her old basement in a house that didn’t exist anymore, in a town that fell into hell, in a world she would never see again.
“Man,” Faith told her, smirking and banging her heels against the crate she was perched on. “And here you thought you’d get away clean. No innocent blood on your hands, huh?”
She patted the crate by her hip and there was a groaning, gurgling noise from inside it. Buffy felt sick.
“He wasn’t innocent,” the words echoed from her chest, sounding forgein in her mouth, like they belonged to someone else.
Her sister slayer laughed. “Do you think innocence is a sliding scale? Like, can one person be more innocent than another? Or is it an absolute thing? Like, for example, is the bitch that lies, steals, kills , and brings death to every world she travels to more or less innocent than the rapist trying to do her?”
Then she was standing next to the crate and it was open. Inside was the Mayor’s aid, the man Faith had killed all those years ago. Except he had Buffy’s knife jammed between his ribs.
“See girls, that’s what it really means to be the Slayer. We’re better than they are, we decide who dies.”
Buffy turned around to find the basement filled with the minis, her ragtag army of Potential Slayers, not yet active. Among them she could see those she’d lost: Annabelle, Chloe, Dianne, Molly, Nora, and in the front was Eve, the girl she’d never gotten the chance to protect. The one who’d died before she reached Buffy’s care.
+
Ronon had never seen his own lump of scarring beyond a vague mess in half-blind mirrors. Once the tracker was out, he did his best to stop thinking about it, beyond turning down the late Dr. Beckett when he offered to reduce the scarring, to make it look… neater.
Those scars had been a symbol of what Ronon had endured. They had also been a terrible reminder. He had no intention of making them look clean and presentable. He couldn’t change them so he had no desire in wasting energy trying. For so long they were simply something that was a part of him which he refused to let bother him.
At least until McKay, while under the influence of one of the Ancestor’s strange devices, had healed them as a parting gift when he thought the machine was going to kill him. Ronon appreciated the gesture. It was comforting to know that very occasionally, things he didn’t think could be repaired, were still fixable.
Buffy’s scars, on the other hand, he knew by heart.
+
As Ronon knelt by the new Runner’s head, keeping her from breathing dirt, he watched Jennifer work with a hawk-like vigilance that she found frankly unnerving.
The tracker was beneath a pale lump of scars on the woman’s otherwise tanned back. It was raised and twisted in on itself in several jagged branches where more than one knife had clearly made a futile attempt to dig the device out.
Jennifer had already made a neat incision right down the center of it. The anesthetic had slowed the woman’s heart rate considerably but the cut still bled and Jennifer had to pause a few times to swab the area, removing the excess blood so that she could see what she was working on.
Her gloved fingers prodded at the wound, finding entrance, and slipped inside. With a grunt of satisfaction she whispered. “There you are.” Wedged between two sheets of muscle was a little glint of silver. Jennifer pinched the edges of the incision open with surgical clamps. The next step she did mostly by touch, relying on the readout of the lifesigns detector (that McKay had modified into a medical scanner) to see exactly where the tendrils attached to the woman’s spinal column. With a practised hand she cut each connection away from the woman’s spine.
As she carefully loosened the device’s grip on the woman’s flesh, it almost seemed as if there was a tiny scream that accompanied each lost connection. The procedure was slow and methodical but eventually she carefully extricated a small, shiny, deadly object which she dropped with a plunk into a metal dish.
Ronon grabbed one of her spare scalpels and stabbed it into the center of the device. Jennifer marveled at how easy it seemed to dispose of. After all the pain that little machine has caused, all the death, breaking it seemed like it should have been harder.
As she began to close up the wound, the tablet strapped to the woman’s arm, the one thing she refused to remove for the procedure, started beeping.
Almost simultaneously they heard Rodney shout from outside. “Guys!”
Jennifer looked up from the woman’s wound which was only halfway stitched up. “What’s wrong?”
“Wraith.” The woman murmured groggily, the anesthetic seemed to be wearing off faster than intended. “Wraith are coming.”
Sheppard burst into the cave, “Are you done?” he asked “We’ve got Wraith incoming.” He turned his gaze to the horizon. “Ronon, can you carry her? We’ve gotta move.”
“Woah, woah, woah. I haven’t even properly stitched her up yet and even then, she is in no fit state to travel. I just did some very delicate work on her spine, if we move her now she could die.”
Ignoring her, Sheppard shouted, “McKay, how many and how long?”
Rodney ran into the cave, still fiddling with his tablet. Before he could find what Sheppard was looking for they heard from behind them in a voice only half conscious. “Two darts, fifteen minutes.”
“McKay, track those darts, Teyla, perimeter, Ronon, you,” he waved a hand at the man kneeling by his friend’s side, “as you were. Doc, patch her up quick and dirty, please, we have fifteen minutes till this place is swarming with Wraith.”
Jennifer sighed, “I hate doing this.” She tied off the stitch she had been working on, then pulled from her bag a bottle of adhesive. It was a slightly more medically friendly variation of superglue. She applied it to the edges of the wound and held them in place till the substance hardened.
Field medics didn’t always have the luxury of doing things the right way.
Quick and dirty it certainly was but it was a fairly reliable way of closing wounds fast. It wasn’t the best option for deep wounds and certainly not a good alternative to stitches for closing up surgical incisions but it would have to do. It should hold in the short term. Jennifer prayed that it would keep the wound closed if they got into a fight. As it was, the woman would be lucky if popped stitches were the worst of her problems. As it was, Jennifer would be surprised if she ever walked again.
With a grunt, Ronon tugged the woman’s limp body up into his lap, and turned her around. He lightly slapped her face.
“Wakey wakey,” he cajoled.
Jennifer winced, that woman shouldn’t be moving this soon after surgery, let alone being shaken awake.
After a few seconds the woman’s eyes fluttered open, she blinked and asked in a murmur which seemed to be the loudest voice she could muster “Is it out?”
Ronon nodded, “It’s out and it’s dead. They can’t track you anymore.”
“It’s out,” she echoed, still dazed. Jennifer could see a storm of emotions cross her face as she visibly rearranged her entire world; relief, disbelief, hope, joy, fear, resignation, anger, all roiled across her features in seconds.
The woman made a lunging motion, as if she intended to stand up but slumped back into Ronon’s arms. “Ronon,” she whispered and in that moment she didn’t look like a warrior, she looked like a child, small and scared. “I can’t move.”
Jennifer closed her eyes and bit her lip. She expected as much, she predicted the outcome. The device had been too ingrained in the woman’s spine. Knowing it was coming didn’t make the fear on the woman’s face at this realisation any easier to see.
+
Slayer couldn’t feel her legs. That thought dominated her mind. Her life for the last decade had been running and now she wasn’t sure she could even walk. She clung to what she’d been told since she was fourteen, what Giles had said after she’d had her own stake driven into her stomach. ‘Slayers have been known to heal quite quickly.’ This wasn’t permanent. This couldn’t be permanent.
McKay was back in moments. “We’ve gotta go. I thought we shut the tracker down, why are they coming now?”
Slayer gave a groan and looked up at him from Ronon’s arms. “ Cause you turned it off. They’re not foolproof. The right terrain, the right shelter and the signal goes dark. When that happens the Wraith come to make sure you don’t have a permanent place to hide.”
Sheppard nodded with her. “We need to get away from its last transmission site. When we disabled Ronon’s tracker the planet was overrun with Wraith in a matter of hours. We want to be back on Atlantis before that happens.”
+
+
Chapter 3: Arrival
Chapter Text
Three: Arrival
+
Sam watched over the gateroom from the control room balcony. They’d received Sheppard’s IDC moments ago and predictably, they were coming in hot.
Teyla was the first through the gate, she came flying through the wormhole as if diving out of the way of an explosion, a weapon clutched in one hand and dragging Dr. Keller with the other. They both landed hard and kept rolling until they were out of the way, giving Rodney and Sheppard room to stumble into the gateroom, unsteady but still on their feet.
Ronon was last, emerging from the gate clutching a short, blonde stranger in his arms. The woman had her arms wrapped around Ronon’s neck and she was clutching his gun in one hand. Clearly she had been firing behind them as they’d run for the gate.
The moment Ronon and the woman were through Sheppard shouted “Chuck! Raise the shield!”
The tech obeyed and a shimmering barrier sparkled to life in front of the event horizon of the wormhole. Less than a second later there was a loud boomf as something slammed into the shield. Sam found it fascinating that the dispersal sounded different on the Atlantis shield compared to the Earth iris.
With nothing else coming through, the gate shut down and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
Rodney was the first to chime in. “Cardio sucks.”
Sam shook her head, some days it seemed as though Rodney had come so far since his days at the SGC and some days he seemed like the same idiot who’d hit on her while they were in the middle of a world ending crisis.
Satisfied that the danger had passed, Sam descended the steps towards Sheppard’s team. “Debriefing in an hour after you’ve got yourselves cleaned up, but before that, would anyone care to introduce me to your guest?”
Ronon sat down on the gateroom steps with the woman still in his arms. Of the six of them she looked the worst for wear, her skin was deathly pale and her eyes kept going in and out of focus as she looked around the room. Sam knew basic triage from her officer’s training and it was enough to know the woman needed help.
Sheppard was the one to answer her. “One of Ronon’s old pals, a Runner he crossed paths with back in the day. Colonel Carter, let me introduce you to–well, you never actually gave us your name did you.” He asked, the phrase inviting the woman to fill in the blank.
She still looked quite unsteady but she focused her eyes on Sheppard. “You can call me Slayer.”
Sheppard raised his eyebrows. “As in killer?”
“When I have to be.”
Rodney balked at the word. “That’s not a name.”
“That’s all you're gonna to get.” The woman smiled with too many teeth. Despite looking like her body was still trying to decide if it wanted to remain conscious, there was steel in the woman’s voice that Sam appreciated.
“Atlantis has a new resident, I take it. Alright everyone, clean yourselves up and meet in the conference room in an hour to debrief.”
The voice of the strange woman cut across Sam’s dismissal. “Whoa, slow down. No offense to all of you, I’m grateful for your help but I’m not sure I want to stay here. If you’d give me some food and a pair of boots I’d be happy to be on my way.” she looked up to the man who was carrying her. “Ronon, could you help me to my feet.”
“Miss… Slayer, you don’t look like you should be walking.” said Sam.
Dr. Keller joined in. “I don’t think you even can… oh.” She fell silent as with some assistance from Ronon, Slayer got to her feet. She looked off balance but her legs held her weight. “That shouldn’t be possible.” Dr. Keller murmured but her words were lost as the moment Slayer’s feet touched the floor, a low rumble swept through the gateroom.
A white pillar extended up from the center of the room, blue geometric shapes decorated its sides, casting a faint light around it. A hand shaped imprint was embedded on top, waiting for someone to touch it.
Ronon’s gun fell from Slayer’s limp hand as she stumbled towards the pillar with a fascinated, almost dazed look on her face. Sam had never seen the white terminal before but she knew what it was. She knew what had happened the last time someone activated it. She raised her hand and the four marines who had assembled in the gateroom in response to the unscheduled offworld activation raised their weapons, fingers on the triggers.
“Step away from the override terminal or we will open fire!”
But her warning came too late, Slayer had already laid her hand on its surface.
Another shudder seemed to emanate from the gateroom and Sam heard alarms start to go off in the control room.
“Put your hands on your head, I won’t ask again.”
Ronon jumped to his feet but Sheppard shouted. “Ronon, stay where you are.” Despite his obvious desire to place himself between Slayer and the guns he stopped at Sheppard’s order.
Slayer raised her hands away from the terminal but Sam could see her legs shift into a fighting stance. She looked half dead but she was no less ready for a fight.
“What’s the damage?” Sam shouted behind her, not taking her eyes off the strange blonde woman.
It was Rodney that answered her, looking at his tablet which was keyed into Atlantis’s central systems.
“All kinds of systems are coming online.” He hit a few buttons. “It’s almost like when we first got here. The city is waking up dormant systems all over. What–is that the east tower? I thought it was dead?”
“It was,” Zelenka confirmed, staring at his own screen. “What is going on?”
“She’s just saying hello,” Slayer’s voice cut through the growing panic. Her hands were still raised but Sam could see her eyes darting every which way, searching for the opportunity to escape.
“I’m sorry, what?” Rodney sounded incredulous.
“The City was singing to me.” She frowned, sounding uncertain, like she didn’t quite believe what she said next. “I think–I think she wanted to welcome me home.” She stuttered over the word ‘home’ like it was a forgein concept.
“Colonel Carter,” it was Dr. Keller. “I think she’s delirious. She woke up from major surgery less than an hour ago, she shouldn’t even be on her feet.”
Sam motioned towards Sheppard “Colonel, whatever Ronon’s friend did, can you reverse it?”
“I can try.” He said before laying his own hand on the terminal. There was a moment of solid silence before the light emanating from the pillar dimmed and it receded back into the floor. Sam could hear the alarms in the control room cease.
She motioned to the soldiers who were keeping Slayer in their sights. “Dr. Keller, these marines will escort your patient to the infirmary. Once you’ve cleared her, we’ll discuss,” she motioned around the gateroom “whatever this was.”
The marines walked Slayer towards the infirmary, keeping a respectable distance, Ronon went with them. The two Runners put their arms around each other’s shoulders, bracing her unsteady footsteps in what was clearly a practiced motion. Sam wondered idly if he was there to protect Slayer from the soldiers, or the soldiers from his old friend.
Before she left to follow the woman, Dr. Keller pulled Sam aside. “Colonel, can I talk to you for a moment.”
“I assume it’s about our new guest?”
“Yes.” Dr. Keller sighed “Her surgery was not clean. Even in an operating room under ideal circumstances I don’t think I could have gotten that tracker out of her back without collateral damage. As it was, I’m almost certain I damaged her eighth and ninth thoracic vertebra.”
Sam struggled to remember her medic courses from basic training. Thoracic vertebrae was the center of the spine. “Okay, the problem is?”
“The problem is, she shouldn’t be able to walk, not an hour after surgery. Honestly I thought the likelihood of her ever walking again was low. The last time we encountered a case of advanced healing it was the result of an infection by replicator nanites, the time before that it was a retrovirus rewriting Lt. Colonel Sheppard’s system with Iratus bug DNA. I have a list of these kinds of incidents from my tenure here and from Dr. Beckett’s.”
Sam nodded. “We’ve had similar experiences at the SGC.” Usually it meant Goa’uld infestation, the last thing that Sam wanted to have to deal with a galaxy away from home was a body jumping parasite. “Do whatever tests you need to make sure she isn’t a threat to the city.”
Dr. Keller nodded, as she turned to go, Sam said. “Dr. Keller, start with an x-ray.”
The woman’s ability to heal at an accelerated rate wasn’t the only strange thing about her. She also had the ATA gene expression, something almost unheard of in this galaxy. The Ancients didn’t start mixing with humans with any regularity till after they left Pegasus. According to a report Dr. Beckett had submitted two years ago, the few Pegasus natives that were of Ancient descent possessed so little of their ancestors’ genes that it was a toss up if they could even turn Lantean technology on, let alone control it. They certainly couldn’t have activated the override terminal which according to Rodney, responded only to pure blood Ancients.
+
Dr. Keller let her shower. Actually Dr. Keller had wanted to have her bathed, concerned that she shouldn’t be on her feet, shouldn’t be exerting herself in a way that could open her wound. Slayer told her flatly it wasn’t going to happen. They both knew assessing her physical condition beneath a thick layer of grime wasn’t really an option.
So she stood under the almost boiling water as it cascaded over her. At first she just stood there, let the water and the warmth cover her. She watched the dirt and matted blood disappear down the drain as it flowed off her skin and out of her hair. It felt like she hadn’t been properly clean in years. Not since the last shower she’d taken back home so long ago. She’d washed since then but it never felt like she got all the dirt off herself. Even when she was sparkling clean she could still feel the grime.
She scrubbed at the dirt that covered her and after a while it wasn’t dirt that was washing away with the water, it was layers and layers of dead skin. She kept scrubbing till her skin felt raw but she relished the feeling because it meant there was nothing left between her and the water. She was clean.
She attacked the tangled mess her hair had become with a brush and it took her almost twenty minutes and a chunk of dead hair torn out on the bristles before she could even move the brush through it in one motion.
Shampoo and conditioner were a luxury. If she’d been able to wash her hair at all in the last decade it was with just water or occasionally harsh soap she’d acquired in some village as she passed through. Her hair felt smooth as she washed the conditioner out. She’d forgotten it could feel that way; used to the tangled mess of wires it had become.
As she was dragging the brush mercilessly through her uncooperative hair she heard a knock behind her. The brush fell out of her hands with a clatter as she spun to face the door. Her heart pounded in her ears. The shower glass was frosted, nearly opaque, all she could see through it was the shadow of a female figure.
“Are you alright?” the figure asked.
She sighed. It was just one of the marines, red hair, she thought the woman’s name was Cadman.
“I’m fine.” She said, “Just haven’t had a good shower in a long time.”
When Cadman disappeared through the door, Slayer lay down on the floor. Feeling her body pressed against the hard, solid surface beneath her helped calm her erratic heartbeat. She simply let the water fall over her in a torrent.
What should she do now? What was left? What if they wouldn’t let her go? Whatever she’d done in their control center, the way the City sang in her mind, had obviously unnerved them. Would they lock her up here? But then, what if they did let her go? Where would she go? She’d run across the surface of hundreds of worlds but she’d never come across one that stood out as a place to settle down. Would they let her return to Earth? The thought was both exciting and terrifying. It had been ten years. Her sister, Giles, her friend, all of them would have written her off as dead a very long time ago. Were they even still alive?
Dr. Keller had provided her with someone’s toiletries bag, apart from the soap, brush, and shower supplies, she’d found a bit of makeup in the bottom. It was hardly Maybelline but as she dried herself off she thought, Why not? She applied some eyeliner and a little mascara. It was a comfort how easily her hands remembered the motions.
The effect was… nice. She wouldn’t have called herself pretty, not with her sun damaged skin and hair that was mostly split ends but she felt clean. She felt a little less like ‘Slayer’ now.
She braided her wet hair (because it was the only way to hide the three blades she’d managed to keep when they’d taken the pile of her discarded clothing) and dressed in the hospital clothes she’d been provided. They were stark white and felt like pajamas. They weren’t the most comfortable things to wear but they were fresh. They didn’t smell like someone else and they didn’t smell like months of accumulated dirt, sweat, and blood.
When she finished with her shower she looked around the room, searching for something that she was suddenly keenly aware was no longer present. It hadn’t surprised her when they’d taken her clothing. There were too many weapons concealed in each piece to risk letting her have them and the clothes were filthy besides. The thing that was missing, that made her grind her teeth at its absence, was her wrist computer. Her one constant companion for the last ten years.
She marched out of the infirmary bathroom and towards Dr. Keller, her marine escorts close behind. “Where’s Willow?” Her voice was calm but there was a hard edge to it.
Dr. Keller looked up from where she seemed to have been doing paperwork.
“I’m sorry?”
“Wil–My wrist computer. Where is it?”
Dr. Keller glanced behind Slayer to one of the marines. She could see him give a nod out of the corner of her eye.
“I think it was sent up to Rodney’s lab.”
“Can I have it back?”
“That’s not really my department.” To her credit she did actually look sorry at Slayer’s obvious discomfort. “But speaking of my department, now that you’re all cleaned up I’d like to give you a full workup, make sure you’re doing alright.”
“And if I say no?”
“Well,” Dr. Keller looked uncomfortable as she nodded towards the marines “We need to make sure you aren’t bringing any illnesses into the city, or anything else.”
Slayer nodded. The woman was kind and doing what she could to make Slayer comfortable but when it came down to it, this wasn’t a request, it was an order. If necessary, Dr. Keller would have her sedated so she could run her tests.
She had a sudden vision of the four marines surrounding her all lying on the ground, their skin devoid of colour, their eyes devoid of life.
“Can Ronon be here while you run your tests?”
She felt childish for asking, like she needed someone’s hand to hold when she went to the doctor’s office. But the truth was she did need someone there. She didn’t like hospitals, hadn’t since she was very young and had seen her cousin, Celia, die in one. This place didn’t look much like an Earth hospital but it still smelled like antiseptic sterility. She needed someone there to remind her to breathe. She needed someone there to stop her from losing control.
Dr. Keller smiled sympathetically. “I’ll tell the guard to let him in.”
Over the next hour Slayer underwent a barrage of tests. The first thing Dr. Keller did was inspect her surgical incision. Slayer couldn’t see it but the doctor informed her as she worked that the adhesive she’d used to close the bottom half of the incision hadn’t held. It wasn’t meant for use on such deep wounds and more often than not was simply supposed to act as an extra sealant overtop of stitches. It wasn’t supposed to be the only thing keeping the wound closed. She numbed the area and carefully finished the line of stitches that had been interrupted in the cave, closing the wound securely.
After that she took a sample of Slayer’s blood, when the needle punctured her arm her first instinct was to last out. Her nails dug so deep into Ronon’s hand that she knew he would have bruises. Next she was asked to lie down on a long metal surface while what must have been the alien equivalent to an x-ray machine was moved over her body from top to bottom. The scanner cast a pale green light over her as it worked, giving her skin an unearthly glow.
Dr. Keller had Slayer sit in front of a few more scanners of varying sizes as well as performing a manual physical before she said. “That should be all for tonight. There may be some follow up tests but for the moment you should get some rest. One of the nurses will prepare you a bed.”
“Here?”
“Is there a problem with that?”
“I–” she paused, collecting herself. “I don’t like the smell.”
Dr. Keller nodded. “The disinfectant. Well, we need to be close by in case you suffer complications during the night. But, there’s a set of living quarters down the hall that we use for quarantine patients. It hasn’t been used since before I started working here. It shouldn’t smell like anything. That’s the best I can do.”
Slayer nodded and was escorted to what was to be her room, at least for now.
She lay down on the bed and Dr. Keller attached her to a number of monitoring devices. She felt like a kid again, being tucked in by her mother.
When everyone but Ronon had left the room to let her sleep, she said quietly.
“Thank you.”
He stopped. “For what?”
“Coming for me.”
“I should have come a long time ago.”
She turned her gaze to the ceiling. “You didn’t know where I was. Not until today. And today you came.”
He made a non-committal grunt.
“I’m glad you’re here.” she said.
“Ronon.” It was Dr. Keller, standing in the doorway. “Let her rest.”
The door closed behind them. She saw the glowing command crystals beside the door go dim as the light winked out. She was locked in. There was the familiar surge of panic at the thought but over the next few minutes it died away, insulated by something she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Was it hope?
She hummed, closed her eyes, and tried to sleep.
After the many nights she’d spent sleeping in caves and trees, the bed was heavenly. It was soft, and it was warm. She wouldn’t shiver through the night, drifting into and out of consciousness as the cold bit at her, not tonight. Buffy closed her eyes and inhaled.
All she smelled was clean air; no dirt or sweat or blood or nature. The only scent was the salt from the ocean. The City hummed beneath her, it almost felt like she could hear it singing again in the rhymes of the faintly humming deck plates. It seemed to pulse with a single word of comfort, safe, safe, safe .
The tracker was gone.
The tracker was gone and these people… these people were from Earth.
She exhaled.
Inhaled again.
The tracker was gone and she was safe. She could rest without fear.
Slayer fell asleep to the sharp ever present rhythm of the heart rate monitor reminding her over and over again that she really was alive.
+
+
Chapter 4: Catching Up
Chapter Text
Four: Catching Up
+
“This is fascinating.”
Rodney was looking at the device that belonged to Ronon’s Runner friend. Slayer, she called herself. Not wanting to dwell on that, Rodney prefered to throw himself into his work.
At first he hadn’t even wanted to touch the thing. Like the woman herself, her tablet had been coated in a thick layer of grime, saying nothing of how putrid the leather bracer that housed it had been. Even after Miko had scrubbed it clean, it retained stains pressed into the housing from years of being in unclean environments and in combat.
Sam had asked him to go over it personally, check it for any personal information on the woman that Ronon had brought to the city. He hadn’t really expected a study of it to yield any useful results. Ronon had given them a similar tablet when he’d first joined the Expedition. Beyond the rather mundane application of comparing how an alien world constructed and coded their computers, it hadn’t yielded anything of note. Rodney had expected this new device to produce similar findings.
But after Miko had polished it with iodine to remove the stains, Rodney discovered something interesting. The leather cuff which he’d taken to be brown, though not restored to its original colour, was clearly at one point white and the tablet, far from the burnished metal he’d been expecting, was an almost iridescent crystalline composite. The cuff looked like it would at one point have blended easily with the officer’s uniforms McKay had seen on board the Lantean battleship, Aurora, and the tablet bore a striking resemblance to some of Atlantis’s control interfaces and to the life signs detectors the Jumpers were equipped with. The woman’s personal computer was Lantean technology.
“What have you found?” asked Zelenka.
“It’s a user interface for Lantean systems.”
“For what purpose, Lantean systems already have buttons.”
“So does this, it has a screen and a tactile interface but the impressive thing is this.” Rodney removed the device from its leather housing so that Radek could see its undercarriage. In the center were two long grey strips of a gelatinous substance that was cool to the touch. “It has neural responders.”
“Are you saying this is like control chair?”
“But portable. From what I’ve been able to glean it can access almost any piece of Lantean technology within a twenty foot radius. Access it, view it’s information, even control it to varying degrees depending on what it is.”
“For what purpose? The current user interfaces work fine.”
“I don’t know, maybe they were disability devices, your top scientist breaks his back, give him one of these so he can keep working. Or maybe it was just convenient, we have speech-to-text devices, this is like thought-to-text. Imagine how much faster I could work with something like this. The ideas go directly onto the page, no losing train of thought while I’m writing it all down.”
“McKay, Colonel Carter gave you that so you could provide more information about our new guest. Not so you could go shopping for research equipment.”
“Right, right, right. Among it’s abilities to link to other devices, it seems to have a primitive version of the Stargate’s dialing program on it. It can’t power a gate on it’s own but it can dial one from a distance, especially if there’s an existing DHD to link to. Unless I am very much mistaken, it can connect to the city’s systems as well.”
“Are you saying this can replace control chair? The whole city can be controlled from this?”
“No, there’s a reason the chair platform is as big as it is. It takes a lot of RAM to control Atlantis’s systems, this little thing doesn’t have the processing power. But it would allow someone to access the city systems individually without needing to be at an actual terminal. You wouldn’t be charging up the stardrive with it but the database, sensor logs, comms, in short any non critical system could be accessed from this.”
“That seems like a security risk.”
“Well obviously Radek. I can’t imagine they gave these out to just anybody. The Ancients who had them were probably well regarded leaders or scientists, people who were meant to have access. I doubt anyone foresaw Lady Rambo having one.”
“If these are so useful, why have we not found any in the city?”
“I don’t know, I didn’t supervise what the Ancients decided to leave behind! Look, these were personal computers, maybe they were reserved for high ranking personnel, maybe they weren’t mass produced, or maybe as portable as they clearly are, they were all taken back to Earth during the evacuation. The important thing is we have one in front of us now.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“What is on it? You talk lots about what it does, not so much about what it contains.”
“Yes well, that’s because… I can’t access it.”
“You can’t?”
“It’s gene locked. ‘Slayer’ initialized it. I can access some of the rudimentary system data but since I didn’t activate it I can’t view its database. I could re-initialize it but…”
“Would restore to factory settings, wipe data for new user.”
“But then we’d be able to get a full picture of exactly what this thing can do.”
“Rodney,” Zelenka said in a tone that was somewhere between placating and warning. “Ronon considers this woman friend. Colonel Carter, at least for the moment, wants her made comfortable. I do not think stealing stranger’s laptop is good way to make friend.” When Rodney looked like he was going to argue Zelenka continued. “Remember personal shield? You do not have good track record with deciding device is yours.”
“Oh, come on Radek, I wasn’t gonna to steal it.”
“Good, run tests, access harddrive, do not wipe it. I do not think you want to be responsible for breaking property of woman who call herself Slayer .”
+
Slayer woke to the scent of ocean salt on the air. It was comforting and for a moment she didn’t understand why. She wasn’t allowed ‘comforting’. She wasn’t allowed long rests or peaceful nights. Her eyes snapped open, darting around wildly. She took in the red and silver walls of the room, the stained glass of the windows and the early morning sun filtering through it. She remembered, she was safe, or at the very least, she was free. She didn’t have to run anymore.
Which was probably a good thing as she wasn’t entirely sure she could run anymore. When she swung her legs off the side of the bed they felt numb; not numb exactly. She could feel pins and needles shooting up and down them but when she tried to stand they bowed uncertainly, unsure if they wanted to support her weight. It was like they’d fallen asleep and were stuck halfway awake. Her steps were unsteady because she couldn’t feel quite where her weight was being distributed.
It was better than it had been yesterday. She could feel them again, that meant she was healing. That meant it wasn’t permanent.
She removed the cuff from her arm and the clip from her finger. The steady beep… beep… beep… of the heart rate monitor turned into a flat droning tone. She stumbled towards the door, leaning on the wall to help support her weight.
Within moments the door opened to reveal a panicked Dr. Keller and a handful of nurses. She relaxed considerably when she realized her patient had simply unhooked herself from the monitoring equipment and was not in fact flatlining.
“You should not be on your feet.”
Slayer nodded. “I get that a lot.”
Dr. Keller turned to one of the attendants behind her. “Marie can you get her some crutches?”
The Asian woman disappeared down the hall and returned shortly with a pair of crutches to help Slayer walk. She took them gratefully. With them bracing her, she could move more easily.
“If you’re feeling up to it there are a few follow up tests I would like to run.” Dr. Keller’s body language seemed to indicate she was prepared to catch Slayer if she fell. The doctor phrased it nicely but Slayer knew it wasn’t a request any more than the tests she’d run the previous day had been optional. She just nodded.
Ronon was in the hall behind her just out of sight. She’d spent too much time around him, memorized the way he hunted, to not be able to tell it was him. Had he been waiting outside her room all night? The thought made her feel warm inside, like she was cared for, but she pushed it aside.
Dr. Keller took another sample of her blood and this time it was her own hand she drove her nails into, just to give herself something else to focus on, to not react to the sharp stabbing pain on instinct. She sat through the tests, numbly aware of Dr. Keller’s comments about how well she was healing from her surgery. She just wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else, somewhere she wasn’t surrounded by people.
“Can I go now?” she asked, legs swinging against the bed she sat perched on as she watched the good doctor fiddle with her laptop. It was displaying all kinds of arcane crap she didn’t understand.
Dr. Keller looked up from whatever she was getting from the diagrams on the screen. “Yes, you can go. I’d tell you to take it easy but if you’re anything like Ronon you won’t listen. Feel free to look around the city. The open air outside is probably more to your liking.” She was more than happy to take the opportunity. She started walking.
+
“Colonel Carter.” Dr. Keller shouted, catching up to her commanding officer in the hallway, a file under one arm.
“Doctor.” Sam inclined her head. “I take it you have some answers regarding our newest resident?”
“I’ve got… well I’ve got something.”
Sam gestured for Dr. Keller to step into the transporter as she kept talking.
“What have you got?”
“To start, you should be aware that the medical scanner picked up three metal objects concealed in her braid.”
“Knives?” Sam smiled. Sheppard had told her about Ronon’s habit of storing blades in his dreadlocks. She wasn’t surprised to hear it was something he shared with his girlfriend.
Dr. Keller nodded. “I didn’t want to ask her to surrender them. She’s alone in a forgein place, surrounded by strangers. I thought letting her keep a weapon would make her feel safer.”
“What about her test results?
“I have some answers and a lot more questions.”
“Answers first.”
“She’s Ancient, or at least part Ancient. Based on genetic tests Dr. Beckett did, I’d estimate that Lt. Colonel Sheppard had one or more Ancient ancestors somewhere in the range of fifty generations ago. The rest of our ATA gene personnel are in the range of eighty to a hundred generations. Based on Slayer...” Dr. Keller’s voice stuttered slightly over their guest’s chosen form of identification. Sam couldn’t blame her. It seemed too blunt and brutal for the sleek halls of Atlantis.
“Well, her genetic profile indicates she has an Ancient ancestor between one and four generations ago. She’s between an eighth and half Ancient.”
“That explains what she did in the gateroom. Her CIA must be through the roof, the city recognized her the moment she made physical contact.”
“CIA?”
“Oh, Chair Interface Aptitude.” When Dr. Keller still looked confused, Sam said “How well she can use Lantean technology. McKay made a ranking system. He wasn’t pleased when he came in somewhere on the bottom half. I guess Dr. Beckett’s gene therapy didn’t produce results as potent as the real thing.”
Sam pulled open the door to her office for Dr. Keller and closed it behind them before settling behind the desk. She motioned for Dr. Keller to continue. “According to Ronon, she’s faster and stronger than anyone he’s ever met her size and by my own examination she is healing at an accelerated rate. These results explain why. We’ve seen a number of Ancients display remarkable abilities, whether you want to attribute those abilities to their species or to their proximity to Ascension, either way we know there is a genetic component.”
“That was the answers section, you said your results generated some questions.”
“Yes, her being half Ancient is the simplest version of what her results returned.”
“And the more complicated version?”
“The complicated version is just… weird.”
“How so?”
“Every test I ran on her DNA with the equipment we brought from home returned the same result, pure, unremarkably human DNA.”
“How is that possible? The city identified her as an Ancient the moment she set foot in the place. I checked the biometric sensors, she registers as an anomaly.”
“That’s what I thought, which is why I started using the Lantean medical equipment to double check my results.”
“And this is where ‘weird’ comes in?”
“When I go over her samples with the city’s equipment it detects Ancient DNA but all of her scans show what I can best describe as a shadow overlaid on every single sequence. When I isolate that shadow and compare it to the results my Earth equipment gave me, they match up perfectly.”
“You’re saying her DNA has been altered?”
“Not just altered, masked. It’s like someone created a false DNA profile within her actual genes that would fool all but the most sensitive scanners.”
“Why? How?”
“I don’t know, I can’t even begin to imagine the answer to either of those questions. That’s not everything, her condition is progressing. I compared samples I took this morning with those that I took yesterday and some of her base pair sequences have shifted.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“To her, maybe but not to the city. It’s not contagious. It bears a passing resemblance to what happened to Dr. McKay when he was exposed to the DNA Resequencer last year.” At this point she glanced down at the notes she compiled in the file she’d brought with her. “It’s also not unlike General O’Neill’s second experience with the Ancient Repository of Knowledge and a series of genetic experiments meant to create something called a ‘Hok’tar’ ” she read the word directly from the file, clearly unsure if she was pronouncing it correctly.
“I’m familiar, Dr. Keller, I probably wrote the report you found that in.”
“Right, sorry.”
“So she’s a Hok’tar? An evolved human?”
“Sort of. Her mutation bears a passing resemblance to those incidents but in all of those cases the goal seems to have been advancing human DNA as far as it could possibly go. In her case, the modifications are subtle and the ongoing mutation is incredibly slow. Dr. McKay was pushed to the point of death in a matter of weeks, this woman won’t get there for decades, if she ever does at all.”
“Do you think the Wraith did this to her?”
“I doubt it. They have the resources but if my analysis is right then whatever this is happened to her between fifteen and twenty years ago. She’s only been running for ten years. I’ve never heard of the Wraith keeping a prisoner that long. From what Ronon says, Runners are usually decided on spontaneously. Besides, I don’t see what they’d have to gain by creating a stronger human and then setting her loose to kill them.”
“So, we don’t have a how, would you like to hazard a guess as to why?”
“My best guess?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“Two theories come to mind, either someone tried to create an Ancient and got mixed results, or someone was trying to hide her Ancient DNA under a human signature.”
“Can you get any more information out of her test results?”
“I don’t even know what to do with the information I have now.”
“Well, then, there’s only one option left.”
“What’s that?”
“Let’s ask her.” Carter stood up from her desk and walked out of her office, intending to radio Lt. Colonel Sheppard, Rodney, Ronon and Teyla to meet her in the conference room so they could have a conversation about Slayer.
Before she could turn on her radio, Dr. Keller put a hand on her shoulder. “Colonel, before that, there’s another oddity in her results you may want to be aware of.”
+
Slayer was lying flat on her back at the edge of the City listening to the sound of the ocean moving back and forth. The sun warmed her skin and the air smelted of sea salt. It was peaceful.
Her marine escort had followed her every step of the nearly two hour walk it had taken to reach the City pier. Once they’d realized she’d stopped moving, they kept their distance; gave her the space she needed to simply be. She could hear them though, every scuff of their feet as they paced, the resettling of their uniforms as they moved around, the clink of the weapons they had long since stopped keeping a close grip on. It was her instinct, listen for the danger, never be caught unawares.
Which is why her eyes were open and a hand was on one of the crutches the infirmary had lent her (it was as good an improvised weapon as any) before the marine was within twenty feet.
“Radio for you ma’am.” he said. He was holding out one of the earpieces she’d seen everyone in the city wearing.
She put it on. “I’m told you're looking for me?”
“Slayer,” It was Sheppard on the other end. “We need you in the conference room. We’d like to have a conversation.”
She gave the expanse of ocean stretching to the horizon a mournful look. She’d only just got here. It was nice and quiet and peaceful and there weren’t any questions she wasn’t ready to answer being posed by resolute military personnel.
“Slayer? You still there?”
“Alright,” she said “I’m coming, it might take awhile though. I walked out to the east pier.”
“Walked?” came the staticy voice. “You didn’t use the transporters?”
“There are transporters?”
+
“Do you know what she’s talking about?” asked Carter.
Slayer sat in the conference room watching Dr. Keller go over an exhaustive and almost incomprehensible report of her medical tests.
“Yeah.” she nodded. There was a pause. “Well no, actually. I only recognize some of those words, individually. But if you’re asking if I know about something that happened to me fifteen to twenty–let’s split the difference, say seventeen years–ago that gave me abilities, then yes. I know what you’re talking about.”
They were talking about the Slayer line. Whatever genetic and scientific stuff Dr. Keller had come up with was how they quantified the magic that had made her the Slayer. She couldn’t imagine what relation it had to the Ancestors of this galaxy, these Ancients. She didn’t know why the magic she’d been imbued with made the City think she had a place in it but then she knew precious little about the Shadowmen who’d created the Slayer line.
“Would you care to elaborate on why or how this was done?” Carter asked.
Buffy pursed her lips. Even with what these people dealt with, her explanation would seem crazy to them. The Wraith were horror monsters straight out of the pages of legends but this Expedition could dissect and calculate and explain what they were. Vampires, and witches, and demons, and slayers weren’t something they could understand.
But then she met Ronon’s gaze. The look in his eyes asked her to trust them, asked her to at least try. She couldn’t tell them everything, she had no desire to see what an asylum in the Pegasus galaxy looked like. But she would tell them some of it.
“They called it being ‘Chosen’ .” she said the word with a contempt she hadn’t meant to display.
“Chosen?” asked Sheppard.
“Yeah, it made me–us stronger, faster, quicker reflexes, enhanced senses. We healed quicker, we didn’t get sick, we needed less sleep. We were the perfect soldiers.”
“You say this happened seventeen years ago? Wouldn’t that have made you...” McKay asked. She could see he’d already done the math in his head.
“Fifteen.” The air in the room seemed to chill. No one wanted to say the phrase ‘child soldier’ but she could see it running through everyone’s minds.
“Why would they do such a thing to a child?” asked Teyla. Slayer could see the woman’s jaw was set. Teyla had been calm and steady in the midst of her confrontation with Slayer in the forest but the idea of exploited children was enough to get a rise out of her.
“Children, plural. As for why us? I don’t know, maybe they thought teenage girls were more disposable, maybe they thought we were easier to control. What I wanted didn’t really come into it, not till years later.”
“Do you know why?” It was Sheppard “What did they need super soldiers for?”
She shrugged. “Fighting.” When no one seemed about to say anything more, she elaborated. “We had things on my homeworld, things like the Wraith, things normal people couldn’t deal with. So they sent me; sent my sisters-in-arms. Better us than them.”
Silence filled the room again. Carter was the one to break it. “How did you become a Runner?”
Slayer gave her a sly almost predatory smile. “Do you want the details Colonel? Do you want to know what it felt like when they fed on me? Or how they didn’t numb my back before they cut into me?”
“No, I–” To her credit she was only thrown by Slayer’s sudden aggression for a fraction of a second. “I’m sorry if this line of questioning is uncomfortable but it is important that we know the people we invite to this city.”
“Hey, I never asked for your help and I definitely didn’t ask for sanctuary.”
After a few moments of awkward silence, Ronon put his hand on her shoulder, grounding her.
Her first instinct was to jerk sideways away from the sudden contact but it was him. She leaned into it, taking comfort in his steady grip. She settled back in her chair, her hands snaked around her waist, to hug her middle. There was a sheepish expression on her face. “Ask Ronon,” she said, refusing to look at him. “Our stories aren’t that different. Most Runners aren’t.”
Carter nodded. She looked like she would like to ask more questions but chose not to push Slayer too far. Instead she changed the subject. She pulled out a tablet wrapped in dirty white leather and set it on the conference room table.
“Willow.” Slayer said with a smile. The device was cleaner than she'd seen since she'd first found it. She'd forgotten what colour it was supposed to be.
“Was this something they gave you on your homeworld?”
She shook her head. “No. Our keepers, our watchers , kept the money, the expensive stuff to themselves. Why waste it on us, we weren’t expected to last longer than a year or two.” The Watchers had left Faith to live in a sleazy motel, doing who knew what to pay her rent.
“Where did you get it then?”
She shrugged. “Found it.” She was tempted to mulishly leave it at that but Ronon’s hand resting on her shoulder, reminding her she wasn’t among hostiles, encouraged her to elaborate. “There was a place, about a month after I started running. It was a temple to the Ancestors. The villagers told me the Wraith would come if I went into it but I figured they were already coming for me. I didn’t have anything to lose.”
When she closed her eyes she could still see the burning buildings and the screams which reminded her that she’d been wrong. That was how she’d learned that the Wraith came immediately if the signal from her tracker stopped broadcasting. The temple must have been shielded somehow because they arrived within an hour of her entering it.
“The inside looked a bit like this place.” she motioned to the walls of the City. “But covered in so much dust it was almost solid. There were bodies in there. They were old. Rotted away to skeletons old. I took Willow off one of them. At first I thought it was broken but after fiddling with the buttons for a bit it turned on.”
“You must have accidentally re-initialized it.” said McKay, clearly glad the conversation had moved on to a realm where he had some expertise.
“Sure.” she said, not knowing what that meant. “When I put it on,” she smiled. “It sang to me.”
“Sang? What do you mean sang? It’s a neural interface, not a jukebox.”
She grinned at him, showing her teeth. “Can you not hear it? The City does the same thing.”
McKay turned to look at the man sitting next to him. “Sheppard, does the city sing when you’re in the control chair.”
Sheppard shrugged. “That’s not exactly how I’d describe it but I guess you could say that.”
“That’s ridiculous.” she had the distinct impression this was McKay trying to be polite.
“Yeah, well. Up until that point I’d had to barter whatever I could for new Ring addresses. I didn’t have enough places to hide. But Willow has hundreds, maybe even thousands of them stored. They were sorted into blue ones and black ones. I took my chances with the blue ones.”
She figured they were safe cause they were the same colour as the Ring. In her experience, anything marked in black was always a bad sign, whether it was a grimoire or a Ring address.
“I’m guessing there wasn’t any data on the addresses.”
She shook her head.
“No doubt the previous user had notes for each planet but when you re-initialized it you wiped the harddrive. The addresses themselves stuck around cause they were tied to the dialing program. The addresses listed in black probably identify them as space gates.”
“Space gates?” she asked.
“Stargates positioned in orbit of a planet.”
“Oh,” she said. “I’m glad I never took my chances with one of those.”
“Slayer,” Carter asked, cutting off McKay who had seemed about to go into a more in depth breakdown of her tablet. “Is your world still inhabited? It didn’t sound like you exactly had the best experience growing up but do you have a home there to return to, or family?”
She bit her lip and offered the only answer she had. “I don’t know. I had both. But that was a long time ago and I don’t know if my world even has a Ring, I definitely don’t know its address.”
It was technically true. The presence of this Earth Expedition with their Ring prominently placed in the middle of their command center certainly implied that Ring travel back home was possible but then, maybe they came by ship.
Somewhere deep down she knew she was making excuses. But she could stand to wait. She didn’t need to know how long it had taken the Scoobies to declare her dead; not yet.
“This city had often proved itself to be a shelter to those victimized by the Wraith. Teyla’s people lived here for a time after their settlement was destroyed. Ronon has found a place with us. You could to, if you wanted.” said Carter.
She looked sideways at Ronon. He had probably jumped at the offer to stay. When they were running, he would talk about Sateda from time to time. It was a truth they both knew but didn’t say out loud: the Wraith made Runners from worlds they destroyed. She imagined it was the reason he’d never dialed home, even though he had the address. That little piece of hope that they were still around kept him moving, kept him running. She imagined once he knew for sure, once he’d seen what remained of Sateda, he’d joined the Expedition so he could have vengeance.
Was that what she wanted? Was it worth the risk? She glanced around doubtfully, unwilling to meet anyone’s eyes.
“There’s… a lot of people here,” she started. “I’m… not really sure this is a good idea?”
“You get used to it,” Ronon said, the first words he’d spoken since they’d sat down.
She shook her head. “Maybe. Maybe not. But I…,” she hesitated, searching for words while Carter watched patiently. “Slayer. That’s what they called us back home. That’s what was important, how many things we could kill. I… I haven’t been around people in a long time and I’m not sure I can turn that off. You folks look awfully breakable.”
Carter nodded, contemplatively. “It’s a big city,” she said slowly, “and we aren’t actually that big an expedition. If you need space to figure yourself out, you can have it.”
Dr. Keller joined in. “I don’t think going anywhere is a good idea until you’ve healed properly. You can barely walk as is.”
“Do you not miss company? I imagine running is a very lonely pursuit.” asked Teyla.
“Well,” she grinned slyly and glanced at Ronon “not all the time.”
Ronon didn’t say anything but she could feel his eager gaze asking her to stay. After a moment of silence, she relented. “I guess, at least until I heal, I could try… for a little while.” she offered.
“Trial basis it is,” Carter agreed with a nod.
Slayer stretched across the table to grab Willow but before she could lay her hands on it, Carter pulled it out of her reach.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you have this back. At least not yet. It provides unfiltered access into all of the city’s systems.”
Slayer closed her eyes. She could just take it. It would be so easy, one good shove would flip the table, she’d leap over it in one quick motion. She could have Willow in her hands in moments. But then what? It was best to wait. Either they’d trust her with it eventually, or she’d take it back once she was better able to weather the consequences.
She opened her eyes and was met with Carter’s sympathetic gaze. “With that settled, I’d like to officially welcome you to Atlantis.”
+
Sam watched the city’s newest resident leave the conference room with the members of Sheppard’s team close behind her. Despite being on crutches there was a fluidity to the way the woman moved that reminded her of the many Jaffa she’d fought against and beside back in the Milky Way.
Shortly after Sam had taken command of the city, the I.O.A. had instituted new guidelines regarding the visitation of people from off-world. Evidently they had not been fond of the number of refugees that Dr. Weir had allowed into Atlantis and a change in command was the perfect time to push through new statutes with minimal pushback. If Ronon had asked for permission to bring Slayer to the city Sam would have had to say no, but considering the circumstances of her arrival, Sam had the discretionary power to offer the woman aid. The I.O.A. wouldn’t be happy, but they wouldn’t be able to respond directly either. Things were so much simpler when she was one member of a single team.
Dr. Keller remained in the room with her. “Why didn’t you ask her about being from Earth? Her blood work…”
Sam cut her off. “Because when I ask her that question she’s going to have to make a choice. She’s been gone from her homeworld for a decade. Even if your results are right and she is from Earth, what do you suppose she has to go back to? It’s better to give her the space to decide if she even wants to stay here . If she is from Earth, she’ll reach a point sooner or later where she’s ready to deal with that. If she’s forced to confront it now, I think she’ll do what she’s been doing for ten years, she’ll run.”
“And what she said about her abilities? Do you really think there’s someone on Earth augmenting child soldiers with Ancient DNA?”
“I wish I could say it was the most outlandish thing I’d ever heard. But it’s possible.”
Seventeen years ago had been three years before the first official Stargate mission. But she’d seen plenty of archeological evidence Daniel had gathered together that indicated the Ancients had settled on Earth. Even with the Stargate sealed for so many centuries, it was possible someone found an outpost like the one near McMurdo and had repurposed it for their own ends. If this was how they created foot soldiers, Carter hated to think what else they might have at their disposal.
“And what about the ‘ things’ she said her homeworld has? The things she was made to fight?”
“It could be that somewhere on Earth are aliens that are keeping themselves very quiet, or…”
“I’m not going to like the other answer am I?”
“The easiest way to get children to kill is to make them believe they’re fighting monsters.”
Dr. Keller looked queasy. “You don’t mean?”
“It’s a possibility. I’ll look into it. If I find anything it might give her some peace of mind. Not that she gave me much to work with; a rough time frame and a possible name for the project: ‘Slayer’ .”
+
+
Chapter 5: Slowing Down
Notes:
After some notes from a beta reader I decided to expand certain sections of Chapter 5 and turn the rest of it into Chapter 6. Sorry that this doesn't exactly move the story forward but I think the changes will make the story stronger overall.
Chapter Text
Five: Slowing Down
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Dr. Keller kept her under observation for the next seven days. Evidently an eight mile walk had not been what she had in mind when she said Slayer could take a look around the City. She overrode Slayer’s objections saying she didn’t care how tough Slayer thought she was or how fast she could heal, her spine needed time to restore the severed nerves and her stitches needed to not be put at risk of being torn open.
And that left her… bored. It was a feeling almost unfamiliar to her. Even the moments of calm and quiet she’d experienced while Running never reached the level of tedium. She had always been on constant alert for any sign of an approaching threat, she hadn’t let her guard down enough to actually be bored.
For a little while she basked in it. She explored the luxury of time available to her that allowed her to simply do nothing.
It didn’t last. Less than two hours later and she was itching to do… something; anything. That primal hunter’s energy whispered that she couldn’t retire, not without a kill.
And there was nothing she could do to calm the impulse. Her instinct was to perform the movements of Tai Chi that Angel had taught her, or else one of the Watcher’s meditative exercises Giles had loved so much. Both required use of her legs, at least the way she’d been taught them.
She was escorted down the hall to the infirmary twice a day so that Dr. Keller could check on her progress and she took a tray of less than filling hospital food back to her room each time she left. Outside of these short reprieves' she was left in her room.
She received precious few visitors. Colonel Carter came by to ask her some questions that seemed more formality than anything else. Things she needed to fill out on a form to send to some pencil pusher back on Earth so the tax department could check the right boxes on the City’s census data. She was at least somewhat appeased by the fact that Carter seemed just as annoyed by the process as she was.
Lt. Colonel Sheppard came to talk to her too and this conversation felt more like an evaluation. He asked about her combat experience, her survival strategies, he even tested her reflexes by unexpectedly tossing a small round object at her like a high velocity baseball. She snatched it out of the air and threw it back at him so fast that she didn’t fully register what it was till it collided with the Lt. Colonel center mass. She held out a towel for him to wipe the orange juice off his uniform. The interview ended shortly thereafter.
One notable absence from her visitor log was Ronon. She could only guess Dr. Keller had warned him away, ‘She needs sleep.’ ‘She needs rest.’ ‘You can see her later.’
She also knew this Expedition didn’t have a soldier capable of stopping him if he decided to force the issue. Which meant he was respecting their authority, their decisions. She wondered if the Ronon that served in Atlantis was more like the Ronon he’d been back on Sateda. Was he still her Ronon?
She whiled away her days with little to nothing to do. She thought about asking for something to read, but that would have meant coping to knowing how to read English. Mostly she paced. The room wasn’t big enough for her to properly patrol but she walked up and down it on her crutches. Letting the seconds tick by, moment by moment.
Her days were uneventful and dull but her nights were strange. In her dreams she floated in the Great City. It appeared to her, entirely submerged in the water and flooded, but the water didn’t damage or displace anything within the structure. Instead it offered everything a serene beauty as strange lights refracted off the walls. These sights were accompanied by the Song of the City. She wasn’t sure if the City was actually serenading her as she slept or if those few alien verses she’d heard when she touched the white pillar in the Ring room were being repeated over and over and over again by her sleeping mind. She didn’t hear it when she was awake.
When she laid her hand on the floor there was a faint vibrational frequency to the surface, the heartbeat of a sea bound spaceship. Sometimes she thought she could hear echoes of the notes of the song in the vibration of the deckplates.
It made her feel unsteady. The Song of the City was a welcome, an assurance that she belonged within these halls and yet the locked door and the marine detail, the interviews and the lack of Ronon said she wasn’t one of them.
On the fifth day, during her morning check up, Dr. Keller removed her stitches, but told her she needed to sit tight a little longer for her spine to finish healing. On the seventh day Slayer’s legs felt steady enough that she stopped using the crutches. But even so Dr. Keller insisted that she rest an extra day, just to make sure there weren’t any unforeseen complications. On the eighth day Dr. Keller finally released her, giving her a spare uniform from the Expedition.
Carter had asked her if she wanted her old clothes cleaned and returned to her. She said to burn them. She’d taken them off a corpse and she knew better than anyone that those stains never really came out.
+
She didn’t like to sit still. He’d learned that about her very early on. Even when they had shelter, when they were sure the Wraith weren’t close behind, movement was a comfort to her. She’d stalk the areas around their refuge like a predator hunting for its next meal, ready to tear it limb from limb.
Even so, he was surprised how far she managed to get in the ten minutes between when he’d arrived at the infirmary for her check out date and when he ran her down in the hallway several levels down.
She was wearing an Atlantis uniform that didn’t quite fit her. When she heard him running up behind her, she stopped and turned to face him. He came to a halt a few feet away.
There was a stiff silence between them, broken only by the heavy breathing of her marine escorts as they caught up.
“Uh, hey.” he said uncertainly.
The ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Hey yourself.” They’d spent months in each other’s company but somehow this felt like a first meeting; or a goodbye. “Haven’t seen you around.”
He nodded. “Keller thought you should rest.” There was an apology in his tone.
She returned his nod. “Figured as much.” she said flatly.
He’d wanted to see her. He had wanted it so desperately. If it had been him the doc told to take it easy he doubted he would have listened. When the central spire had been caught in an explosion before they came to this planet he’d been perfectly happy to rip a shard of glass the size of his hand out of his shoulder. But he’d always had precious little regard for his own safety. The people he felt responsible for on the other hand, he’d do anything for.
If rest was what she needed to ensure that she was okay, he’d give it to her no matter how much he wished he could be by her side.
“You wanna take a look around?” It was the best apology he could offer. She was in unfamiliar terrain. The least he could do was help her get a lay of the land.
She nodded and they fell in step beside one another. His instinct was to fall into one of the formations they used to employ. Close but not close enough for an attack to be able to strike both of them, angled so each could watch the other’s blindspots; but he didn’t. Instead he stayed by her side. Her shoulder brushed his elbow with every step they took, reminding her he was there.
He didn’t reach out to her, didn’t put his hand around her waist or on her shoulder. When they were running he’d have done it without a second thought but here, back in civilization he wasn’t sure how comfortable she still was with him.
So he stayed close, but not too close. He thought he might have imagined it but it felt like she leaned into him just a little every time their arms touched.
He started with the city’s primary hubs, Stargate Operations, the jumper bay, the commissary, the training room, McKay’s lab. But as they walked through those densely populated places, he could feel her spine wound tight, wary of each person that crossed their path.
So he diverted to the more isolated areas of the city. Carter hadn’t been exaggerating when she said they weren’t a large expedition. Atlantis was a big and impressive structure. It could probably fit a half million people comfortably and two or three times that in very cramped quarters. As it stood, there were only a few thousand people occupying it.
The further they got from the central spire, the more uncommon it was to encounter anyone. He liked these outer limits of the city better. They were more often than not, deserted. There was a certain tranquillity to the empty halls. He showed her some of his favourite places, the best views, the most comfortable places, and the halls and rooms where, according to McKay’s constant complaints, sensors and communications had been damaged by flooding. He showed her places to go if she really wanted to be alone. He thought she could use that; places where she didn’t have to be anyone and didn’t have to worry about anyone but herself.
+
The ocean was beautiful. She marvelled at how she could simply take it in. Before, she wouldn’t have been able to consider anything about such a large body of water beyond the tactical options it provided. How deep did she have to be before a Wraith stun blast dissipated? How far out before they wouldn’t want to follow her? How easy was it to drown a Wraith? Could she fight better in the water or could they?
But here on the Atlantis pier with Ronon by her side she could simply look at it. See the bright morning sun sparkle off the water and very occasionally what looked like a whale crest the surface before vanishing below. It was beautiful, and she was alive. She could just appreciate it.
“How did you find me?” she asked into the open air.
The question had been bothering her for days. He’d come to that planet for her, brought a doctor to operate on her and everything. How had he known where to find her?
She didn’t want to think it but she’d had nothing to do over the last week but think. She kept coming back to the idea that there was only one foolproof way of tracing her and there was only one place he could have gotten the data to track her that way. She’d heard stories of Runners turned Wraith worshippers.
She couldn’t imagine that this place was some sort of Wraith worshipper outpost. It was too wondrous to be associated with them. But she still needed to hear Ronon say it.
“Chance,” he said gruffly. “Or fate if you go in for that sort of thing.” she smiled. He knew full well neither of them did. “The day we found you should have been Twelve.” he shrugged “Give or take a few days. I went back to the cave where we…” He didn’t need to say it. The site of their failed rendezvous. Where Nine never happened. “It had been two years. I guess I went to put you to rest. I didn’t think you were dead, but you might as well have been. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
It was what they’d agreed to. What they’d known from their first little get together. Lost was lost. If they lost each other they were supposed to keep moving; kill a few Wraith in the other’s name and keep moving.
“I waited for you.” she said it to the sea, unable to look him in the eyes. “Longer than I should have.” Longer than they’d agreed.
“I know.” his voice was quiet. “I found the message you left for me. I followed after, but I was late, really late, too late.”
“You buried me. That grave, that was you?”
“You saw it?”
“I did.” She wouldn’t admit to him, to anyone, how much it had scared her. Like a portent telling her what came next for her; what was always coming for her.
“When I headed back to the Ring I saw Wraith come through on foot. A half dozen, maybe more. I thought, ‘just like old times’, ‘cept I was the hunter.”
She knew the other half of the story he was telling. They were her hunters. They’d come to the planet for her. In her blind panic, in her desperate sprint for the Ring she’d crashed straight into them, then…
“But they were all dead when I caught up with them. I know your style, and I know your tools.” she heard him shift his footing and she turned to look. He reached up into his dreadlocks and pulled out a sleek silver blade with a metallic blue handle, a Wraith scalpel. He offered it to her. It was hers, her favorite. In that blind panic she'd left it behind in a Wraith’s eye socket, she guessed ten days ago but the fights all blurred together. If he hadn’t told when she lost it, she wouldn’t have known.
She took it and in a smooth motion slid it back into her braid. She felt more complete with the weapon returned to her arsenal.
“I ran for the Ring, but you’ve always been faster than me. I didn’t catch you before you went through. Was close enough to see the symbols. Called in some help, followed after.”
She nodded slowly and turned back to the ocean. It was enough. Enough to ease the fear that had been mounting in her for the last week as her mind twisted in on itself, concocting horrible theories about her new prison.
“Buffy.” The word was whispered, too quiet for anyone but her to hear. Still her head snapped to the side to stare at him intently. He rarely ever used her name. She’d long gotten used to not hearing it.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t meet you. I’m sorry I didn’t come for you earlier.”
“You don’t need to be sorry Ronon. I never expected you to come for me. I went off the idea of a knight in shining armour a long time ago.”
His brow furrowed. “Night?”
At that she giggled. She giggled cause talking to him was easy, so easy that she often forgot he wasn’t from Earth, he didn’t hear those kinds of stories growing up.
“An expression from home. Means, I never needed anyone to save me. Gotten plenty good at doing that myself.”
“No one knows that better than me. I’m still sorry. I shoulda been there a year and a half ago.”
Would it have made a difference she wondered? Ten years, eight and a half. What was the difference really? At some point it simply became an eternity, unending, hell.
“There’s no point looking back, can’t change it. It’s better to look forward. And forward…” her eyes wandered over Ronon’s shoulder. “...is looking a little crowded.”
He turned to follow her gaze. She’d been looking up at the Great City that rose above them, filled with people but he followed her eyeline to a sight more immediately in front of them, her marine detail, her babysitters.
“I’m sorry.” he said it again but this time she knew he was talking about the marines. “It’s not fun to always have someone’s eyes on you.”
Her eyes refocused on the marines. Their presence was grating, like a blot on a beautiful landscape. “They couldn’t take me. I sometimes wonder if they’d even get a warning off if I really tried.” There was steel in her words and she wondered idly if she meant them. She wasn’t even sure herself. They weren’t enough of an annoyance to be worth taking out right now, but if they ever became so, would she do it? She didn’t know.
One of Ronon’s eyebrows shifted upwards and he smiled at her, his grin all teeth. “You wanna lose ‘em?”
+
They ran down the hall, wind in their hair, and the sound of footsteps, radios, and the voices of marines echoing after them. He stopped, and when she kept going he grabbed her arm and pulled her into what she thought was a closet. As soon as the door closed she realized it was one of the City’s transporters.
They collapsed against the wall of the tiny room, their laughter bouncing off the walls. Ronon slid to the ground but had enough presence of mind to slam his fist into the control panel, selecting a destination on the other side of the City.
It felt good to run again. Even when it was away from something, or someone, it wasn’t from them which meant that she got to choose. This run was hers. She decided when it ended and she wasn’t quite ready to be done yet.
When the transport door cracked open she pulled Ronon to his feet and they kept moving, hand in hand. They seemed to be in an upper level of some ancillary building. It was all gangways and grating. Their feet pounded with the reverberation of metal in every step.
It felt like she was in high school again. Like she was slipping out the classroom window with Faith while the teacher napped at her desk.
That was until the strangled sound of something clicking on, came from Ronon’s pocket. He stopped, fished out one of the headsets that everyone in the City seemed to wear but he didn’t put it on. He looked at her then glanced at the drop over the railing.
“We were running pretty fast, maybe it fell out of my pocket.”
A grin stretched across her face at the idea but she shook her head. “You should answer it, I don’t want Carter thinking I’m plotting sabotage or something.”
Ronon put the headset on and said “Yeah?” into it. She could hear shouting from the other end. Every so often there was a pause at which Ronon grunted before the yelling continued. After a solid two minutes he put his hand over the microphone and looked at her. “Sheppard wants to know if you want to meet for lunch.”
She smiled. “Tell him thanks but he’s not really my type.”
She saw the tinge of a blush cross Ronon’s face and she collapsed against the handrail laughing again. It felt good.
When her laughter subsided she said. “I could eat, if he wants to join us I won’t say no.”
+
It wasn’t just Sheppard who joined them in the commissary but Teyla and McKay too. She was gratified to see that the marine detail that met her at the commissary was made of new faces. The half mile run had clearly worn out her last escorts.
Sheppard didn’t look happy, probably about how easy it was for her to ditch her babysitters if she really wanted to. Out of all of them he was the one that worried her most. Carter seemed to regard her with some measure of sympathy. McKay’s interest in her seemed to end at whatever insight she had into the inner workings of the City. And Teyla seemed to be genuinely trying to make her comfortable. Sheppard was polite throughout lunch but she didn’t like the gleam in his eye.
It was the same look he’d had when he came to see her in isolation; the same look that Quentin Travers used to give her. Like he was evaluating her, assessing her strengths and weaknesses.
She didn’t like that look.
“Where are you from?” It was Teyla. The words were calm and even. If it had been any of the others she’d have snapped at the question but despite herself, she liked Teyla. She seemed sincere and kind. And she could tell from the way Ronon talked to her that she was more than his comrade in arms, she was a friend.
So instead she shrugged and said. “Far, far away. Maybe I’ll find it again some day.”
“Do you have family back home?”
She gritted her teeth but she still answered. “Maybe.'' She didn’t want to talk about her mother’s passing and her relationship with Giles had been... complicated. Instead she gave the only answer she had. “Had friends, parents, a siblings. Who knows if they’re still around.”
Not wanting to say more she shot back. “What about you?” And then started shovelling food into her mouth so she wouldn’t have to talk anymore. It wasn’t good. It wouldn’t have looked out of place at the UC Sunnydale cafeteria. But it was hot and that was more than enough for her.
Sheppard and McKay exchanged looks when they saw her table manners but they were polite enough not to say anything.
As she ate, she listened to Teyla talk about the Athosians.
More than once McKay tried to redirect the conversation to her experience with ‘Ancient’ technology and her connection to the City but, prepared as she was to shut him down, she was relieved that she didn’t have to. Ronon did it for her. Pointedly changing the subject with a growl or a glare.
It was calm. It was nice even. It felt like they were at least trying to make her feel welcome, as much as the four marines by the commissary door reminded her that she wasn’t.
+
The next morning she was woken by the toning of her door crystal. She was out of bed, feet planted on the floor and knife in hand before she’d completely registered what the tone was. She returned the knife to its place in her hair and answered the door.
Sheppard was there holding two water bottles, dressed in a black t-shirt and sweats.
“Yeah?”
“Hey,” he said. “Sorry to wake you. Ronon has this course he runs most mornings. I join him sometimes. Seems like you could stand to blow off some steam.”
She studied him closely. She knew what he was doing. He was hoping if he gave her an outlet she’d be less likely to give her escort the slip just cause she could. Knowing how cynical the offer was didn’t make it any less appealing.
The escape she and Ronon had enacted yesterday was the first time she really felt like herself in a long time. She could feel the nervous excited energy of the Slayer in her bones, desperate for some release.
“Sure.” she said nonplussed. “Where?”
“Do you wanna change first?”
She glanced down at what she was wearing. A tank top and fatigues that she’d slept in. She shoved her feet into a pair of running shoes they’d given her. “Nah.” She said with a shrug.
“Alright.” He gestured for her to follow him.
Ronon’s course apparently ran through the upper limits of the City, transporters were used to bridge the buildings, and marked rest points. When they arrived at the start Ronon looked startled to see her. Sheppard inviting her had apparently been unplanned.
There was a strange tension between Slayer and Ronon. She couldn’t quite figure out what it was but something seemed wrong. They’d had an easy way they were around one another, learned in their months of running together. That ease seemed to have evaporated. She wondered if in his new life in the Ancestor’s City he still wanted her to be a part of it.
Sheppard handed her his second water bottle. “We good to go?” he said, looking between Ronon and her.
They both nodded and all three of them lined up at the start Ronon had marked.
“Three, two, one. Go!”
+
Slayer was used to dining alone. Teyla often made an effort to sit with her, to reach out, knowing what it was like to be the outsider in this City. Ronon was also a common dining companion but after that first meal with Sheppard’s team, she didn’t call either of them every time she ate. This wasn’t the high school lunchroom and she didn’t need to be babysat.
At least, any more than she already was.
Her eyes flicked across the room to where her marine detail was standing; keeping watch over her.
It was something of a surprise when someone set their tray down across from her. It was Sheppard’s scientist friend, McKay.
“Hey.” he said.
She glanced at him scathingly over her mashed potatoes. “Uh huh.” He didn’t really do casual conversation, if he was here he wanted something.
“So,” he said innocently. “How do you like the city”
She set down her utensils with a clatter. “What do you want?”
He looked like a deer in headlights.
“I’m sorry?”
“People don’t talk to me unless they want something.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
She let out a mirthless laugh and then looked pointedly at the tables on either side of where she was eating. All of the ones adjacent to her were deserted. She wasn’t one of them and everyone here knew it.
“Again, what do you want?”
“I want your help in my lab.”
The prospect didn’t sound enticing. “Doing what?”
“I’m hoping applying your gene signature could lead us to a breakthrough with some of the city’s more obstinate tech.”
“Do I have to?”
McKay looked puzzled, “Well no…”
She cut him off. “Then I’m not interested.”
“Look, Slayer, you have the strongest ATA signature we’ve ever seen short of pure blood Ancients. Who knows what we could learn if you…”
She cut him off again. She didn’t care what he hoped to accomplish, she wasn’t interested in being anyone’s lab rat. “I gave you an answer.”
“If you’d just consider…”
In a flash of movement she stood, her chair falling back behind her. Too fast to see she pulled a dagger out of her braid and stabbed it into the table where his hand was resting. Another inch forward and she could have driven it into the meat of his palm, severing tendons and crushing delicate bones. Instead it sat straight up, gouged into the wood between two of McKay’s fingers.
“Does ‘no’ mean something different on your planet?” she snarled.
“Whoa! Okay, that was uncalled for. I’m just asking a question here.”
The moment the knife came out, her marine detail started to move. She could almost feel them closing in behind her. They weren’t the first to arrive.
“What's the problem here?” said Sheppard, appearing over them. He had entered crisis mode but his hand was up, signalling to her overseers not to intervene.
“Yeah McKay,” she said, a false lightness to her voice. “What’s the problem here?”
“I’m just trying to have a conversation here. It’s not my fault you don’t know how to talk to people.”
She put her hands on the table and leaned down so that she and McKay were at eye level. “I have more knives.” she whispered, her sharp teeth showing.
He went bone white but to his credit he didn’t move away from her.
“All right, I think that’s enough.”
She turned to glare at Sheppard. She could push it. It would be so easy. But there was no point.
She looked back at McKay. “Yeah it is.”
She turned on her heels leaving her meal mostly uneaten and stalked out of the commissary. A faint tingle of disappointment ran down her spine. She wasn’t entirely sure if she regretted forfeiting the chance for a fight or if she was mournful at having to leave one of her knives behind. It was one of several and it wasn’t as if Sheppard would have let her rebind it into her braid while he stood there.
As she glanced behind her to see if McKay or Sheppard were following her, she walked directly into someone. She took a step back but offered no apology. It was one of the military personnel, he looked so generic he might have just popped out of a GI Joe box.
Her escorts appeared instantly but the guy raised his hand. “It’s alright boys.” He looked at her more closely. “You’re the new Runner in the city right, ‘Killer’ wasn’t it?”
“Slayer.” she growled.
“Right,” he said with a bleached smile. The ease in his voice said he hadn’t noticed her balled fist or the threat in her voice.
“Listen, you’re like Ronon right? Some kind of survivalist.”
She bristled. It was a very blunt and dismissive way of referring to her ten years being hunted by the Wraith. “Yeah.” Her jaw was set. She was liking this guy less and less the more he spoke.
“Me and a couple buddies were thinking of hitting the gym. You wanna join us for a spar or two?”
She looked him up and down. “You mean I get to hit you?” She looked at her escort. “And they won’t stop me?”
“That’s the idea.”
Her face twisted into a smirk. “I’m down.”
+
The soldier–Haynes–called her Sunshine and tried to correct her technique. She roundhouse kicked him in the face so hard that Dr. Keller had to give him two stitches. For some bizarre reason, he came back for more.
+
Ronon wandered the halls. It was late and the lights had been dimmed. It wasn’t unusual for him to be seen wandering the corridors on those nights when sleep wouldn’t come to him or when the sound of screaming and steel woke him. Usually his feet took him to the outer limits of the city, the places where not even the night crew would cross his path.
Tonight his feet brought him to Buffy’s door; to the quarters she’d been issued after Dr. Keller released her from observation. He passed the guard who was meant to be on her door pacing back and forth a little ways down the hall. Her detail was whittled down to one at night when her door was locked and she didn’t need to be escorted anywhere. He paused outside, wondering if she was having the same sleepless night he was. Wondering if she would mind being woken so late.
After several more minutes of pacing he touched the control crystal beside the door. Instead of sounding a tone to let the inhabitant know someone was at the door, they slid open. The door hadn’t been locked.
He glanced into the darkness of the room. His trained eye immediately identified the empty bed.
He entered the room, his instinct telling him it was empty and turned on the light. One of the lamps was broken but the pieces had been carefully gathered together and placed on an end table. The blankets and sheets from the bed were gone, stripped from the mattress.
There hadn’t been a fight. He knew her, knew if someone had attacked her then the room would be in shambles. He didn’t think it was possible to take her unawares. She’d left and he expected he knew where she’d gone.
+
She sat wrapped in a bundle of blankets and sheets in an abandoned lab on the eastern pier. It had been some kind of marine life research facility, the room itself being below the surface of the City. The equipment had been damaged by flooding. All that was left after the Expedition had salvaged what they could, was a large empty room with a single entrance. It was a good position to ensure she couldn’t be ambushed but she liked it because as part of its original purpose, the entire back wall was a clear crystal composite which looked out into the ocean. Occasionally fish swam by, intrigued by the light emanating from the window.
She heard him coming before he arrived. The sound of his footsteps was as familiar to her as her own heartbeat, the sound of a large man who was nonetheless light on his feet. She didn’t turn to look, not till he said her name.
“Buffy?”
She turned her head slowly. He stood in the doorway, silhouetted in moonlight. His clothing looked soft and loose. He looked like he’d just crawled out of bed.
She was sitting against a wall in the large empty space so shifting to make room for him would be a pointless gesture but she unwrapped one of her blankets, letting it fall next to her; offering him a seat.
He took it.
Once upon a time he’d have wrapped his arms around her without a second thought but now he simply sat next to her. Their legs touched and she leaned into his shoulder, bracing her head against him. He was warm.
“Whatcha doing?” she asked quietly.
“Couldn’t sleep. You weren’t in your room.” was his only response.
She nodded, staring into the dark depths of the water out the window.
“How’d you know I was here?”
“Didn’t. There’s only so many places that’d suit you. This wasn’t my first stop.”
She smiled. He’d shown her this section of the City. Probably precisely so she could disappear down here if she needed to.
He put his hand on her knee. “You alright?” His hands were still kind.
She shook her head. “No. I’m not sure I’ll ever be alright. But this place is good, it’s better.” She laid a hand on the floor, feeling the vibration of the City in her fingertips. “Sometimes it even feels like home.”
But she didn’t fit here. These weren’t her people, but she was happy that they were Ronon’s. He’d talked about growing up in the military back on Sateda sometimes. This place with all these soldiers was familiar to him. But she wasn’t like him. She didn’t find comfort in that structure, she chafed against it. Her mom, Giles, Wesley, the Watchers, even Maggie Walsh and the Initiative; she’d never taken orders well.
She ran her hand instinctively over her right forearm, feeling the ghost of her computer’s leather housing on her skin. “Where’s Willow?” she said suddenly into the silence.
He looked down at her forearm. “McKay has it.”
“Where?” She was met with silence. “You’re not supposed to tell me are you?”
“When they feel comfortable enough they’ll give it back.”
She twisted her head to look into his face. “What if I don’t want to wait?”
“I–” he sighed. “They don’t know you like I do. Give them time.”
Time. That’s all she had ahead of her wasn’t it? She’d spent ten years never plotting more than a day in advance, knowing she could be hours away from death at any moment. She could do anything with the time ahead of her, but she couldn’t help thinking of those years she’d lost. There were all those dumb things you were supposed to do in your twenties, get a tattoo, set the microwave on fire by accident, get bangs, spend too much on clothes and regret all life decisions leading to that moment, drink too much and puke, get bangs again because this time they'd look good, sleep with someone who was a mistake. No, wait, she’d definitely checked that last one off the bucket list more than once.
+
She fell asleep with Ronon at her side but when she woke up she felt his absence. Her head jerked up, searching for him. He was still there. He’d gone to the other side of the lab with a blanket to rest after she’d fallen asleep. The gap from one side of the room to the other felt like a chasm of space between them, a void that she felt growing wider between them and she didn’t know why.
+
She stood in the doorway of Rodney’s lab waiting for someone to notice her. Eventually a scientist who was about her height came up to her. “Can I help you?” he had an accent, Russian maybe, something Slavic. Geography had never been her strong suit.
“McKay asked me if I’d help with some research. Came to accept.”
The scientist looked at her more closely. “Vrah?” It sounded like ‘vrush’ when he said it. She didn’t know what language it was.
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry, is Czech. You are Slayer?”
He was Czech. She thought she’d gotten the hemisphere right.
“Vrooush, is that my name in Czech?”
He winced when she said the word. “Your pronunciation is horrible but yes.”
She smiled. “I like it.”
“I’m sorry, you are here to help with research into Ancient gene interface technology?”
“Uh huh.”
“Forgive me, but Rodney said…”
“That I tried to stab him when he asked?”
“Well, yes.”
“He’s exaggerating. If I’d tried to stab him he’d have a knife sticking out of him.”
“Ah.” The Czech scientist looked like he was trying to decide if he found that intimidating or comforting. He seemed to settle on a mixture of both. “Rodney is not here now but he will be back soon, I can start things off if you like?”
“Sure, whatever.”
They wouldn’t start with Willow. She wasn’t dumb enough to think they’d immediately bring it out but given how curious McKay seemed to see what it could do she knew it was only a matter of time before he wanted to see what she could do with it. Then she’d see where it was being kept.
In the meantime, it wouldn’t hurt her to learn more about the Ancestor’s technology. It might come in handy.
+
+
Chapter 6: In Motion
Chapter Text
Six: In Motion
+
John watched her closely because he knew she was dangerous, to the people around her, and maybe to herself as well. She was too strong, too fast and wound too tight for there not to be an incident eventually. Still for the next week she seemed fine, antisocial and aggressive maybe but not violent. He began to let himself hope that maybe he was wrong. That she could adjust to life in the city.
He didn’t know if she was too far gone to recover but he hoped that she wasn’t. He could see the way Ronon looked at her and he wanted his friend to have this.
She went running with Ronon in the mornings, Dr. Keller gave her a checkup to ensure she really was healing as well as she seemed to be, she fulfilled Rodney’s various demands in his lab, and in the afternoons she sparred with some of the marines.
John didn’t like the looks some of them had started to give her, frustration and resentment, but Slayer kept going back and there didn’t seem to be any shortage of men wanting to have a crack at her. He didn’t have a reason to put a stop to it beyond a sinking feeling in his stomach.
He took to checking her location on the city’s biometric sensors every hour or so. With her prominent Ancient genes her lifesign stood out in stark contrast to the human population of Atlantis.
When no one was making demands on her time, she would disappear from the city’s sensors. John didn’t need them to know where she was hiding. She was on the eastern pier. She’d taken a liking to one of the flood damaged labs. It had a view of the ocean, only one entrance and had been evacuated ages ago, leaving her a wide, empty space.
It was probably at least in part Ronon’s fault. Once the big guy decided to pitch his tent with theirs, he just slotted in. He had been a soldier all of his adult life, he knew the trappings of military life and the way the marines hassled him seemed to be something of a comfort; something approximating home.
The Atlantis crew were basing their treatment of his girlfriend on their treatment of him and that was a fatal mistake because while Ronon was constantly angry, he knew how to take a punch and see it as nothing but a punch. To Slayer, every blow was a threat. Ronon was simply Ronon and John knew there had to be a very good reason his friend introduced herself with a synonym for ‘killer’.
John expected it to happen. But even so, he was blindsided when it did.
+
Slayer was eating breakfast after her morning run. Ronon was off getting debriefed for an upcoming mission so she was enjoying her meal alone when Haynes approached her again.
She looked up at him as he entered her space. He had a nasty bruise stretching from his jawline up to his eye, purples and browns and a few traces of yellow marring his chiseled face.
She smirked at him and touched her own face in the same place. “You’ve got something right there.”
In the few seconds it took him to realize she was talking about the bruise his hand had already jumped to check his face. He glowered at her. “Me and the boys thought we could put on a special match just for you. It’s time the kid gloves come off.”
“Kid gloves?”
“Yeah, you’re small, we didn’t wanna hurt you, just give you a workout. Didn’t want to upset your boyfriend.” It was Slayer’s turn to look at him with disdain. She was all too familiar with people taking Ronon more seriously than her, fearing him more than her even though she could hit harder but she still hated it.
Haynes continued as though he didn’t see the threat in her eyes. “But you’re quick and you can take a punch...”
“Not that you ever landed one.”
Haynes pretended like he hadn’t heard her. “...I figure it’s time for a real spar.”
She looked him up and down with jaw set. She didn’t like him. That was the primary reason she’d agreed to spar with him, he had an oh so punchable face and the look of surprise in his eyes when she did was so satisfying to the predatory instincts of the Slayer boiling in her blood. Still, this felt like a trap.
“Your face looks like day old fruit cause you weren’t fighting ‘for real’? You sure you’re ready for that? I mean, how much of your body can be covered in bruises before you aren’t fit for active duty anymore?”
She’d struck a nerve. “So you’re not interested? Sorry, seemed like you were up for a fight.”
He was baiting her. She knew it. But she liked the sparring sessions, they were the only serious outlet she had for the insatiable energy in her body beyond the morning runs with Ronon. She really wanted to hit something. Besides, it wasn’t like he could hurt her.
+
John was just sitting down to read War and Peace when the call came in. “Lt. Colonel.” It was Lt. Cadman, she had been assigned to Slayer’s marine detail that morning. He could hear the tightly controlled panic of an officer reporting an incident in progress, “You should come to the gym. Hurry.”
It was Slayer and the marines she’d been sparring with all week. He knew it. The only question was, had they hurt her, or had she hurt them. She took their lowkey hassling with ill grace, a seething temper concealed behind false smiles. And their pride was injured by her combat skill, still green enough to think getting beat by a girl a head shorter than them and fifty pounds lighter was shameful.
When he made it to the gym he was met with the sight of Slayer fending off four marines with a bo staff. One of them was also armed with a staff, one with bantos rods, two were going barehanded. All four of them were barely holding up against her. Around them, the crowd they’d attracted was loud and stacked three deep, creating an impenetrable wall between him and what was happening.
John clocked the four soldiers–Haynes, Hansen, Johnson, and Hernandez–gratified to realize none of them were members of the original expedition. These men were, of course, also under his command, but the soldiers from the original expedition were his men. His men knew better than to corner an armed and dangerous Pegasus native, because in this galaxy, everyone was a survivor, and everyone was a bit unhinged.
Lt. Cadman and two of the other three marines in Slayer’s detail were standing on the outskirts of the crowd. Cadman was tall but several years in the marines had given her toned muscles. Her body was poised to push her way into the crowd, her first instinct to intervene but she was holding herself back.
“What happened?” he asked.
She looked at him, relieved to see someone more equipped to deal with this than she was. “Haynes challenged her to a fight. She hit him in the gut pretty bad and” she motioned to the fight unfolding before them. “Three of his buddies joined in.” she glanced at the crowd. “I think they called a bunch of people to watch. Guess they didn’t like her kicking their asses for a week straight.”
In the ring, Hansen, rods in hand, went for Slayer’s legs, swiping low and mean; she parried him, and leapt over his second swing. For a moment John thought she would be okay. But then Haynes rushed her from behind, pressed a flat palm between her shoulder blades and pushed.
John saw shudders radiate down Slayer’s spine. This was about to get ugly.
John looked to the side, suddenly realizing Cadman’s detail was one man short. “Where’s Cruz?”
Cadman pointed into the crowd where John could see a uniformed officer forcing his way through the densely packed bodies.
Slayer turned her stumble into controlled movement, somersaulting and using the momentum to pop back up… right in front of Cruz as he emerged from the crowd.
“That’s enough!” the marine shouted, putting his hands on Slayer’s shoulders to signal that the fight was over.
John winced, the only thing that seemed to register to her was the grip on her body. In one fluid movement her arms came up, striking Cruz’s wrists and breaking his hold on her. Her staff went back, the butt slammed into Hansen’s sternum, sending him to the floor. She reversed the staff in one swift move and drove it into Cruz’s chest before he could react. Then she spun round and punched Hernandez, twisted his knee sideways with one strike from the staff and struck both his wrists with an arching kick. His weapons tumbled out of his hands as Sheppard heard the sound of breaking bones. In a simultaneous movement she brought the staff back into the centre of Haynes’ face, breaking his nose.
Then Ronon was there. He didn’t say anything to Sheppard, just made to push his way through the circle of people, to get to Slayer. John grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to stop.
“Whoa easy, that’s not a good idea.” At this moment Slayer was running on a cocktail of fear, adrenaline and past nightmares. John didn’t know if adding Ronon to the mix would calm the fire or just pour more gasoline on it. Cruz had already proved direct interference was a bad idea.
Ronon’s head whipped round to face him. “Sheppard,” he snarled “she is going to kill someone. Let me go.”
“And do you want that someone to be you? She needs space.” John shouted back. He raised his voice so his shout could be heard over the roar of the crowd. “Stand down! Everybody out! Now!”
But Johnson was too amped up to listen. His fighting instincts overrode a direct order when there was an armed and dangerous opponent coming at him. He struck her with his staff, and was rewarded with a swift and brutal volley of blows that left him floundering, gasping for air, before she sent him stumbling backwards into the crowd, which parted around him.
Cruz, at least, heeded John’s order. He took a glancing blow, went down, and used the momentum to roll out of the way. He stayed down. John knew how Ronon felt. His first instinct was to wade into the center of the fight and stop the rampaging woman in their midst, but he knew it would be a mistake. If they moved toward her now she wouldn’t see either of them as a referee, she’d see them as a threat.
Johnson went down, Haynes, disoriented and hurt but on his feet, and determined not to lose, attacked her from behind again. She spun on one foot and delivered a roundhouse kick to his chest that sent him tumbling to the ground, probably with broken ribs. Cruz clamped an arm around his neck and held him down to stop him from going in for round three. All of it took less than a minute.
Slayer was left standing in a circle of downed men, panting, eyes glassy, weapon clutched tight.
“Everybody out.” John shouted again, and this time he was obeyed. As the crowd funneled out of the room, he saw Lt. Cadman and the other two still able bodied members of Slayer’s escort holding position. “That includes you three. You’re dismissed, clear the floor. We need the room.” As Cadman and her squad joined the stream of people exiting, he radioed the infirmary, and told the medic on call, “We need medical down at the gym. Multiple teams. Approach carefully.”
Then he thumbed his comm off and focused his attention on Slayer. Ronon tore his arm out of John’s grip and approached her slowly. He muttered something too low for John to hear which seemed to rouse her. The staff fell out of her hands as she went rigid, there was horror in her expression.
But only for a second.
Then it turned to anger.
“I told you,” she hissed, her voice low and though she didn’t look his way, John knew she was talking to him. “I told you to keep away. I didn’t wanna–it wasn’t supposed to–” she couldn’t seem to articulate the emotions bubbling to the surface. Her hands were trembling now.
He just nodded. “I know, we saw.”
Haynes had touched the tracker scar. And even if he didn’t know about the trackers, he should have known better than to gang up on an armed Pegasus native. They all should have known better than to join that fight.
“You had a flashback.”
Her breathing was ragged. “I’m not–it wasn’t–I tried–” Her face was a storm of feelings that she couldn’t seem to bring a voice to. With a frustrated roar, She kicked a nearby stand of weights, the metal frame buckled with the force of the blow sending the weights tumbling to the floor with a deafening clamour. Haynes caught one on the foot and let out an involuntary howl.
The noise seemed to startle her enough that she looked around, really looked at the damage she’d caused. With another frustrated noise, she shoved past Ronon and the incoming medical teams, and disappeared into the depths of the city.
When Ronon made to follow her, John stopped him. “Let her cool down,” he said, he would check the sensors to be sure but he had a pretty good idea where she was headed. She’d go to the water damaged areas at the city’s edge, to the abandoned lab she had made her own; where she could be utterly alone.
Where she couldn't hurt anyone.
They let her go.
+
She was an idiot to think it could work. She was too far gone to come back to who she was. She was broken. She was the sum of all her damages.
She’d known it for years. This time there was no coming back from this. After Angel, her friends pulled her back. After Glory, Dawn made her want to live again. So many big and small catastrophes and there had always been someone there to show her the way home again, even if home didn’t quite fit anymore.
This time, there was no one to take her hand. William had told her what she was, all those years ago when she was too headstrong to listen. But he was right; a slayer alone was nothing but a walking death wish.
Slayer meant kill. Slayer meant alone. Slayer meant running, even if there was no one chasing her. She couldn’t stay here. She’d known it from the moment they offered to take her in. But she’d stayed because Atlantis was beautiful, and warm, and comfortable, and they promised her it was safe. The City itself had promised her she belonged, its song giving her a sense of security she should have known better than to trust.
She didn’t belong here. She wished it wasn’t true; wished she could live in this City with Ronon, fight Wraith in the mornings and retire in the evenings. Do what normal couples did, whatever that was. Between two vampires and a secret agent posing as a college TA she probably didn’t have a very good metric on what was normal for couples.
She couldn’t stay here, she couldn’t go home, that left her with one option.
Getting access to their dialing device wouldn’t be easy with a control room full of techs, but she’d always had another means of activating the Ring. It was time to retrieve an old friend. It was time to go.
+
Sam waited patiently outside the infirmary. Though she was a member of the United States Military she had taken over Dr. Weir’s responsibilities in the city which aside from day to day operations were primarily concerned with diplomacy and oversight of the civilians. The city’s military personnel were Sheppard’s responsibility, one he evidently took very seriously based on the shouts she could hear echoing from the infirmary.
As he came storming out and down the hall she fell into step behind him. “That was loud.”
“They deserved worse. The people assigned to this city can’t be starting fights over something as dumb as their pride. How can I put those men on a Reconnaissance team? What if they’d done that offworld? We have enough enemies without soldiers like that turning the natives against us.”
“The natives, or rather a native, is what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Slayer?” He stopped “You’re not suggesting I need to discipline her are you?” he sounded like he might start shouting again.
She got a few paces ahead of him before she registered that he wasn’t with her and pivoted to face him. “Of course not Colonel, those marines had no business goading her into a fight just cause she can take a punch.”
“Then what?”
“Thought I’d apprise you of her recent activities.”
“What’d she do?”
“At first nothing. She disappeared off the biometric sensors for a while, I assume hiding on the eastern pier. She reappeared ten minutes ago and stopped by Rodney’s lab. No one saw her but do you want to guess what’s missing?”
“Her tablet, the one she calls ‘Willow’.”
Sam nodded. “I think she’s rabbiting.”
Sheppard took this in, Sam could see him shifting into tactical mode. “She’ll head for Stargate Operations. I can have a team ready to intercept.”
Sam shook her head. “No, we saw how well a confrontation with her is likely to turn out.” she inclined her head behind him toward the infirmary where all five marines would likely be out of commission for weeks. “I’m going to talk to her. But you should be ready for whatever she does if that doesn’t work.”
Sheppard nodded. “I’ll have my men on standby.”
+
Slayer marched resolutely through the corridors of the central tower. The command center where they kept their Ring wasn’t far. She clutched her arms around her stomach, running a hand back and forth over the edge of Willow which was once again strapped to her arm.
It was comforting, it was familiar. It made it easier to keep moving forward.
As she approached the door beyond which was a corridor that fed directly into the Ring room, she saw Colonel Carter leaning on the wall next to it, her body blocking the door control.
“You’re leaving.” she said nonchalantly. “You sure that’s a good idea?”
“You know what? It doesn't matter.” Her step never wavered. If Carter was still standing in front of the door control when she reached it, forcing her aside wouldn't be hard.
“It does matter. It matters to me.”
“Why are you doing this? Why do you care? Just, let me be. Being here is a bad idea for me. You gonna step aside or did you want another demonstration why I don’t belong here?”
“No, I think you’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime.” Carter took a step to the side and motioned to the door control. "You're not a prisoner.”
Slayer took a few wary steps towards the door, her eyes never leaving Colonel Carter. “So I'm free?”
“I don't know about that but the gate is open. You can go, if that’s what you really want.”
Slayer waved her hand in front of the control panel. It gave a light melodious tone and the doors slid smoothly open. She half expected there to be a platoon of Sheppard’s men standing on the other side, all training weapons on her, but the corridor was deserted.
“Where does it end?” Carter asked quietly. “I think, if you walk out that door now, you'll be running for the rest of your life, however long that is.”
“I can handle myself.”
“Like you ‘handled’ those marines?”
“It wasn’t–I didn’t mean to–”
“I know.”
“Which is why I’m going. I can deal somewhere else.”
“That’s what this is? Dealing? You can’t fix this by running away.”
Slayer hissed, “I’m not ‘running away’.”
“Would you prefer I call it something else? Quitting? Giving up?”
“It’s not like that, I’m doing this for you ; for all of you. To keep you safe.”
“That’s the problem, you’re not in charge here. Everything doesn’t have to fall on your shoulders. You’re allowed to do the selfish thing. Stay.”
“I don’t fit here.”
“Fine, then where do you fit? If I open that gate for you right now, where are you going that is going to be so much better for you than here?”
“I–” Slayer faltered.
“You haven’t thought about it have you? You have no idea what comes after this. You’re just reacting. Will you just keep running? Moving from place to place, town to town? The marines you sent to the infirmary were trained soldiers. How much worse shape would someone with no combat training be in if they set you off?”
Slayer closed her eyes. She could see blood pooling in the cracks of a dirty hardwood floor. Lifeless eyes were staring at her, along with the terrified gaze of those still living, fearing they’d be next. She could hear screams.
“You don't know me.” she whispered, so low she wasn’t sure Carter could hear her. “You don't know what I've been through. I can take care of myself.”
“You’re right, Slayer, I don’t.” Her voice softened. “But I’d like to. Please, stay. Let us help you. Besides,” she said, her voice becoming lighter. “I can think of at least one person who would be unhappy to see you go.”
Slayer slumped against the wall, it felt as though all energy had deserted her body. She slid down the wall, and pressed her legs to her chest.
Carter sat down next to her. “No one blames you. Sheppard spent an hour in the infirmary reprimanding the marines for what happened. They had no business being in that fight, not four on one. They should have known better and they do now.”
There was silence between them for what felt like an eternity. Slayer broke it. “Have you ever seen a Wraith?”
Carter nodded. “I have. We had one in captivity here not long ago assisting Dr. McKay with… the details aren’t important.”
“Have you ever seen them feed?”
“I’ve seen what’s left. It’s not a pleasant way to go.”
“I’ve felt it.” she whispered the words, like saying them quietly meant they couldn’t hurt her. “It’s like every drop of water in your body is being boiled. You want to scream but your throat is too dry to do more than gasp.”
“Was that before you became a Runner?”
She nodded. “Before they turned me into one.”
She had fallen for what seemed like an eternity, but eventually, finally, she hit the ground. Disorientated, she’d thought she was in a swamp, the air was so heavy and moist. A thick layer of fog curled along the ground. That was when she first met the Wraith.
It seemed like she’d interrupted something. She knew what bodyguards looked like, and two of the group, all clad in leather, were surrounded by the faceless drones that served as their foot soldiers.
She was fast, but twelve of them, six on either side, all firing rapidly, and her with no cover; she wasn’t fast enough for that. Everything went numb and then it went dark. She woke sealed into a wall. Whatever she was wrapped in was sticky, clinging to her like leeches. But her face was free and she could see what she’d loosely have described as a hallway. Except hallways were built, this place looked like it had been grown. The walls pulsed ever so slightly with what sickeningly reminded her of a steady heartbeat. They looked malleable, like flesh.
She felt in that moment like she was in the belly of some monstrous creature, and she was being digested. Even more so in that moment than she did hours later when the Wraith with the star etched into his face came to feed on her.
She shivered, pulling herself out of that memory.
Carter gently touched her shoulder. It was a comfort and Slayer closed her eyes. She wasn’t sure how long they sat like that. She only knew when Carter’s hand left her skin. Her eyes snapped open as the Colonel pulled herself off the floor. She offered her hand to Slayer. “Come on, I have something I want to give you.”
+
Carter walked Slayer to her quarters where she saw the Colonel retrieve a long metal box with a handle like a briefcase.
With the case in hand she escorted Slayer down the levels of the central tower to... She stopped, staring at the door to the room where she’d nearly killed five men.
“I don’t think–”
“It’s okay.” Carter said in a reassuring voice. “It’s just you and me.”
She bit her lip but nodded and followed the Colonel into the training room.
It had been cleaned up. The droplets of Haynes blood from his broken nose scrubbed away. The place smelled like bleach. The weight rack she’d damaged had been dragged into the corner to be dealt with later and the weights it had held lined up neatly along the back wall. Looking at it, she wouldn’t have known what had happened there only a few hours before.
Carter set down the case she’d brought with her and unzipped her jacket before tossing it to the side. Underneath she was wearing a black tank top. Despite being at least forty she was still quite attractive. No doubt being on active deployment kept her in shape.
She bent down and opened the case, the interior was lined with foam, the kind you’d use for transporting sensitive equipment.
From it she pulled an ornate staff that was around six feet in length.
“This,” she said, “is a Ma’Tok Staff. It was pioneered for use by the infantry of the Goa’uld Empires and is now favoured among warriors of the Free Jaffa Nations.
Slayer regarded it warily. “Okay, and that means…?”
Carter smiled wryly. “It means they’re more common back in the Milky Way. And that they pack a punch.”
She flicked a trigger on the center of the staff and the end of it split open along both axes, it let off a sound of gathering energy and glowed with an orange light. With what was clearly a practiced hand she pointed the staff at a training dummy on the opposite side of the gym and pressed the trigger. An orange bolt of plasma fired out of the end of the staff and hit the dummy center mass with a sound like a small explosion.
Slayer’s first impulse was to dive for cover, her brain screaming that she was in danger but she tamped down on it with a tightly controlled breath.
The dummy was smoking and its chest had a crater carved in it that smelled of melted rubber.
Carter closed the top of the staff and held it out to Slayer. She hesitated. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? I don’t know if I should be armed.”
Carter gave her a sympathetic but knowing smile. “Are you really going to tell me you haven’t been armed ever since you entered the city?”
Her hand jumped to her braid almost instinctively within which several knives of varying sizes had been concealed. “You knew?”
“The medical scanner picked them up your first day here. Dr. Keller thought having a weapon on hand would help you feel safer around us strangers. I agree, but if it makes you feel better.” She pulled the staff close and pressed something on the firing mechanism. The staff’s head glowed with another charge but this one was significantly dimmer. Colonel Carter gestured again for Slayer to take the staff. “Training mode. It’s perfectly safe.”
Tentatively she wrapped her hand around it. Up close it looked simple but sleek. It looked like burnished metal but it felt smooth to the touch, like ceramic. The central section was a sturdy grip for use in melee fights. A little ways up the shaft were the triggers that Carter had used to activate its firing mechanism. The top where the blasts emanated was pod shaped and marked with subtle green lines running through its surface. The bottom appeared to have been designed to look like the rearing head of a cobra, as if the staff was its body. It looked almost Egyptian.
Carter watched her examine it with some satisfaction. “It was a gift from a friend of mine, a reminder of home but I think you’ll get more practical use out of it. Those buttons in the center can be used to dial up or dial down the power output. The highest setting obviously does the most damage,” she gestured towards the melted training dummy “but it comes at the cost of speed. The weapon's liquid naquadah core constantly generates power but it’s collected in a capacitor that has a limited yield.”
Slayer nodded. “The lower the power, the faster it can fire but the less damage it’ll do. How long does it take to charge when running on empty?” It felt good to be talking shop again. It was almost like she was back in the library and Giles was explaining the finer points of crossbow marksmanship.
“Six point one…” Carter cut herself off. “Six seconds, give or take.”
She held the staff in both hands, letting the weight shift from one to the other. It felt balanced. It looked like it should be top heavy but the weight felt perfectly even on her hands. It reminded her of another weapon she’d held so long ago.
Carter drew another staff from the metal case. It appeared to be the same design as the one she’d given Slayer but it was carved, not forged. It was made out of wood, no doubt for training purposes.
She brandished the training staff good naturedly. “Care to test it out?”
They sparred.
Colonel Carter was skilled. Over two decades in military service meant she knew her way around a fight. She realized quickly that she couldn’t match Slayer’s raw strength so instead she deflected, and dodged, trying to knock her opponent off balance. They alternated between bouts of a few minutes and sitting on a ledge that ran along one of the walls drinking water. Carter tried to strike up conversation but Slayer had very little to say. Instead she listened as Carter told her stories, meaningless things about how the rain sounded as it fell where she grew up or her god-daughter’s college achievements.
It was nice.
It was calm.
That was until the end.
Colonel Carter managed to get inside her guard and tapped her staff on the center of Slayer’s chest. The blow wasn’t hard but it was enough to upset her balance. She turned the momentum into a spin, lashing out with the staff as she went low and hooked Carter’s legs. The Colonel fell and Slayer was on her feet in moments standing over her. She didn’t remember deciding to do it but the staff was pointed, the end open, and the firing mechanism charged before she realized what had happened.
“Slayer no!” Carter shouted.
It touched something in her head.
‘Faith no!’
‘Buffy no!’
She froze, breathing harder than she should have for the exercise they were doing. Tentatively Carter reached her hand up, taking care not to make any sudden moves, and carefully pushed the point of the staff weapon away from herself. She stood and casually reached out and clicked one of the weapon’s triggers. The firing mechanism closed with a snap.
“You’re okay, you’re okay.” she said “The staff is on stun. You couldn’t have hurt me and no one’s going to hurt you.”
Slayer closed her eyes. The instinct had been all that there was, to kill, to slay. She’d gone for a finishing blow in a simple sparring match.
Her grip on the staff went limp. She felt Colonel Carter gently pull it out of her hands and set it on the ground. She let it go.
Carter smiled at her, sounding as if she were trying to balance being comforting and being instructive. “You’ve obviously had training but it seems like they missed a couple lessons. Trigger discipline is important around here. Never put your finger on a trigger unless you’re prepared for the consequences of your weapon going off. Nothing serious would have happened today if you’d fired but you’re not always going to have the safety on.” she glanced out the window where the sky was now starting to turn orange as the sun sank. “I think that’s enough for today. You should get some rest.”
Carter began putting her training staff back in the metal case. Slayer picked up her own and held it out to her. She shook her head. “No, that’s yours. I want you to have it.”
“Are you sure?”
“I want you to know that no one here is going to hurt you and I trust you not to seriously hurt anyone here. This is a safe place.”
“Thank you,” Slayer whispered “for everything.” She turned towards the door.
“Slayer.” The word stopped her in her tracks. She turned back to face the Colonel who was holding out her hand. She looked apologetic but resolute.
Slayer sighed and slid her arm out of the bracer that housed Willow, surrendering the tablet once more.
+
Ronon found her hours later when he returned to his room. Sheppard told him Carter had had to head her off as she tried to leave and he cursed himself for not going to her sooner. He should have been there to tell her everything was going to be okay. Instead he’d let Sheppard convince him that she needed time to herself. Even if all he did was stand beside her, squeeze her hand and let her know she wasn’t alone, that would have been enough. Instead he’d left her to sort everything out on her own. No wonder she’d tried to run. He hadn’t exactly given her a reason to stay.
She was curled up in a ball on the edge of his bed, eyes closed, back tight, arms hugging her knees. On one of the furs that decorated the floor was a very strange looking staff.
He stared at her, frozen in the doorway. He didn’t know what to say but he knew he should say something. Despite her closed eyes he knew she was aware of him. She’d always had keen ears, able to hear a threat coming long before it was visible. He waited for her to break the silence.
What felt like an eternity passed, both of them unmoving before she raised her head and spoke. “What if it happens again?”
She didn’t need to specify, the events in the training room that morning were on everyone’s minds.
“We’ll deal with it.” he said “After what happened, they’ll tread carefully. You don’t have to worry about any more unruly marines.”
He sat down on the floor next to the bed so his head was in line with her knees. He wanted to sit next to her, to put his arm around her, but he wasn’t sure that would be a welcome gesture, so he came close enough that she could feel him. There was silence again.
“This doesn’t look like the Ancestors' decor. Where’d you get this stuff.” She motioned around the room to the furs that lined the bed and the floor, a painting of three proud soldiers on the wall, what seemed to be the bottom three feet of a marble pillar, and the other odds and ends that stood out rustically among Atlantis’s sleek and smooth design.
“Sateda.” he said simply, then not wanting to lapse into silence again he said “I went back. There’s no one left but a bunch of the cities are still standing. No one else was using this stuff so I thought I’d take it with me.”
“I almost killed Colonel Carter today.” she said abruptly, nodding down at the staff “She thought having that would help me feel more secure. Almost shot her in the head with it.”
Ronon looked down at the staff lying on the ground. “With this?” he asked, picking it up. It was the oddest weapon he had ever seen. Neither sleek like the Ancestors tech, haphazard like most of the other worlds in Pegasus, or viscous like Wraith tech, it had a strange shape to it, like it had been crafted by an artisan rather than made by a weapons manufacturer.
The controls were on the grip and though the weapon was unfamiliar to him it didn’t take more than a moment to work out how to arm it. The top slotted open with a sound like his particle pistol. He closed it again with a snap.
“Seemed fine when I saw her.”
Buffy relented. “She set it to stun before we started sparring.”
He grunted. “Most you would have done is knock her down, probably give her a nasty headache.”
“That’s not the point.”
He nodded. “I know, you went there first. No hesitation, straight for the kill.” He knew that feeling, the decisiveness of it. There was no ambiguity to that instinct, something was a threat and you kept going till it stopped being one, would never be one again. It felt simple. Living among people, that was always complicated.
“That’s my instinct, go for the throat. Always.”
He leaned his head back on the edge of the bed so he could look up at her. She met his gaze. “You don’t need to apologize for that. That instinct kept you alive; for years.”
She looked away.
“Hey,” He reached up to wrap a hand around one of her ankles. “It’s gonna take time. Being around people isn’t easy at first, but it gets better.”
“What if it doesn’t? What if I’m just broken.”
“Look at me.” slowly she met his gaze. “You bend. Far as you need to not break. You aren’t broken, you’re a survivor. You’ve just got battle brain.” He shrugged. “So do I.” So did Sheppard, in his own way, more aware of his personal space than anyone else Ronon knew. So did half his squad, back on Sateda and many of the soldiers who’d had a lengthy deployment in the city.
“Battle brain?”
He tapped his temple. “You got war stuck in your head.” Soldiers went to war and sometimes they brought a piece of the war back with them.
“War stuck,” she mouthed the words to herself, then abruptly dropped her gaze from his face to her hands, which rested, palms up on her thighs. “I’m a weapon,” she said suddenly. “That’s all I was meant to be back home and I tried to fight it. Even then, it was a losing battle. I wanted to be just a normal girl so badly, but, you know, war in my head, war outside my head. And then the Wraith got me and–” She shook her head, and folded her arms, hiding her hands from her own sight by tucking them away.
Ronon thought of his own years on the run, of the hiding, the killing, the stealing, the fear and the hatred. But through all that, he still had Specialist Ronon Dex. He had the address that would get him home, even if he knew in his heart that home was in ruins. He had familiar worlds, languages, customs; sometimes even familiar faces.
He didn’t know where she was from, but he knew it was far away; far enough that she didn’t have any of that. “You lost Buffy,” he summarized for her.
A beleaguered smile tugged at her lips. “You never even met her, not the real Buffy; not who I used to be.”
There was grief in her words and he thought he would have liked that girl, the one she missed so much. She was wild now, she’d forgotten how to be tame. “I like who you are just fine.”
A snort of derisive laughter burst from her mouth. “Oh, please, you don’t know me. We were a bit of cold comfort in a storm and now the storm’s past. What does that make us now?”
It was hurtful because in its way, it was true. They had lived in a sea of death and carnage and in the calm moments they were each something solid for the other to cling to.
“A choice.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Is that why you’ve been keeping your distance?”
He should have figured she’d notice. She was more aware of her surroundings than anyone he’d ever met. It was how she stayed alive.
It had been a mistake, keeping his distance. Now that she was on Atlantis, now that she was safe, he’d wanted her to have room to decide what she needed. He tried to stay nearby, to make sure she was okay, but never close enough to disturb her. She’d said it herself, they were comfort in a storm, that storm had passed. Now that she didn’t need him, he was waiting for her to decide if she still wanted him. Instead of giving her space, he’d pushed her away.
“I wasn’t sure I was still welcome. I thought maybe I was a reminder of darker days, something you wanted to forget.”
She shook her head. “No. I regret a lot of things but those stolen moments with you have never been on the list.”
He smiled. She was a war, he’d known that from the moment he laid eyes on her, but she was one he got to choose and it was worth it. She was worth it.
“I’m sorry.” it felt like it was all he ever said to her over the past two weeks. “I didn’t want to assume anything, I thought letting you decide was better, but I left you alone.”
“I’m not your responsibility.”
He shook his head. “No, you’re not. You’re someone I care about. That’s nothing to do with me, I want you to be okay. Whether that includes me or not.” He was a survivor and Runner but above everything else, he was a soldier. It had been that which had allowed him to weather those years. She found her strength somewhere else.
She turned away. “I can take care of myself.”
At that he smiled, “Trust me, I know. But you shouldn’t have to, not all the time.” He pushed himself upwards onto the bed so he was sitting next to her, his head a foot above hers. “Stay.” he said softly “Give yourself a chance. It was rough for me too at first, but these people are good. They care.” He allowed his teeth to show. “And they kill Wraith.”
He might not know Buffy, the girl, not really, might have only ever met a shadow of what she’d been, but he did know Slayer. And even if it was only circumstances that threw them together, he liked her. He liked her humor, her way of handling knives, the way she laughed and the way she bit at his neck tattoo.
And he knew her well enough to know that killing Wraith was a selling argument for her. If that was all she stayed for right now, that was okay. She didn’t have to call this place home immediately, it was enough for her to call it shelter.
She grinned back at him, more snarl than laugh, and her shoulders relaxed into something more familiar than the wary tightness from before.
She leaned in to kiss him and he pulled her in close, their bodies fit together just like old times. They might have been back in the caves; furious and passionate. No time but that moment. He remembered just how wild she could be.
+
He dreamt of Buffy sometimes. Those dreams were full of steel and pain and passion and pleasure. They always seemed rushed and desperate and like they ended too soon.
He dreamt of Melena, too, but those dreams were different; hazy with time and memory, and softer. He dreamt of watching her cook and heal, dreamt of her in the late summer sun, burnished gold. He dreamt of holding her hand and of watching her die; the hospital windows being blown in by an orbital blast.
That night he dreamt of them both.
Buffy had her favorite knife in hand, sleek silver blade and metallic blue handle, a Wraith scalpel. She was chopping vegetables with it next to where Melena was stirring a pot. It smelled like his father’s special soup, the kind no one else ever managed to copy.
Then, suddenly, Buffy’s face turned pale and her hair white and with a sneer, she turned to Melena and stabbed her in the heart. His old love fell forward, gasping, bleeding, and landed, impossibly, in the soup pot, disappearing from sight completely.
Ronon watched from his seat at the table, dream frozen, and shock distant.
Buffy turned to him, hair gold and skin tan and he wasn’t sure she ever looked any different. “She was peace,” she told him, wisely, going back to chopping root vegetables. “I’m war. You knew it would end this way.”
“You killed her,” he said into the stillness.
“You chose me,” she answered. “You still choose me. I’m your mirror, Ronon Dex.”
He was supposed to eat her soul, wasn’t he? And yet Melena was the one in the pot.
When he woke, gasping, Buffy was curled into a ball at the foot of the bed, waiting out his nightmares. One of her hands was wrapped around his ankle as he’d slept, anchoring him.
Her hair was golden, her skin was tan. There was a knife nearby, fallen from her hair unnoticed, but it was not her favorite.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
“I thought you were a war, when we met.” he told her, sleep stupid and nightmare addled as he was. It was easier to say than ‘I dreamed you murdered my first love’ .
She flinched minutely. “I guess, I’m a little rough around the edges these days. Sorry.”
He hiked his leg up, dragged her hand along, grabbed it and pulled her close. “Don’t. My choice.”
The only war he ever got to choose.
His dream echoed weirdly. He thought of Melena disappearing into the soup pot and Buffy’s hand on his ankle. He thought that it was too late at night or too early in the morning for anything to make sense.
So he wrapped himself around her tightly, their arms intertwined, and he lay awake until he was sure she’d drifted off. Then he followed. Melena died long ago. Buffy was still here.
And here she’d stay.
+
+
Chapter Text
Seven: At Rest
+
Sam paced her office back and forth, occasionally throwing disgruntled glances at the memo open on her computer, newly transmitted from Stargate Command.
Phrases from the document kept playing through her head on repeat causing her to grind her teeth. ‘non terrestrial personnel’, ‘assess the suitability of their continued participation’, ‘the operation and missions of Atlantis base’ .
The I.O.A. wouldn’t have dared pull this at the SGC, no one was jumping to tell General Landry who he could and couldn’t give sanctuary to and who could work on the base. But then the SGC was a US base on US soil with predominantly US troops. The I.O.A. could make suggestions to the SGC, on Atlantis, they got to dictate policy.
When Sam had taken command of the city, the first thing she’d been met with was a stack of new operating procedures the I.O.A. pushed through. Because she hadn’t been in charge when they’d been voted on, it was now too late to object. “New planet, new secrets.” she said to herself.
God, things were so much simpler when she was just an SG team member.
There was a knock on the door. She turned to see Sheppard standing there. The look on his face told her he’d just gotten the same memo.
“They can’t be serious.” he said without preamble.
She sighed. “Oh but they are. They want to interview any Pegasus natives that serve in the city and assess their ‘continued viability as contributing members of the Atlantis Expedition’ .”
She tossed herself into one of the comfy guest chairs next to the door.
Sheppard sat down beside her, a look of outraged on his face. “Why? The Pegasus personnel are some of the most devoted people we have on the base. Teyla and Ronon alone…”
She interrupted him. “John, they’re rattling their sabers. The I.O.A. was never happy with how liberal Dr. Weir was about allowing aliens onto the base, they certainly weren’t happy that she let several of them serve on AR-1. With her…” Sam hesitated, not wanting to vocalize Elizabeth Weir’s almost certain demise. Officially she was MIA. “...no longer in command, they saw it as a chance to make some changes.”
Sheppard nodded, understanding blooming on his face. “And less than four months into your command you gave sanctuary to another Pegasus native, despite all the new protocols.”
“It was well within my authority. Slayer was a refugee fleeing immediately hostile conditions. They can’t say anything against her being given sanctuary in the city. Still, they’re not happy about it.”
“And since they can’t call you out directly, they’re calling into question every member of the city who they didn’t get to vet for the original Expedition.”
“That’s about the size of it. A reminder that I can’t do whatever I like while I’m stationed here.”
Sheppard paused, seemingly to phrase his next question delicately. “Do they want to talk to Slayer?” he said slowly. “That won’t go very well.”
A tired smile crossed her face. “No.” Thank god. “She has refugee status. She’s been given asylum in the city, but she’s not a functioning member of the Expedition, the I.O.A. has no authority over her.” Sam sighed and folded her arms. “Most of the interviews should be routine, Teyla has a level head, so do the other Pegasus personnel.”
They were mostly Athosians who acted as translators and liaisons to the base’s offworld trading partners. They shouldn’t cause any problems and none of them were worth making an example of. That was, all except one.
“Which leaves us with a problem.”
Sheppard nodded grimly. “Ronon.”
“He’s going to cause waves.”
“That’s putting it lightly. Big waves–we're talking tsunamis.”
“I thought about that and I think I might have a solution. Ronon needs someone used to dealing with the I.O.A. as an alien in Earth’s service to give him some pointers. So I've asked someone to come to Atlantis, someone to coach him.”
“Who?”
+
Some time later Sam stood at the foot of the Stargate. It opened with an all too familiar whooshing sound and an even more familiar Jaffa walked through it.
“Teal'c.” she said, smiling.
She took him in, he’d let his hair grow long since she’d last seen him though it was still streaked with grey. Far from the green combat fatigues she’d grown so used to seeing him wear, he was now adorned with traditional Jaffa robes. Returning to life on Chulak had been good to him.
They clasped hands in an old Jaffa salute that had long since become natural to her.
Teal’c inclined his head. “Colonel Carter.”
“Welcome to Atlantis.” she said with a grin.
+
Carter and Teal'c walked down a corridor of the central tower. Having finished explaining the situation with Ronon and Slayer they’d lapsed into a friendly, comfortable silence. As they walked she studied his hair. She was so used to seeing him with a shaved head or a buzz cut that the shoulder length hair looked strangely alien.
“So, Teal'c,” she nodded at his head, “the, uh… hair.”
“You do not like it?” he said, his head tilted ever so slightly.
“No, I love it. It's very… Earth.”
They both grinned, easily falling back into the rhythm of old friends.
“This city is much larger than I expected.”
Sam nodded. “It's a remarkable feat of engineering. The Ancients really knew what they were doing.”
“Indeed.”
A few personnel walked past and gave Sam an obligatory nod that she’d come to expect now that she was in charge. Back at the SGC it would have been a full salute but this far from Earth, people were comfortable being a little more casual.
Teal'c watched them disappear down the hall, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“You look well, Colonel Carter. Command has been good to you.
“Thanks, Teal'c. It takes some getting used to. The military protocol's pretty relaxed,” she nodded behind them “but I like it here.”
It wasn’t long before they reached the training room. They stood at the door for several moments looking inside.
They could see Ronon sparring with Slayer. She was using the staff Sam had given her, while he was armed with bantos rods. The other Atlantis personnel in the room were watching the fight with interest but they were also giving them a wide berth. The fight was intense but Sam was pleased to see that Slayer seemed more in control than she had two days ago. No doubt she was more comfortable with Ronon than anyone else.
“Is that them?” asked Teal'c.
“Yep. That's them.”
Teal’c stood in the doorway, watching the way Slayer fought.
“Tell me Colonel Carter, why does this woman concern you so?”
Sam smiled, Teal’c always did have a way of cutting to the heart of things.
She’d been in the Air Force a long time, she’d seen soldiers like Slayer. Men and women who couldn’t leave the war on the battlefield when they came home. It was like they were still fighting even though there was nothing left to fight. “She’s been fighting the Wraith since she was twenty two, fighting other things since she was fifteen. She deserves to have someone watch her back.”
Teal’c turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised in that knowing way.
“That is not what I asked.”
Sam nodded. “I guess, she reminds me of Cassie.”
There was this look Sam saw in Slayer’s eyes, like she was lost, so she couldn’t even begin to figure out how to find her way home. She saw that same look in her god-daughter’s eyes. Cassandra wasn’t from Earth. In the earliest days of the SGC’s operation, Sam and her team had found her on a planet called Hanka. Her people had been wiped out by a bio engineered plague. She was the only survivor. She had watched everyone she ever knew die in front of her at ten years old.
That had been twelve years ago. She was twenty two now, living back on Earth. Her second year of college would be starting soon. Still, for as happy and well adjusted as she often seemed to be, sometimes Sam would see that look again, like she’d never really left her village.
Sam didn’t know if Slayer could find her way home, but she deserved to be given the chance.
Teal’c nodded. “Indeed.” was all he said in response.
+
Slayer hit the ground hard but she was smiling because as she went down she hooked Ronon’s knees with her legs. They both now had to pull themselves off the floor. The match seemed to have reached its conclusion and unspoken they retired to the corner of the training room to gulp down some much needed water.
As she was about to challenge Ronon to another bout, a shiver went up her spine. Something was wrong, some threat was near. Her eyes went instantly to the door. Watching the two of them from the hall were Colonel Carter and a man she’d never seen before.
He was tall and dark skinned. His hair long, slicked back and streaked with grey. He had some kind of gold brand burned into his forehead. He wore simple robes and seemed unobtrusive, but there was an intensity about him that put her on instant alert.
When the two realized the fight had subsided they approached. Carter took point seemingly so she could present the man to the two Runners.
“Ronon Dex, Slayer, I'd like you to meet Teal'c of the Jaffa. He's the one I was telling you about.” she said, directing the last comment to Ronon.
Slayer just nodded. He was supposed to coach Ronon on dealing with Earth politics or something.
Teal’c bowed his head to them in an almost religious reverence. “It is a pleasure to meet both of you. Ronon Dex, Colonel Carter has spoken highly of you. Slayer, I have heard you are a most capable combatant.”
Ronon took another swig of water, saying nothing. He looked at Teal'c with a scowl on his face. Slayer simply watched him, her expression neutral. They were both assessing if he was a threat.
Colonel Carter clearly picked up on the tension in the air and tried nervously to fill the silence. “Anyway… Ronon, You two are similar in many ways, so you should have a lot in common. Slayer, Teal’c has been a warrior on other worlds all his life. You might find you have something to talk about.”
She lapsed into silence again as Teal’c, Ronon, and Slayer studied each other. Ronon spat out his mouthful of water at Teal’c’s feet. It was tinted red with blood from his split lip. Teal’c’s eyes followed the water and then flicked back to Ronon, his eyebrow raised.
Colonel Carter tried again to cut the tension which was growing thicker by the second. “Teal'c was a member of SG-1 for over ten years, so he knows all about dealing with the I.O.A. Which is why I thought… he could pass along a few pointers, help you prep for the big interview.”
Slayer wasn’t sure either of the men had heard what Carter had said. Both she and the Colonel seemed forgotten as Ronon continued to glare at Teal'c, who in turn studied him with an appraising eye.
“Colonel Carter?” said Teal'c, his voice was deep and intense though it conveyed nothing of what he was thinking.
She sighed weakly “Yeah?”
“Perhaps you could leave us to become better acquainted.”
Carter looked between Ronon and Teal’c and then down to Slayer. She gave a sheepish shrug to the Colonel but said nothing more.
“Sure.” she looked between the three of them, “Have fun.”
As she left Ronon and Teal’c continued to stare one another down while Slayer studied the man, searching for what about him made her so uneasy.
Finally Teal’c broke the silence. “Do neither of you speak?” he asked.
“Not when I've got nothing to say.” Ronon shot back.
Teal'c bowed his head in apparent acknowledgement, then turned to look at Slayer, inviting her to answer the question. She didn’t have anything to say either so she just shrugged.
He took her in, giving her the feeling like she was being appraised. He nodded to the staff weapon she was leaning on.
“You have my staff.”
Slayer looked closer at the gold brand on his forehead. She had taken it to be an oval shaped geometric pattern but looking closer she realized that it was meant to be a snake within an oval. Just like the reared cobra head on the end of the staff weapon. Maybe it was a religious icon.
“Did you want it back?”
“No. It was a gift to Colonel Carter to remind her of battles fought and won. If she has passed it on to you, I trust it is in good hands.”
Teal’c looked back at Ronon. “Ronon Dex, perhaps a different setting would be more suited to our discussion.”
Ronon snarled, his body shifted towards the door but his eyes flicked to her. She nodded, telling him wordlessly that she was okay without him. He stalked out of the room, taking the tension with him. The atmosphere without him seemed empty, like a vacuum left by his presence.
“He’s just…” she started to say. Halfway through the sentence she realized she didn’t really care enough to apologize for Ronon’s behaviour or spare this stranger’s feelings. There was still something about him that made her uneasy.
“Indeed.” was all he said.
+
Ronon stormed into the mess hall, grabbing a tray of food and setting it roughly on a nearby table. He felt a little bad that he’d left Buffy behind but she’d let him know she was okay and he knew better than anyone that she could handle herself.
Mostly he was annoyed. Annoyed that Colonel Carter thought he needed a coach, annoyed that Sheppard didn’t think he could handle this I.O.A. nonsense without help.
“May I join you?”
Ronon looked up. He’d really hoped the man had gotten the message that he didn’t want to talk but apparently it had been a bit too subtle because Teal’c was standing over his table. He didn’t wait for Ronon to reply before he sat down opposite him. Ronon fixed his eyes murderously on his food, refusing to look at Teal’c.
Despite that, Teal’c kept talking. “Salisbury steak. We are often served this in the SGC Mess Hall. I must confess, however, that I am partial to the tater tots.”
Ronon looked up, he wasn’t interested in making small talk. “Look, I don't need a coach to teach me how to act during the interview. I've dealt with the I.O.A. before.”
Teal’c stared at him impassively. “The I.O.A. consists of more than just Mr. Woolsey. Their new member, Mr. Coolidge, is far less pleasant.”
Ronon shrugged. Woolsey, Coolidge, the name didn’t really matter. All bureaucrats were pretty much the same. “Yeah, well, I can handle him. I'll stay calm, answer all of his questions. I know how to play the game.”
Teal’c nodded “I am pleased to hear that. Very well. Let us speak of other things.”
“Such as?” The bite in Ronon’s voice made it very clear that he wasn’t interested in a friendly conversation.
“Tell me of Sateda.”
Ronon bristled at the word. His destroyed homeworld was not a topic for casual conversation. “What do you want to know?” he spat.
“When did the Wraith destroy it?”
“Years ago.”
Anger was building in Ronon’s chest, hot bubbling anger.
Teal’c meanwhile remained completely impassive as he continued to pose his questions. “Your army was unable to fight?”
“Oh, we fought back. The battle lasted days.” Sateda brought down a hive ship before everything was said and done. His world had died with honour.
Teal’c continued to eat, seemingly unaware of the growing danger of this conversation. “And when you finally surrendered, what did the Wraith do then?”
He dropped his knife and fork, leaning in close to Teal’c as he snarled. “We didn't surrender. We fought until every last one of us was either dead or captured.”
Teal’c nodded thoughtfully, unconcerned. There was a brief pause before his next question. “So tell me, then: is it true that negligence on your part is what first alerted the Wraith to your presence? That your reckless actions brought about the deaths of thousands of innocent people?”
Before he was even conscious of deciding to do it, Ronon swept his tray off the table with a clatter. His chair tipped over with a crash as he leapt to his feet. His particle pistol was in his hand, cocked and pressed against the gold brand on Teal’c’s forehead in seconds.
“That's a lie!” he shouted.
Teal’c was calm, despite the blaster in his face and the evident threat to his life. He simply lifted a piece of fruit to his lips and continued to eat. After a tense moment he said “Indeed it is.” His eyes glanced up to meet Ronon’s, they were hard and cold. “Yet, should such a question arise during your interview, I trust you will not respond in a similar manner. You do , after all, know ‘how to play the game’.” He went back to eating his lunch.
In an instant Sheppard was there, reacting to the sound of shouting.
“Ronon! Put... the gun... away.” He said it slowly, the order in the words clear.
Grudgingly but without hesitation, he lowered his weapon, still staring murderously at Teal’c. Sheppard looked between them. Ronon breathing heavy with rage, Teal’c calmly eating his meal.
“What's the problem here?”
Teal’c glanced up at him. That unshakable calm still present. “There is no problem, Colonel Sheppard.”
He nodded. “Well, that's good to hear. Ronon?” he said, looking for confirmation that the situation wasn’t going to escalate.
Ronon put his hands onto the table, leaned down slowly and glared into Teal'c's eyes. Teal'c met his gaze impassively, as though Ronon had not threatened his life a moment before.
“No problem, Sheppard.” Ronon said from between gritted teeth.
+
After Teal’c and Ronon left Buffy stayed in the training room. Not to spar, the soldiers present kept their distance, especially wary of her now that Ronon was not by her side. In a strange way they seemed to regard him as some kind of tether on her, someone who could hold her back if she lost it again. She smiled at the thought. It was probably the first time Ronon had been considered the rational one but she couldn’t deny it felt good to have their respect, even if it was respect born of fear.
When she’d been running, so many people treated him like he was the strong one and she’d be easier to deal with. So many people failed to recognize her as the natural predator she was, she took a bit of guilty pleasure in the people around here knowing exactly what she was.
Instead of sparing, she did meditative exercises. A mixture of the Tai Chi that Angel had taught her and the focus and balancing techniques that Giles used to walk her through. They were a little harder to do without his soothing voice guiding her through the motions but she managed herself alright. It was… peaceful.
That was until she felt a prickle on the back of her neck that said someone was watching her. Her eyes shot open and sure enough, standing in the doorway was Teal’c. She fell out of formation, her feet instantly adapting to a combat stance.
He approached her. “I apologize if I interrupted.”
She shook her head, waving it off. “I was just finishing up.”
“Where did you learn such practices?”
“Around,” she said stubbornly.
“It bears some resemblance to the lok’nel teachings of balance. They help to anchor a warrior’s spirit and grant them clarity of purpose.”
Now he sounded like Giles.
“They mostly just help with my breathing. What do you want?” she asked, cutting the pleasantries short.
“I thought perhaps we might speak, as one warrior to another.”
Her jaw was set as she fixed Teal’c with a glare. “You aren’t just here to help with Ronon’s interview.”
Teal’c nodded. “Indeed I am not.”
He raised his voice so everyone in the room could hear. “Would everyone be so kind as to depart. I have need of this space.”
A few people began moving towards the door but one of them stopped, staring at Teal’c.
“What?” they asked, confused.
Slayer rolled her eyes. “Get lost!” she translated. Her much sharper voice hurried everyone out of the room.
When the room was empty Teal’c tapped the crystal control causing the door to slide shut.
The sealing of the room put her on instant alert. She nodded at the closed door. “Should I be worried?”
“You need not be. I thought perhaps you would appreciate privacy.”
She narrowed her eyes. This felt like a snare closing around her. It wasn’t hard to guess who set it. “What did Carter tell you?”
“Colonel Carter told me enough. Enough to know that you are balanced on a knife’s edge. At any moment you are one misstep away from toppling off. And sometimes you wonder if it is even worth the continued effort.”
Her face twisted into a condescending scowl. “So you’re here to be my therapist? And you’re supposed to talk me into doing what exactly?”
“I am here to listen. The nature of my advice will depend entirely on what I am told.”
“And if I don’t want to tell you anything?”
“Then we will have to find some other means of occupying our time here.” He removed his robes, beneath them he was wearing a black tank top and green fatigues. He was solidly built, his muscles thick. He selected the training staff that Carter had used two days ago from the rack. That staff was usually in the Colonel’s quarters, if it was here she’d placed it here in advance, maybe even at Teal’c request.
Teal’c turned to face her and she stepped onto the mat, already in a fighting stance. The transition from conversation to combat was wordless but no less clear. Slowly they began to circle one another. She studied the way he moved. He was bigger than her, that meant slower, but there was a fluidity to the way his weight shifted as he moved around her that made her wary.
“What is your name?” he asked into the dense silence that was waiting for the first blow.
“Slayer.” she snarled through gritted teeth.
He shook his head. “No. That is what you do. Possibly the only skillset you have which anyone has ever placed any value on. But it is not who you are. What is your name?” The deliberate placement of his feet and the solid grip on his staff did not falter as he spoke.
Instead of offering an answer, she jabbed at him with her staff. It was a tentative attack, testing his responses.
He knocked it away, his deflection quick and steady and he responded with his own testing blow. His staff came forward at an angle and she threw up her own to block it.
She felt the power behind the strike in her hands as the staff absorbed the impact. He was strong. Not the strongest she’d ever faced but stronger than a human, even a well built human, should be.
“What is your name?” he asked again into the stillness.
Instead of answering, she rushed him. She knew her strength, she knew her speed. She tried to overwhelm him with blow upon blow upon blow. Her staff whistled through the air, forward, back, side, rotate, thrust. The top struck Teal’c’s guard and no sooner had it landed than the bottom pivoted forward for another attack.
For how fast she moved, she got precious few hits. Oh, she hit him. She hit him hard. A strike across the face, whipping his head to the side and staining his teeth red. A blow to his knee, to his ribcage. She knew they hurt; could hear it in his grunts, in the way the air forced itself out of his lungs when she struck his chest.
But they didn’t hurt as much as they should have. There was no sound of cracking bones. He was something else, something more than human.
He answered her barrage with his own strikes. They were less frenzied than hers, more calculated, more precise but no less quick. Even so, she was faster than him. For every blow he landed she got two in return.
She rolled out of the way of his next strike, landed in a crouch and threw up her staff to block another attack. She twisted her weapon and the snake’s head hit Teal’c center stomach. He stumbled backwards, breathing hard and at last she felt like she’d really hit something sensitive.
Despite it all he looked up, fixed her with his intense gaze and asked again. “What is your name?”
She snapped her teeth at him, a move too feral to belong to Buffy.
Some part of her reached for the dark heart of the Slayer and she charged him; all thought that this was a sparring match forgotten. It became a whirlwind.
She was running on pure instinct, the sound of wood on stone and stone on wood echoed around the room. She could hear her blood pumping loud and hot in her ears. Strike, kick, slash, stab, parry, duck, twist, flip, turn, lunge. The attacks, the blocks, the deflections, the redirects, the counters, all came swift and furious. Muscles burned and lungs heaved, pulse racing.
One well placed hit across her knuckles and she lost hold of her staff. As it fell, she caught it with her foot and threw it up into the air. The free flying weapon struck Teal’c in the face. Not as focused as she would have liked but satisfying nonetheless.
Her staff hit the ground with a clatter; too far to retrieve. She was now unarmed. He stabbed at her with the serpent’s head and she leapt over the attack, landing inside his guard and elbowing him hard in the face. The other side of his weapon came back and cracked her across the jaw. Her head twisted with the force of it and she tasted iron in her mouth.
She flipped backwards, out of his reach, her feet hooked the center of his staff and she ripped it out of his grasp, sending it rolling to the floor. She landed and for a brief moment of calm they surveyed each other. She spit blood onto the mat pointedly, gave him a ferocious smile that was nothing but bloody teeth.
He lunged to grapple her, low and fast. She grabbed his shoulder and rolled over his back, counting on his large stature to prevent him from compensating. There were advantages to being 5’2”. She landed behind him and whirled on the spot. Before her feet were properly planted he twisted round and drove his heavy fist solidly into her ribcage.
She stumbled, off balance and he pressed his advantage. He shoved her towards the center of the room, grabbed her by the shoulders and in a moment of desperation she slammed her head as hard as she could into his. His neck cracked backwards with a satisfying sound but the impact reverberated through her skull as she struck the gold brand on his forehead. Pain blossomed from her forehead, radiating through her skull, loud, blotting out her senses. Her vision blurred and the ringing in her ears told her too late that Teal’c brand was solid metal.
In that moment of disorientation Teal’c wrapped one hand around her throat and lifted her full body off the floor, slamming her into the ground beneath. For all her strength, he still had a foot and a half and at least a hundred pounds on her.
His other hand snatched her staff from the mat, where it had been discarded and he leveled it at her in an attack position, the head cracked open, pointed directly at her heart, ready to fire. Even though she knew the weapon was toothless, it still felt like a threat.
“What is your name?” he asked one final time, his voice low and intense.
Her muscles were screaming, her head was spinning, and blood pumped in her ears.
“Buffy Summers.” she snarled. The words burst from her mouth, almost alien to her with lack of use. Her instincts told her to keep going, to roll, to kick out with her legs, to grab hold of the staff.
Don’t stop, not till they’re dead, or you are.
But she stayed where she was, letting the anger of the Slayer fade.
Seemingly satisfied, Teal’c clicked the staff shut. He offered her a hand to help her to her feet but she ignored it, pushing herself up off the ground.
He pivoted her staff, laying it flat between his palms. He bowed respectfully as he offered the weapon back to her. “It is an honour to meet you, Buffy Summers.”
She didn’t return his bow, instead she snatched the staff from his hands. She was drained of energy but even in the calm, even when the fighting ceased, she felt that familiar charge infused into every cell of her body. The deepest levels of the Slayer power, that deadly hunter’s instinct, demanding that this was not finished.
“Satisfied?” she said through gritted teeth.
“Immensely.” He paused briefly, his eyes appraising her again.
She sat down next to the window and watched as Teal’c retrieved the training staff from the ground and returned it to the weapon’s rack. When he was done he walked over to a cooler that had ice packs on top, though she knew they were just a cover for the beer buried at the bottom.
He looked up at her. “Would you care for some fire water?”
She thought about it for a moment and then shrugged. He pulled two cans of beer out of the bottom of the cooler, sat down next to her, and handed her one of the ice packs and one of the cans.
They both cracked the cans and Teal’c held his up to her. “To the path of the warrior.”
She nodded. “To the path of the warrior.” Seemed as fitting as anything. She’d never been anything else.
She took a long draught from the can. It was bitter and not to her taste but it was cold and that’s all that really mattered to her at the moment.
She picked up the ice pack and pressed it to her shoulder, rotating the joint slowly in her socket. Teal’c had struck her hard right beneath her shoulder blade. She glanced towards him when she heard a grunt. Teal’c was pressing his ice pack to his left side where she'd hit him with a forceful blow.
“You okay?”
“I believe you fractured three of my ribs.”
She blinked. “Sorry.” she said sheepishly.
“Do not be sorry Buffy Summers. It was a battle well fought and I heal quickly.”
Silence fell again as they continued to nurse their wounds. Eventually Teal’c broke it.
“Would you care to hear my thoughts?”
“About me?”
“Indeed.”
“Will it be worse than the beating I just took?”
“You are not the only one that ‘took a beating’.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine.” she said.
“You do not know who you are. Buffy Summers is the person you were before you went to war. Slayer is what you had to be to survive on the battlefield. Now that it is over, you do not know what that makes you and some part of you fears it means you are nothing.”
“Does it?” she whispered, somewhere in the back of her head she realized she was terrified of the answer.
“No.” Teal’c shook his head. “The person you were before the war is gone. But that does not mean you are nothing. You decide who you are. There is no battle, no enemy so powerful that they can take that choice from you. You may decide you wish to be Buffy Summers again, you may even succeed in finding her, or you may try to be someone new but one thing is certain: You are not nothing and you do not have to face this trial alone. There are people in this city who wish to help you. Let them.”
She closed her eyes, resisting the urge to throw another strike. To follow her instincts, slay the threat in front of her.
“Now,” Teal’c said, pulling himself to his feet and bowing respectfully towards her. “If you will excuse me, you may want to avoid the commissary for the next hour.”
“Why?”
He donned his robes again. “I intend to provoke your partner to violence and I believe the endeavour will prove more fruitful if he does not have reinforcements.”
She smiled. “Good luck with that.” She wasn’t entirely sure who she would bet on in that fight.
Just before he left the room he turned to her. “May I offer one last piece of advice that Colonel Carter once found helpful?”
“Sure.”
“Draw from your past, do not let it draw from you.”
+
She sounded the tone for an office on the south side of the central tower with an exquisite view of the City.
From inside she heard, “Come in.”
Within the office was a blonde woman in her late thirties going through paperwork. She looked up when the door opened.
“Is this Dr. Heightmeyer’s office?” Slayer asked tentatively.
The doctor got up from her desk. “You must be the new Runner in the city everyone’s talking about.” Her voice was warm and inviting.
Slayer nodded uncomfortably. Her one and only previous attempt at therapy had not ended well. In this space she wasn’t sure exactly where she belonged. “Do you–do you have time to talk?”
The doctor smiled. “Always.” She gestured over to a pair of chairs that sat beside a great window which offered a view of the City. “Please sit.”
She settled into the chair awkwardly.
She’d committed to this, she’d decided to stay.
She’d give Atlantis and its people a chance. Maybe in time, she’d give herself a chance. It was enough for now.
+
+
Notes:
Due to an unfortunate incident in my life that's hit me like a bomb I'm not going to really have the kind of free time I need to write for the next like, two to five weeks. I have every intention of finishing this story, it is not abandoned, but it is going on hiatus for a little while. My apologies.
Chapter 8: Walking
Chapter Text
Eight: Walking
+
The first time Ronon had a nightmare in her presence, she made the sleep-addled mistake of trying to shake him awake.
He woke up swinging a knife. He gave her a new scar on her forearm and she caught his wrist and twisted so fast she’d wrenched his arm out of its socket before she realized what she was doing.
After that, they both learned to scoot out of arm’s reach before waking the other and neither of them kept their ranged weapons at hand when they slept next to each other.
There were other things they learned. He never stuck around while she washed and she never came up on his left side, because a bomb blast partially took his hearing on that side.
He didn’t ask why she thrashed around in her sleep, she didn’t ask about the names he shouted.
Cullings, Wraith, the scars of old injuries, and the names of the innocent dead in their wake were a no go.
They didn’t touch each other’s weapons.
It was an endless litany of things not to do, things they couldn't bear, things that ripped open old wounds. She never noticed how many of them there were while they were running. It was only on Atlantis, standing still, that she noticed.
+
When she woke a few days later Ronon was sitting beside her gently stroking her hair as she slept.
“Hey.” she said with a soft, sleepy smile. The sunlight through the window was warm.
“Hey yourself.” he said back, continuing to run his hand over her hair. She smiled and closed her eyes, his hands were still kind and she had nowhere else to be but this moment.
Then his hand was gone.
She opened her eyes. He’d shifted away, nervously using one hand to place pressure on the bones of the other, one after another in turn.
The atmosphere in the room seemed to have changed but, too sleepy to consider why, she reached for him; wanting to be connected to him again.
“Who’s Dawn?” he asked into the silence.
Her arm fell limp by her side, her back straightened and all her muscles tensed. She wasn’t asleep anymore.
It was like someone had shattered some invisible bubble of protection, some separation between who she had been before, the life she had known, and what she was now. It was like a crack formed in the wall between ‘Buffy’ and ‘Slayer’.
“Who’s Ara?” she shot back coldly, picking at random one of the names she’d heard him shout in his sleep when the nightmares came.
She regretted saying the words the moment they’d left her mouth. Ronon didn’t look hurt but she saw his walls go up. That spark of vulnerability he rarely showed left his eye. He pulled himself to his feet and faced her.
“Sorry, shouldn’t have brought it up.”
He turned towards the door.
She scrambled off the bed. “No Ronon, I’m sorry. I–” but she didn’t know how to say she didn’t know how to let someone in. Instead she said. “Dawn was my baby sister.”
He turned back to face her. There was silence between them again for several long seconds before he asked “How old?”
The question was so absurdly simple and yet had such a complicated answer that she actually laughed. God, Dawn would be, what, twenty seven now? Or was that thirteen with her?
“She was seventeen when I left, she’d be twenty seven in a couple months.” She sank back down onto the bed. “I guess she wasn’t really little anymore but…”
Ronon sat down next to her. “But she’ll always be your baby sister.”
Slayer nodded. “Ever since Mom brought her home, it was my job to keep her safe.”
“She wasn’t like you?”
“If you mean she didn’t have her DNA rewritten or whatever the doc was on about, no. But she was a fighter.” Slayer would never forget Dawn snatching up a broadsword and hacking her way through monsters made of grave dirt.
“She took after her sister.” he said with a wry smile.
She nodded. “Yeah. I just wish she didn’t have to. I wanted to give her a world where she didn’t have to be a fighter.”
Silence fell between them, but it was a softer, more comfortable silence than before.
Ronon was the one to break it. “Ara was one of my squadmates. There were six of us. Hemi was a veteran, the rest of us were in our late teens. Ara was the youngest.”
“How old?”
He shrugged. “Fifteen when she joined up. Sixteen when she got attached to our squad.”
Fifteen… fifteen when she joined the military. The same age Dawn was when Glory came for her, when she’d begun to realize that her older sister couldn’t keep her safe.
Her brow furrowed as she looked at Ronon sadly. “Seems too young to go to war.”
“Not any younger than you were.”
She nodded. “I guess.”
“We were all too young. ‘Cept maybe Hemi. But the war was rough and the Specialists took whoever they could get.” He turned to look at her. “What was Dawn like?”
A grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. “She was an annoying little shit.”
At that Ronon let out a laugh. “Like all little sisters then.”
She nodded, after a moment of silence she started again. “She was brave, and headstrong. She never gave up, even when she was scared. And boy did that ever get her into trouble, a lot.” She paused before asking. “What about Ara?”
“She was a terrible cook.” They both laughed at that. “We ate her stew for three months before Rakai got up the nerve to tell her he couldn’t stand the stuff.”
They traded stories back and forth. The time Ara mistook Hemi for a Bola Kai warrior on a raid and stabbed him in the leg. The time that Dawn stole an expensive jacket to give to her for her birthday. When Ara tried to prove she could handle high yield ordinances and ended up blowing a hole in the side of the barracks. When Buffy took Dawn out on the ice for the first time and taught her how to skate.
There was a voice in the back of her head reminding her that many of the stories she told about Dawn weren’t real, they hadn’t actually happened, that Dawn had been inserted into her life as a fourteen year old girl when Slayer was nineteen. But she shoved those thoughts away. Dawn was real. If all she had left of home was her memories, those were the ones she wanted to keep. Dawn was her baby sister, regardless of what she was before.
They talked for what felt like forever, stupid stories, pleasant memories. Until finally Ronon stood up.
“Time to go.”
She nodded. “The big interview’s today?”
“Tomorrow, takes a day to get there.”
“How’re things going with Teal’c.”
She could see his jaw set at the sound of the name.
“Fine.”
“His whole sensei, monk of ancient wisdom thing really not working for you, huh? I found it helpful.”
“Of course you did, you got to wail on him for a half hour. When I challenged him to a match he said ‘I do not think that would be productive Ronon Dex’ .” he said, imitating Teal’c’s flat baritone delivery.
Slayer started laughing, collapsing back onto the bed. When her fit of giggles finally ended she said “This interview is pretty important isn’t it? He might be able to help you.”
“He’s not wrong about a lot of stuff.” he said grudgingly.
“Kinda sucks when someone you can’t stand has a point doesn’t it.”
“Yeah.” He growled. “You sure you don’t want to come with me?”
“To Earth?” She paused, her mirth dying away. She could step through the Ring and be back home. What would she do then?
“What’s it like on the other side?”
“Never been. Their Ring is in some bunker called Stargate Command. It’s supposed to be a couple miles under a mountain or something.”
“You think they’d let us see the surface?”
“Doubt it. Way Carter tells it, some kid tried to release a bioweapon a couple years back. They don’t let people up to the surface anymore. Not till they’ve been thoroughly vetted.”
“Ah.” They wouldn’t let her wander around trying to find her friends and it wasn’t like she still remembered Giles' phone number, and Sunnydale wasn’t even there anymore. She could just ask Carter to search for them, but that was a conversation she wasn’t ready to have. “I think I’ll pass. Twenty four hours in a concrete bunker and forty eight of travel isn’t my idea of a good time. But you have fun.”
He just grunted in response.
+
An hour later Slayer and Ronon were walking down the hall towards the gateroom. Ronon was wearing his usual brown leathers, a bag slung over one shoulder. Ahead of them, still dressed in his ceremonial robes was Teal’c. Carter walked beside him as they engaged in one last conversation among friends, their words too low for Slayer to hear.
As they approached the Ring room Sheppard came out of an adjoining corridor and fell into step beside them.
“Glad I caught you before you left. Just wanted to say good luck big guy. You’re going to knock ‘em dead.”
“Yeah,” Ronon said, more of a grunt than a word. He glanced at Sheppard, gesturing up ahead towards Teal'c. “Why does he have to go with me?”
Sheppard shrugged. “He's not actually going with you. He's returning home. You just happen to be travelling at the same time. One less dial-in on the Intergalactic Bridge.”
Slayer perked up at the official sounding name. “That sounds fancy. What is it?”
Sheppard looked over at her. “Well it takes a lot of power to keep this place running and a lot of power to dial back home to Earth. Uh, our planet’s a really long way away. So we strung together a whole bunch of Stargates in space between the two locations. One forwards you to the next and the next until we get back to Earth. Instead of one long jump, it’s a bunch of tiny ones. The city saves on power and we can check in regularly with home.” he shrugged. “Takes a half hour but it’s faster than going the long way.”
“A half hour…” Earth was so close. It would be so easy to ask to step through with them. To be home within a day.
Instead she said. “I thought it took a day.”
Ronon grunted. “There's a twenty-four hour quarantine at the halfway mark. Midway Station in the middle of nowhere.” Sheppard and Slayer followed his gaze, which was fixed on Teal’c ahead of them.
Sheppard clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, you're just gonna have to sit around a bit, all right? Look, Teal’c’s not so bad. He’s got years of experience–he's like a hundred years old or somethin', all right? It won't kill you to listen to him.” Sheppard smiled at Ronon, patted him on the shoulder and said. “Good boy.” Before he walked away.
“I hate you.” said Ronon to his departing back. Slayer just smiled, it was almost wonderfully domestic.
+
Sam and Teal’c stopped at the foot of the gateroom steps. “Listen, I know that Ronon's been resistant but I really appreciate you coming here and helping us out.”
Teal’c smiled. “I too wish him to succeed. There is great potential in him.”
“I agree. What about the other thing? Did you manage to get through to Slayer?”
“Perhaps. She has many wounds, but with time I believe she may be willing to let them heal. She told me the name with which she was born.”
Sam’s eyes widened. “That’s great. What is it?” If they had her legal name, she could send a proper request for information back to the SGC.
Teal’c inclined his head. “ That , is not my place to say. When she is ready, she will tell you herself.”
Sam nodded. She couldn’t pretend she wasn’t disappointed, but if Slayer was going to trust them, it had to be at her own pace. “Okay Teal’c, I’ll give her the time she needs.”
Teal'c smiled. “I always knew you would make a great leader. It gives me great pride to see that the people of this expedition have embraced you as such.”
“Thanks, Teal'c.”
They clasped hands and bowed their heads towards one another in a Jaffa gesture of greeting and farewell. Over Teal’c shoulder, she saw Ronon and Slayer approaching. Ronon looked disgruntled but Sam was happy to see that Slayer looked more at ease in the city than she had ever seen her.
“All set?” Sam called over to them.
Ronon nodded. “Let's get this over with.”
Sam smiled in resignation. His attitude would probably never improve but she’d known servicemen who behaved far worse and had always been given a pass. With any luck the I.O.A. wouldn’t see him as a problem. This was more a performance for her benefit than a serious review. She looked up to the control room. “Dial the Bridge, Chuck.”
“Yes, ma'am.” Chuck called from the control room above.
As the symbols on the gate lit up one after the other Sam turned back to Teal’c and pulled him into a hug. “Come back soon alright.”
“Whenever I have the chance. Remember Colonel Carter, that you are always welcome on Chulak.”
“I’m going to miss you too.”
“Indeed.”
+
As the Ring was being dialed, Slayer stood opposite Ronon.
“Good luck.”
“Will you be here when I get back?”
She nodded. “I’m not going anywhere.”
There was a tense moment as he seemed unsure whether to hug her or shake her hand. She smiled, went up on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.
When they broke apart she said “I’m fine here. And you’re going to be fine there.”
He nodded. “I’ll see you soon.” And then he turned and both he and Teal’c vanished into the standing water of the Ring’s portal.
Moments later it collapsed with the sound of a crashing wave and then she was alone. Not truly alone, Colonel Carter was standing ten feet away and there were various personnel moving about the space. But she was without her tether in the city. Ronon was her anchor in this strange place, he was something that was hers as much as he was Atlantis’s. Without him she felt isolated. The City was big and it felt strangely empty without him in it.
She turned towards one of the side entrances to the Ring room and started walking. The movement was calming. The steady beat of one foot after the next made her feel like she was moving forward. After a decade of running, staying still put her on edge, made tingles spread up her back as she listened for the next sound of danger without even realizing she was doing it. Instead she moved.
She let her feet carry her with no destination in mind and they looped her around the central tower, the Ring room, the control room, the adjacent corridors, the science labs, the jumper bay. After her third trip along this path she realized she wasn’t just simply moving for the sake of it, she was patrolling. It had been so long since she had anything to circle, anything to protect, that she’d almost forgot the motions of it, forgot the rhythms of it. But her body still remembered.
She’d done it with the school, with the college, with the Magic Box, with her house in the last days of Sunnydale. Watch the perimeter, identify the threats, take them out. She failed once, and it cost Kendra her life.
These memories kept popping up lately. After so many years of staying dark and quiet they were starting to get uncomfortably loud.
It wasn’t quite the same here as it had been back home. Each loop she made she saw military men and women standing at their posts, keeping watch over the vital areas of the city. In some ways she was grateful they were there, grateful that this didn’t all fall on her, that everyone wasn’t looking to her to have all the answers. In other ways she resented them doing her job, doing the one thing she’d always been good at, the one way she could feel useful.
As she rounded another loop, entering the main control room again, Carter seemed to materialize, stepping right into her path.
She came to a nervous standstill, tense at having to stop. “What?”
“Chuck has broken three coffee mugs in the last few hours,”
Slayer glanced over Carter’s shoulder at Chuck, the technician hunched over his laptop. He caught her eye and quickly looked away. “Sorry,” he said and for a moment she wasn’t sure if he was apologizing for breaking his coffee mug or for looking her in the eye.
She turned back to Carter, frowning “Okay?”
Carter sighed. “You’re making people nervous.”
“I’m–“ Oh.
She glanced down at herself, between the alien looking staff, the soft leather pants with braided strips up both sides that she thought came from Teyla’s closet, and the tangled mess of her hair, she had something of a queen of the jungle look going on. It was probably more than a little unsettling.
“Sorry,” she said, almost under her breath. “I can’t do nothing, I can’t stand still.”
Carter nodded. “Go get some lunch. If you’re still jittery afterwards I’m sure Teyla would be more than happy to go a round or two in the gym.”
Slayer nodded and turned on her heels.
+
As she was approaching the mess hall a marine dressed in casual fatigues turned into the corridor. She didn’t pay him much mind until they passed one another and his shoulder knocked into hers.
“Sorry.” he said, glancing at her before he continued walking down the corridor. She was four steps past him when something clicked in her brain, the profile of his face, the sound of his voice, a word bubbled up to the surface of her mind, so deep she’d forgotten it was still in there.
She turned around looking after him and said the word into the empty space.
“Graham?”
The marine turned around at the sound. He looked older than she remembered, but he was still so familiar. A head and a half taller than her, barrel chested and broad shouldered with a face like a shovel. But his smile was accommodating and there was a spark in his eye.
“It’s Captain Miller, I’m on duty.” he took a few steps back down the hall, closing the distance between them. “Can I help you ma'am?”
“Grah–Captain. It’s me, it’s–” but she trailed off cause she could see it in his eyes. He didn’t recognize her. She changed tact. “Have you ever been to California?”
He gave her a questioning look but still answered. “Passed through a couple of times, never stayed long. I grew up in Illinois.”
“Never been to a town called Sunnydale?”
“Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“How bout Riley Finn or Forrest… Forrest…” she paused, trying to remember the name. “Gates?” That was it.
Graham’s brow furrowed. “Yeah actually. A couple of guys I went through basic training with. Finn was some military scientist’s kid or something. Gates was...”
“A massive jerk?”
“I was going to say abrasive.”
“But you were never on assignment with them?”
He shook his head. “Haven’t seen them in close to a decade.” He looked at her more closely, puzzled. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
She took a step back, shrugging. “Apparently not. I’m Slayer.”
Then the look of recognition crossed his face. A look she doubted she’d have gotten if she’d told him her name was Buffy. “The new Runner in the city.”
“Yeah.”
“I hope you’re settling in well. Ronon took a while to warm up to the place.”
“You know Ronon?”
He smiled. “Everyone knows Ronon. The Lt. Colonel’s favourite punishment when a marine stepped out of line my first few months here was to send them to Ronon for a training session.”
She smiled, imagining a long line of marines waiting to have their asses handed to them.
He looked at her with what she thought was concern. “Are you alright? You look a little–”
“–lost?” she interrupted him.
“Well yeah.”
She shrugged. “What else is new?” She turned away from him. “Sorry to bother you.”
And she walked away. The encounter with a Graham Miller who didn’t know her was unsettling. An idea was forming in her mind, one she was desperately hoping wasn’t true. She turned away from the mess hall and back towards the science labs. She needed access to an unattended computer terminal.
+
Her fist thudded into the training dummy’s head over and over and over again with vicious force. Just short of enough to send it crashing to the floor. The other people using the gym were giving her a wide berth as she beat on the dummy in a way that didn’t look much like training.
It wasn’t her world.
Her mind kept replaying something Anya had told her a very long time ago.
“The whole world could be different right? That's possible?”
"Sure, alternate realities.”
This wasn’t home; not even close. She thought she’d woken up from the nightmare and was back among her people. That Giles, Dawn, Willow, Xander, would all be waiting for her on the other side of the Ring when she finally had the courage to step through. Ten years late, but she thought she’d come home. She had pictured it in her head, knocking on his door like she had when she was seventeen. He’d be older, wearier, but he’d smile and give her a hug and say “Welcome home Buffy.” in that calming voice that always made her feel like things would be okay.
That was gone.
There would be no reunion with Giles, no seeing Dawn all grown up, no Willow, no Xander, not even Angel or Faith.
That was all gone.
Did this earth even have a Giles? Did it have its own Buffy Summers? A woman whole and unbroken and still able to say her name with pride.
It wasn’t her world, she didn’t have a place on it.
Where did that leave her?
With each of these thoughts she slammed her fist over and over again into the training dummy’s face. Pouring her resentments, her frustration, her grief into the man shaped hunk of rubber.
She was so mired in these thoughts that she didn’t notice someone approaching behind her until they tapped her on the shoulder. She instinctively spun round, swinging at the figure.
But her blow didn’t connect with anything. The person had stepped out of the way even before she’d begun to throw it, knowing it was coming. It was Teyla.
“My apologies for startling you.” she said.
“What do you want?” Slayer growled. She didn’t want to talk with anyone right now. Right now, all she wanted to do was hunt. That old restless energy was imbued into every fiber of her being as it mixed with her rampaging emotions. If she couldn’t go hunting… she really wished Ronon was here.
“Colonel Carter mentioned that you were anxiously pacing the central spire. She thought you may need to blow off some steam.”
Slayer motioned to mats in the room. “You here for a fight?”
Teyla smiled but shook her head. “I would be honoured, but I do not think now is the time. I was wondering if you would like to join me offworld. Dr. Keller is preparing to deliver medical support to my people and her visit coincides with our celebration to herald the new year. I thought perhaps you might appreciate the change of scenery.”
Slayer grabbed her water bottle and sucked down a mouthful, trying to slow her heavy breathing. “What’s this ‘celebration’ involve?”
“I imagine revelry is similar no matter what world you come from. The Feast of Tendol involves sharing food with close friends, singing and dancing, sharing of stories. There is a bonfire set in the middle of our village for the occasion. It has cultural significance but perhaps those details are best left for another time.”
“You’re asking me to a party?”
“Yes.”
Slayer looked back at the training dummy, its head looked deformed and the rubber was starting to crack and splinter. It probably wouldn’t have lasted much longer anyways. “Okay.”
Teyla smiled. “Wonderful.”
+
+
Chapter 9: Dancing
Notes:
Sorry, not a new chapter. The chapter 8 that I posted was excessively long so I decided to split it in two.
Chapter Text
Nine: Dancing
Jennifer stood in the Infirmary looking at a large bag of supplies. She took a step back, stared at it for several seconds before darting across the room to pull a few more packages of one thing and handful more of another from a drawer and stuff them into the bag wherever there was room.
She heard someone approaching behind her as she continued to frantically add supplies.
“Are you ready?” asked Teyla “They're preparing to dial the Ring.”
Jennifer looked up. Teyla was wearing a long black leather coat she usually reserved for diplomatic meetings between the Athosian’s trading partners. “Uh, yeah.” Jennifer said, surveying what she’d compiled so far. “Almost finished.”
She zipped the bag she was working on closed then glanced at Teyla who was looking at an empty bed nearby where a similar bag also stuffed to bursting was sitting.
Jennifer saw the look on Teyla's face and spoke before the other woman had a chance. “I know. I'm terrible at packing. I never know how much to bring.”
“We are only going overnight. I'm sure you have enough.”
Jennifer grabbed another few packets of something from a cabinet and shoved them into a side pocket on one of the bags. “Well, you'd think so, but...” Jennifer trailed off, the countless scenarios of running out of something vital running through her head.
“You seem nervous,” said Teyla.
“Oh, no. I'm fine…” she said, trying to look reassuring. When Teyla continued to look concerned she said “Well, maybe a little. Going offworld is still kinda new to me. Whole other galaxy and meeting new civilisations...”
“My people are very welcoming and they're eager to meet you.”
“Well, I'm eager to meet them too; learn about their culture and their history.”
“A gesture for which they will be most grateful.”
“It's just, I know they were very fond of Carson. I only hope to make half the impression he did.” Dr. Beckett had been tending to the Athosians for three years before Jennifer was assigned to take over after his death. She knew how important it was to build a good rapport with her patients and she really wanted to make a good impression.
As an after thought she ran to a cabinet and pulled out a large plastic container, shoving it roughly into the first bag where she struggled to make it fit.
“What are those?” Teyla asked.
“Oh,” Jennifer smiled, “lollipops–for the kids. Makes the check-ups go easier.”
Teyla smiled too. “You will make a wonderful impression.”
Jennifer nodded, hoping Teyla was right. She was first and foremost a military doctor. She often worried that her bedside manner wasn't very comforting.
+
Jennifer and Teyla walked into the gateroom. Jennifer was lugging the overstuffed bags in her hands and she’d strapped on a medical kit as a backpack just to be certain she had everything she could possibly need.
She looked up towards the control room balcony where Lt. Colonel Sheppard was standing looking down at them.
He looked Teyla up and down and gestured to the leather jacket she was wearing. “Look at you. Hot date?”
“Please.” Teyla rolled her eyes “You will contact us if we’re needed?”
Sheppard smiled. “Oh, we'll be fine. You kids have fun.” he shouted to Jennifer “You're gonna love the Athosians.”
She nodded nervously, her heart was beating fast and she couldn’t tell if it was from excitement or panic. “I'm gonna experience my first Tendol Feast.” She tried to give a winning smile but it came out more like a nervous grimace.
“Oh, those are good, but watch out for the–” He snapped his fingers, looking for the right word. “Uh, what do you call it?” he asked Teyla
“Ruus wine.” she offered.
He nodded. “Ruus wine. Tasty stuff, but hell of a kick.”
“Are we going?” asked a surly voice from Jennifer’s left. She turned suddenly to see Slayer leaning against the wall below the balcony where she was absolutely certain the woman hadn’t been ten seconds ago. Slayer was, like Teyla, dressed largely in black, with a long coat fitted to her form but where it made Teyla look like a dignified leader, on Slayer it looked like military gear. She stood passing the staff weapon Colonel Carter had given her back and forth between her two hands; waiting.
“When did you get there?” Jennifer asked.
Slayer shrugged. “Maybe I’ve always been here.”
“Are you coming with us?”
Slayer glanced over at Teyla. “I was invited. Right?” she asked, directing the last part at Teyla.
Teyla nodded. “I asked her to join us, Dr. Keller. I thought some time out of the city might be good for her.”
Jennifer nodded. “Okay.”
“Is that a problem?” Slayer asked. “Cause I can just go.”
Jennifer shook her head. “No, it’s alright. The more the merrier.”
Despite seeing her regularly for check ups since she’d arrived in the city Jennifer hadn’t been able to get a read on Slayer. The difficulty in getting Ronon to open up was common knowledge on the base but he was nothing compared to how impassive she was. It felt like she treated every question like an attack, looking for a way to deflect, to turn it back. Jennifer was Slayer’s doctor, she wished she was more successful at reaching the woman. Maybe this trip would provide that opportunity.
The Stargate came to life behind them with a whoosh.
“Have fun, kids!” Sheppard shouted from over their heads before the three of them vanished through the wormhole.
+
The moment the Stargate disengaged Sam began the process of removing the underside casing of the control room’s dialing device. They didn’t have any more scheduled dial outs or ins that day and she’d been waiting to do a closer examination of the Atlantis DHD since she’d gotten this command.
“You sure letting her go was the right call?”
Her head popped up from attaching a ‘crystal to wire’ converter between the DHD and a tablet computer to see Colonel Sheppard looking at her, having just said goodbye to Jennifer and Teyla. She turned towards the technician at his station.
“Chuck.”
“Yes Colonel?”
“Take a walk.”
“Yes Colonel.”
When he’d left the area Sam turned to Colonel Sheppard.
“We’re not going to get anywhere with her if we keep treating her like a prisoner. You agreed to remove her marine detail after the incident with Haynes.”
“Cause it was a waste of manpower. She’d lay them out without breaking a sweat if she wanted to.”
She sighed. “Not being followed twenty four seven seems to have improved how comfortable she is in the city. You do want her to stay, don't you?”
“Of course. Do you really think she’ll come back now that she has access to an unrestricted gate?”
“I do. If she wanted to go, she had her chance. I don’t think she’ll run unless we give her a reason. Do you want to be the one to tell her she’s confined to the city? Do you think we could stop her leaving if we wanted to?”
“That’s the problem, she is strong and skilled and she’s almost entirely unchecked.”
“What makes her so different from Ronon? He was here less than two weeks before you were asking Dr. Weir to let him join AR-1.”
“Ronon’s career military.”
“Not Earth military.”
“No, but I get how he thinks. She’s unpredictable. She could be a great asset in the field if she wasn’t such a loose canon.”
“John, you're thinking too far ahead. Let her get comfortable with us first, we can worry about if she’s ready to fight with us another day.”
Carter stuck her head back under the DHD.
“You know we have technicians who could do that for you?” Sheppard said.
“I know,” came Sam’s muffled voice from under the device. “I don’t get to spend as much time in the lab as I used to. I don’t know how General Hammond managed all this paperwork. Pass me the harmonic resonator.”
She held out her hand, after a few seconds when nothing was placed into it she looked up. Colonel Sheppard was staring at her bag of supplies like a deer in headlights. She sighed. Just like at the SGC. “It’s the one with the pointed crystal tip.”
+
The first thing Jennifer noticed when they emerged from the gate was the air. It smelled clean and fresh. The air on Atlantis always had a subtle hint of sea salt to it. It was such a constant that she’d stopped noticing it except by its absence.
The Stargate was embedded in the ground in the middle of a dense forested area. She didn’t see any sign of an encampment.
Teyla, seeing her scanning their surroundings, pointed to their left. “The settlement is through the woods.”
Jennifer nodded. “Lead the way.”
Teyla looked appraisingly at the two large bags clutched in Jennifer’s hands. She held out her hand for one of them. “It is some distance. Let me help you with those.”
Jennifer pulled the bag closer, away from Teyla’s hand. “Oh, no, no. It's okay. I'm the idiot who over-packed; I should be the idiot carrying them.”
“Uh huh.” said Slayer’s voice from her right before a hand hauled one of the bags out of her grasp.
Jennifer looked at Slayer with some amount of appreciation. The bag had been dragging her into the ground and despite being shorter, Slayer held the thing like it was weightless.
“I’d rather carry your bag than you when you twist something trying to haul all that alone.”
Jennifer looked back at Teyla who was still holding out her hand. She grudgingly passed the other bag to Teyla, feeling embarrassed that the other two were having to shoulder the burden of her overabundance of supplies.
Teyla smiled. “This way.”
Jennifer and Slayer fell into step behind Teyla.
“So,” Jennifer said innocently “Sheppard was right, huh? About that hot date tonight?”
Teyla glanced back at her, a grin on her face, but didn't reply.
After twenty minutes of trudging through the woods Jennifer said “I didn't think it would be this far.”
“Has to be,” said Slayer. “People out here don’t have your fancy shield over the Ring. Anything that wants to come through, will. Most often that means Wraith. People need the Ring but staying a good distance away means they’ll have warning before the first darts are on them. Having the Ring in the middle of a city is a luxury people out here can’t afford.”
“Oh,” Jennifer whispered. “I didn’t really think of it like that. In Atlantis and back at the SGC the gate’s always been front and center.”
“Sounds nice. Sounds convenient.”
+
It was another forty minutes of walking before they reached the Athosian settlement. Slayer noticed immediately that this was a devastated people. The roads of the settlements were worn into the ground by foot traffic, not paved or marked in any way. There weren’t many permanent buildings, instead heavy canvas tents were set up at regular intervals. Even for a people that lived nomadically, there weren’t as many tents as a thriving people would need. She doubted there were more than two hundred Athosians left.
She stopped beside Teyla on the edge of the village. “I’m sorry.”
Teyla nodded. “My people have seen hardship these past four years but we will recover.”
“What are you guys talking about?” Dr. Keller was breathing hard, despite carrying the lightest and smallest of the three bags she’d brought. Slayer couldn’t deny that she was skilled with a scalpel but she was clearly not an outdoors person.
“Most people rebuild after a culling. Used to be you could expect decades between them. Enough time to fix your houses.” Slayer motioned at the tents. “People start living like this when building stuff up starts to feel pointless cause the Wraith are just going to knock it down again. If you have advance warning that stuff’s easy to pull down and put somewhere safe before you go into hiding. If you don’t then it’s not that hard to replace. Either way, villages tend to look like this when people start to give up. Stop looking towards the future cause all they can think about is surviving the present.” She looked at Teyla. “You guys have been hit hard and more than once in the past couple of years right?”
Teyla looked away. “Just once. But we lost many in that attack and we’ve had to relocate to two new worlds since then.”
Slayer nodded. “I’m sorry.” It was an all too common story across the worlds she’d traveled. The Wraith were more than happy to cull whatever they needed and then leave the population to recover but when people started putting up a fight the Wraith would salt the earth to make sure all the worlds knew there was no fighting back.
The Athosian were luckier than some, they’d managed to stick together after being driven from their planet. Others weren’t so lucky. Ronon had told her that over three hundred Satedans had survived the destruction of his world but they were scattered to the wind, five on one planet, six on another. They became refugees instead of settlers.
Dr. Keller broke the silence. “Teyla, where should I set up?”
Grateful for the change in subject Teyla said “We have a tent for those purposes.”
Teyla guided the other two women through the network of tents that were set up in the shape of a village. When they had deposited Dr. Keller’s overstuffed bags of supplies in the tent, the doc started unpacking them, preparing the space for the coming checkups.
Teyla turned to Slayer. “I am going to assist Dr. Keller with her work. Having a friendly face present makes the examinations go more smoothly. The Feast begins at sundown, until then you are free to explore the village. Unless you’d also like to help Dr. Keller?”
Slayer glanced between the two women. “Sorry doc, not a fan of hospitals.”
Dr. Keller nodded. “No, it’s alright. It’s not for everyone.”
Slayer exited the tent and began to wander the village. It wasn’t very large, four dozen tents or so arranged in rows. Pathways of packed dirt had formed between them from being walked on so often. The village had been built around what could charitably be called a town square. In the center of which was a circle of stones and a number of men who were erecting a pyre for the night’s bonfire.
She walked closer to the teepee of logs they were building. “First time doing this in a while?” she asked absently, nodding down at the circle of stones which had been laid over a patch of healthy grass. A man with long brown hair and a curly beard looked up from his work and followed her gaze. “It has only been one cycle since we came to this world. This will be our first Tendol Feast since the resettlement.”
“Ah.” was all she said in response.
The man didn’t go back to his work, instead he eyed her suspiciously, his gaze lingering on the staff she was leaning on which compared to her clothing was both alien looking and ornate.
“What are you doing here?” The question was blunt and direct. She supposed that for a people that had seen as much hardship as the Athosians, knowing that a stranger in their village wasn’t a threat was more important than pleasantries.
“I’m here for the feast, I’m Slayer.”
He visibly relaxed. “I am Halling. You are from the City of the Ancestors. The Runner they recently took in?”
“My reputation precedes me.”
“Teyla has mentioned you. We are honored to have a warrior such as yourself attend our celebrations.”
Slayer nodded. Being a fighter had never been something she’d been ‘honored’ for before. It had always been something expected of her.
She pointed at the pyre that was half finished. “Can I help?”
Halling looked back at it. “We would never turn away an extra hand but...” He looked at her critically, eyeing her up and down and she could tell he was calculating how much she could lift.
She rolled her eyes, set her staff down a little ways away and then heaved a long, thick log up, balancing it on her shoulder. “Where do you want it?”
Halling looked appreciatively at her before directing her to where she could place the wood.
Slayer spent the next several hours helping the Athosians prepare for the feast. She helped chop extra wood for the fire, and when that was done, assisted Halling with transporting several barrels of something he called ‘ruus wine’ which he said their brewer Kanaan had made from grapes he’d cultivated back on Lantea in preparation for the feast.
As the sun was beginning to set, Slayer saw two boys in their teens on the other side of the square hovering near where she’d left her staff. The wine barrel she was holding dropped from her hands as she broke into a run. She arrived just in time to snatch the staff out of the boy’s hand as he was fiddling with the trigger panel.
“It’s rude to touch other people’s things without asking.”
The boys both took stumbling steps away from her. “You were all the way over there.” said one of them.
The other mouthed the word ‘Runner’ at his friend.
“And now I’m here. This,” she said, pointing to the staff “is not a toy, it’s a weapon. You’re lucky you didn’t liquify your insides.”
“It can do that?” asked one of the boys.
“Uh huh.”
“Is that how you beat the Wraith when you were running?”
Slayer wasn’t sure whether to grimace or smile at that. He talked about it like her years on the run had been some glorious fight. She ended up with a mixture of the two that came out as a wicked looking smile that caused the two boys to take another step back.
“I never had a blaster. I fought the Wraith off with these.” She pulled from her braid the sleek blue and silver Wraith-made knife she’d taken from them so long ago. The deadly looking blade was clearly made for cutting flesh.
The knife seemed to draw them in as one of them asked. “Wouldn’t a blaster be easier?”
Easier.
He really couldn’t conceive of what being a Runner was like. To people like the Athosians it was a legend. Warriors so great the Wraith hunted them out of fear.
Instead of trying to explain what the boy was missing she just said. “But not as much fun.”
“How many Wraith have you killed?”
Before she had to answer that question Halling appeared beside them. “How many times have I told you not to touch things you don’t understand?” He turned to Slayer. “I am sorry, this is my son Jinto and his friend Wex. And they are” he turned back to look at them “far too curious for their own good. Go, the feast will be starting soon.”
When they had run off Slayer said “They seem like sweet kids.”
Halling shook his head “They will be the death of me.”
Slayer smiled. “I had a little sister like that. Always found a way to get herself into trouble.” she glanced back at where they’d been working. “Is the wine I dropped alright?”
Halling shrugged. “A broken seal, not much was lost. That cask will be the first we use tonight.”
“Anything else I can help with?”
“Our preparations are nearly finished. If you would not mind finding Teyla, the ceremony is about to begin.”
Slayer nodded and walked back towards the medical tent. When she arrived Dr. Keller was just finishing up with one of the Athosian children.
“Here you go.” she said, handing a sucker to the child. The kid ran past Slayer as she entered the tent.
“Teyla,” she said. “Halling says the ceremony is about to begin.”
Teyla nodded and took from a shelf in the tent two large thick blankets. She handed one to Dr. Keller and offered the other to Slayer. “Trust me, you will want them.”
When they returned to the square Teyla broke away from them to go speak with Halling.
The square was slowly transforming from a staging area to festival grounds. Many Athosians were gathering together, spreading blankets on the ground surrounding the pyre and sitting down in groups of fours and fives. She noticed that they gave the pyre itself a ten foot birth creating a circular ring around it.
Slayer glanced at Dr. Keller who shrugged. “When in Rome…”
They spread their own blankets out on the ground and sat down.
After twenty minutes the square was filled with Teyla’s people and the ground covered in so many blankets and in some cases chairs for the elderly that the ground was hardly visible. It made the berth that had been given to the pyre look l‘Runner’ike a stage, a great circle in the center where everyone’s attention resided.
“Are you okay?”
Slayer glanced beside her, meeting Dr. Keller’s eyes. “Yeah. Why?”
Dr. Keller’s eyes flicked up and down over Slayer’s body. “You’re kind of tense.”
She hadn’t even noticed it till the doc pointed it out. Her spine was wound tight, her muscles were stiff, and her right hand was balled into a fist.
She took a deep breath and forced her arms to go limp.
“I’m fine. I’m just–” she looked around at the growing crowd. “This is a lot of people here at once.”
Dr. Keller reached out tentatively and put her hand over Slayer’s. “Do you wanna go? I’m sure Teyla wouldn’t mind if you need to step out.”
“No, it’s–it’s fine. I’m fine.”
She looked around, her eyes scanning the crowd. Some groups were obviously families but dotted here and there were outsiders like her. People who obviously came from other worlds. Trading partners and friends of the Athosians no doubt.
Seeing so many disparate groups reminded her bizarrely of the minis. The Babylonian mess of languages and customs and ideas that caused culture clash after culture clash in the last days of Sunnydale and those that followed, when ‘Slayer’ didn’t mean she was alone.
Christmas. The first Christmas after Sunnydale had been an ordeal. Willow, Jewish. Kennedy, an atheist. The rest of the Scoobies, Consumer Americans. Mei, who was Chinese and only knew Christmas from movies. Leyla and Aida, both Muslim. Tamara and Nadia, Russian Orthodox.
The German girl who insisted Christmas was on the twenty fourth, the Americans counted on the twenty fifth, Willow looking for a place for her Menorah. A dozen different customs and a dozen more curious bystanders and she felt frazzled and small and outside of it all.
She wondered how they celebrated Christmas back on Atlantis, if they did at all. She almost turned to Dr. Keller to ask but stopped herself. She didn’t have the energy to explain why she knew what Christmas was, if they even knew what Christmas was. Maybe they didn’t have Christmas on this Earth.
She pushed the thought away. She didn’t want to think about it, she just wanted to bask in the firelight and pretend she was normal for an evening.
She wondered if the disjoint she felt was ever going to end.
She surprised herself by realizing she wanted it to.
When it seemed like the square could hold no more people Teyla stepped into the ring around the bonfire and the crowd fell silent.
“My friends, my family, my people.” she said, her voice carrying over the crowd. “We celebrate today the end of another year. This year has not been easy, we have faced hardship and we have weathered it. We have survived, but not all those that began this year with us are here to see it finished. Today we honor those we have lost, but we also celebrate the new lives that have been born into our community since our last Feast.”
She began to list off the names of the Athosians who’d died in the last year and then those that had been born. The list of the dead was a lot longer than that of the new borns. When she had finished reading the names, Teyla said “We light this fire as a pyre for those we have lost and as a beacon of hope for those we have gained. We will never forget the fallen but we must not forget that we are still alive. That is worth celebrating. Let us bring in the new year with light.”
She held out a small device that looked like a lighter. It emitted a red laser that shone into the heart of the pyre. Moments later the smallest branches began to burn. Teyla pocketed the device, and the crowd cheered as the fire spread until the pyre had become a raging bonfire.
Slayer leaned over to Dr. Keller. “Is that fire-starter from Atlantis?”
Dr. Keller looked over at her. “I don’t think so. The Athosians are a lot more technically skilled than they look. They don’t allow themselves wide scale advancement. Teyla says it draws the Wraith’s attention but they seem to have a lot of quiet conveniences like that.”
Once the bonfire had reached full height music began to play on instruments alien to earth but ones Slayer had seen many times on her endless race. People began picking partners out of the crowd. Many men asked the women but just as many women asked the men and Slayer even saw some women and men ask other women and men to dance. The square began to fill with couples moving to the beat of the music.
She watched as the center square filled with dancing couples. Every couple of minutes at the signal of the music the couples would break apart, the crowd forming into a rough circle in which people clutched one another by the arms, ferrying the one in front of them behind and grabbing hold of the next person in the line. It seemed to be some sort of roughly organized game as people tried to time the music to end up with the partners they wanted but she saw the organization very quickly and almost intentionally broke down. The lines of the circle broke into separate links as people cut corners in an effort to reach the partner they wished.
Some were very strategic about the way they moved through the crowd, making deliberate choices in the effort to end up with their desired dance partner before the music changed, while others simply let themselves be moved by the current of people, not seeming to care about who they ended up with.
Amongst them Slayer saw Teyla dancing with a man with short cropped black hair and a neatly trimmed beard. They looked very comfortable with one another and Slayer imagined she’d have something to tell Sheppard about Teyla’s ‘hot date’ when they were back on Atlantis.
“Slayer, would you care to dance.”
She looked up, it was Halling.
“I–I don’t know the steps.”
He smiled. “It is a celebration as much as it is a ritual. The only expectation is that you enjoy yourself.”
“Go on,” said Dr. Keller from next to her. “Have some fun.”
She relented. “Alright. For a little while.”
She took Halling’s hand and he pulled her to her feet. She put her other hand on his shoulder, he put his on her waist and they began to dance.
She soon learned that there were very few rules to Athosian dancing. The songs the musicians were playing blended one into the next and the dancers matched their beat but no two couples were dancing the same way.
The rhythm was slow right now and she took comfort in the motions of swaying side to side.
“When the music becomes frantic we all break apart and join into a large circle. We pass from one person to the next like links in a chain. If you would like, you can try to get back to me or another partner if you so choose.”
She nodded. “Doesn’t seem like the circle stays a circle for very long.”
Halling smiled. “It is meant to symbolize how you may struggle to reach your destination in life only to be buffeted and end up somewhere you had not intended, or realize that what you had sought is not what you truly wanted. In the dance, as in life, your journey towards your goal is made chaotic by others attempting to do the same.”
“It keeps the dance interesting.”
“We would not do it if it didn’t add to the enjoyment of the evening.”
Slayer smiled. This was good. It was nice. She felt... at peace.
When the music shifted she joined the circle, a multitude of Athosians trying to regulate how fast they moved through the people in front of them so they’d end up at their desired partner. She saw Halling move around the circle opposite her but she felt content and had no desire to push herself. So she simply let the crowd move her from one to the next until finally the circle broke apart.
The hand that was in hers was Jennifer Keller’s.
“Hey doc.”
“Hey Slayer.”
Her hair was windswept and Slayer could smell the Athosian wine on her breath.
“Enjoying yourself?”
She smiled unabashedly. “Yup. There was a pretty girl who asked me to dance.” She looked around, her eyes a bit uncoordinated. “She’s around here somewhere. I should find her again.”
She took a step away from Slayer and almost immediately stumbled. Slayer caught her and pulled her back to her feet.
“Whoa there.”
“You’re strong.” she mumbled.
“How much have you had to drink?”
“Oh just a wineskin… and a half.”
“Sheppard says that stuff packs a punch.”
“You didn’t have any?”
“I–less self control isn’t a good look on me.”
“You don’t talk to people. You’re so far from home but you never mention it. You never ask to go back.”
Slayer stiffened. Was that just the doc’s drunken ramblings or did she know something?
“You’re drunk.” she said, pulling Keller’s arm over her shoulder so the woman could lean on her. “Tell you what, why don’t we go find that pretty girl you were dancing with.”
Keller nodded. “Alright…”
After ten minutes of checking through dancing couples they found the woman that had asked Keller to dance. She had a new partner but quickly dropped her when she saw Slayer helping Keller towards them. She was as Keller had said, pretty with olive skin and brown curly hair.
“Anika…” Keller said contentedly.
“Jennifer.” she said, taking her from Slayer’s arms. “I should have warned you how potent the ruus wine is. Come on, let’s go get you some water.”
As Anika led Keller away she turned back towards Slayer and mouthed ‘Thank you.’ at her.
Slayer gave her nod in a ‘don’t mention it’ kind of way and turned to find Teyla. But as she did so someone knocked into her from behind and she stumbled. Instinctively her body pulled in a breath, to steady her to remind her she wasn’t in danger. But she’d stumbled towards the bonfire and that breath brought with it a lungful of smoke.
She started coughing, her eyes fixed on the fire. Flames danced in her vision, burning spots into her sight.
It burned.
She knew how easily it could burn her, embers catching in her flesh wriggling into her skin light maggots eating away at her. The smoke was almost worse than the burning, her eyes stung with it and it choked the breath from her lungs so she couldn’t see straight, couldn’t escape.
They’d tried to burn her before, those townspeople with their torches and screams of “Wraith-Bringer!” She could hear it now, those voices, those shoulds, and she didn’t know if they were in her head or thundering around her. All she knew was they were a threat. They wanted to hurt her.
She looked all around her and all she could see was bodies, bodies pressing in on her, restraining her, preventing her escape. Fire was reflected in their eyes, angry and red and there was noise all around her. She tell if they were the delightful cacophony of a party or the cries of a mob. It was all just thunder and noise and she needed to escape.
The torches and the weapons would come out, and then they’d hunt her just as ruthlessly as the Wraith. They’d make her as much of a victim as she was on that day when they’d laughed at her mockingly and cleared the way to the Ring for her. “Run, make it fun for us.”
She had to run.
There was no other choice. She was Runner, to stop meant death.
She’d always known that so why wasn’t she moving? Why had she thought it was okay to stand still?
She clawed her way through the crowd, carving a way out as she knocked people aside.
They didn’t move to stop her and she was glad.
She didn’t like it when she had to hurt humans, bones crunching under her grip.
Distance to the Ring, new addresses, safe places to hide, traps she could put between her and her pursuers. These were all in her mind but everything felt battle hazed, the blood pounding in her ears blotting out every survival strategy in her blind panic.
Where was Willow? Her trusted friend was supposed to take over when her brain couldn’t handle it anymore. It was supposed to show her maps and topography, mark the Ring and calculate her next destination. She needed it to do that when she couldn’t remember what planet she was on, or which way to go.
By some miracle she reached the Ring. Her feet retracing familiar footsteps that her mind couldn’t recall. Her hands started entering a new destination, Athos was safe. The Wraith had burned it years ago and the inhabitants had fled. Pieces of their old camps remained and it contained an ancient city where she could hide, where she could scavenge as long as she didn’t go too deep.
Why was Athos in her head? She hadn’t thought about that place in years, not she’d heard it had burned. She couldn’t take seeing another settlement reduced to cinders by the Wraith.
Seven symbols.
She knew the six, could enter them without looking, which was good because her vision was dark, everything was dark except the bright glow of the dialing device’s central crystal.
Where was the seventh symbol?
The ever changing design that seemed to designate the planet where that particular Ring stood. Where was it?
She couldn’t see past the blue light of that central orb
Her fingers hit: one, two, three, four, five, six over and over and over again.
Taking the seventh at random, and hitting the main button but the Ring just moaned its complaint that she was doing it wrong.
Why didn’t she know the seventh symbol? Why couldn’t she find it?
Where was Willow?
Her best friend with her red hair and crooked smile was supposed to help her now, take her hand, her wrist glowing gently, and guide her to the origin point that her addled brain couldn’t find. There was a piece missing, that hand wasn’t tied around her wrist. It was gone, had been taken from her.
She was alone.
Slayer didn’t know how long she stood there, furiously entering those same six symbols and a seventh at random into the dialing device. Surely it was long enough for them to find her, to take her, to stab her, to burn her, to hurt her. To scream Wraith-bringer as they spat on her.
The only measure of time she had was the frantic bump bump, as her heart beat wildly. Everything was dark, an eternal void stretching out in front of her. The only thing that existed was the light of the dialing device and its refusal to open the Ring for her.
She needed to run, she knew it with every fiber of her being. But she didn’t know how. The Ring was her constant ally, her way out of every dire situation. It had turned on her, tearing from her her only means of escape and leaving her with nothing but the wild pounding of her heart and it threatened to rip through her chest. Her breaths came like knives, scoring her insides as they racked down her throat.
“Slayer?”
She heard the voice. Felt a hand gently touched her shoulder and she grabbed it, holding onto it like it was her last lifeline. It was something solid in the darkness that enveloped her.
“Teyla?” she asked into the void.
That was safe. Her brain kept drumming it into her, the constant reminder that Teyla was safe. But she didn’t know why and she wasn’t even sure that she cared because all she wanted right now was safe and warm and quiet.
“I am here,” the voice said, “What do you need?”
“Sit with me.” She managed, as her knees buckled from beneath her and she collapsed to the dirt, she felt someone sit next to her.
“Can I touch you?” the voice asks.
“Hold me,” she whispered. “Please.”
Begging. And she hated herself for that. She walked in the world of vampires and demons and gods and she didn’t bow, she didn’t break . The forces of darkness cowered at her name. She was the slayer.
And here she was begging to be held.
She could feel Teyla’s heartbeat through her clothing, it was elevated, she must have run to find Slayer. But it was steady, the rythme constant and even. So far away from the erratic pounding of her own.
There were steps after this, she’d practiced them with Ronon. What was the next one? How did she make the darkness go away?
“Breathe,” Teyla whispered, “In. And then out. In. Out.”
Slayer tried to measure her breathing, tried to match it with Teyla’s calm even breaths, tried to steady her heart before it tore her apart.
“Inhale, and then slowly exhale, allow each breath to cleanse you, to restore your body and spirit.”
Teyla’s words were something real for her to cling onto, something simple and small and within her power. All she had to do was breathe.
It felt wonderful, the gentle in and out of her breath. Though they felt raspy in her throat, they felt clean and real.
She sat there, with Teyla guiding the air in and out of her lungs. She didn’t know for how long, Teyla’s words turned into white noise as she followed each instruction, as she took each long slow breath.
With each one it faded. The darkness first, her vision brightening till she could see the brilliant stars above her, impossibly vast and brilliant the way they never could at home. The other things left her too, in their turn. The fear and the terror calmed. The uncertainty diminished. It all faded away.
All she was left with was a shaky tremor that seemed to go right down to her bones.
She pulled herself out of Teyla’s grasp and Teyla let her go without saying a word.
“I think–I think I’m okay.”
But she didn’t attempt to stand up, she just kept sitting there staring into the darkness with her back pressed against the dialing device and Teyla by her side.
The darkness that pressed at her eyes now was the normal kind, a dim night lit by starlight. The gifts of the Slayer meant it was as clear as if it had been day. This was after all, the hunting round she’d been designed to prowl.
Teyla stayed sitting with her. “Has this happened before?”
She shrugged. “A couple times.”
“Since you stopped running?”
“I think so… I don’t know.”
The first time she really remembered it happening had been two weeks ago. She’d been close to Ronon’s quarters, had managed to reach him in her stupor. He’d held her, reminded her where she was, that she was safe.
That panic, that terror, that uncertainty, it all came from a real place. It came from that ten year run that had barely afforded her the chance to rest. Had it happened before that? Certainly she’d fought in panic and terror. Certainly she’d run from pursuers driven only by instinct and the soft beating of Willow’s readings. But that was normal while she was running. Right?
“How do you normally deal with it?”
“Ronon’s been there, he helps walk me through it. Or it passes on its own.”
“Do you know what caused it?”
“Never the same,” Slayer said with a shake of her head. “Trapped, hunted, danger, it’s all a mess up here.” She tapped her forehead. “Ronon calls it ‘battle brain’. I got war stuck in my head.”
Teyla smiled, “I’m not sure Ronon is the best person to give advice on traumas of the past. He has many of his own that he does not address.”
Slayer shot her a mulish look that didn’t quite have the ferocity she could usually summon to her glare. “He’s dealing just fine.”
Teyla nodded slowly. “But he is dealing alone, his problems are, to him, his own. He does not allow others access to them. Though I suspect,” she said with a slight twinkle in her eye, “you may be the exception.”
“So… he’s private, he’s fine .”
Teyla held up her hands. “I did not mean any harm. I simply wanted to illustrate that community can often be a boon to processing what you’ve been through. Slayer, you don’t have to go through this alone. We’re here for you, if you’ll let us be.”
Slayer stared off into the distance in the direction of the town where no doubt the Athosians were still dancing around the bonfire.
“Community…” she said slightly dazedly. “I’m sorry. I took you away from yours, from the party.”
Teyla waved away the apology. “No matter, Tendol lasts for much of the night and even if it didn’t, your wellbeing is far more important.”
“I’m okay to go back. It’s passed. I’m fine now.”
“Are you sure? We have a tent set up for those that have been overwhelmed by the festivities to take a break should they need it. You can rest there if you like.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m okay. Long as I don’t have to do any more dancing.”
“I believe the dance has finished for the night. We’ve been absent for some time.”
“How long?”
“An hour, perhaps more.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You were in need, and,” she added with a grin, “I did not miss the important dance.”
“So I saw,” said Slayer with a sly smile.
Teyla seemed heartened by her playful tone and though she didn’t respond, a bashful smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
When they returned to the town square, Halling was standing alone in the circle around the bonfire telling a story about a great hurricane that had befallen the Athosians on Lantea two years previous.
“When the dancing is done the elders and leaders of our people take turns sharing stories and legends from our history. It is how we keep it fresh in the minds of our people.” Teyla explained as she guided Slayer back to the blankets where Dr. Keller was waiting anxiously.
“Are you alright?” she asked. She seemed to have sobered up considerably in the hours that Slayer was gone.
“No,” Slayer said, “But I’m okay.”
Halling’s story wrapped up and as it did so Teyla stood. “I have my own tales to share, will you be alright here?”
“Yeah, go.”
Teyla nodded and took her place in the center of the square. Standing before the fire, her face bathed in its glow, she told the story of the Fall of Emege. It was a great city the Ancestors had built on Athos, defended by a shield of stars the Wraith could not penetrate. But then the Ancestors went away, leaving behind the Athosians and when the field of stars fell, there was no one to restore it.
When she was finished she sat back down next to Slayer and someone else stood to take the stage. They told the story of Arda, the first leader of the Athosians who led them after the Ancestors departed.
After the tale of Arda came others, stories told by elders and guardians and guides of the village. Stories that informed the way the Athosians saw the world. Slayer smiled, it was beautiful.
She continued to watch until the next story ended and as the silence between tales fell, Teyla tapped her on the shoulder.
“Would you like to share?”
Slayer blinked, like a deer in headlights. “I–I don’t know your people’s stories.”
“Then tell us one of yours. Tendol is for sharing. We share our history so that the young ones may learn it and those of us that are older do not forget but we welcome outsiders and the tales they tell. Each one provides us with a perspective of the galaxy we might otherwise never consider.”
“I’m not–I don’t know… Most of my stories aren’t pleasant.”
“Neither are many of ours. They are no less important. If you do not wish to share I will not pressure you but you may find it helps.”
Slayer thought about it for a moment then said, “Okay.”
The bonfire had died down to a mass of logs glowing with embers and soft flames licking them from below, more like a hearth than pyre. Standing it at her back and all the Athosians looking on at her she wasn’t sure how to start. She knew what story she wanted to tell, one of the ones from before her endless race to nowhere. When she still had to fight but she had friends and family surrounding her, never letting her fight alone. She supposed it was a story of community.
“This story starts with a dream, a warning of things to come. In it I watched the sun go out and my-my village was deserted. I was drawn to the sound of a little girl singing to herself as she played a children’s game.”
Slayer began to sing that song she’d heard in a dream so many years ago. So many things had faded from her memory as she ran, the shapes of faces she’d never see again, the sounds of voices lost to her, even her own name sometimes, but that song had burned itself into her mind. Like the ones she used to sing as a child.
“Can’t even shout,
can’t even cry.
The Gentlemen are coming by.
Looking in windows,
knocking on doors.
They need to take seven,
and they might take yours.
Can’t call to Mom,
can’t say a word.
You’re going to die screaming
but you won’t be heard.”
And she told the story of the Gentlemen, monsters that robbed everyone in her hometown of their voices so that no one could scream for help. The details changed. The Athosians wouldn’t understand normal things about Earth or even some of the fantastical things like the hellmouth so instead the Gentlemen came through the Ring, attacking the village she’d grown up in.
She made no mention of university or any of that stuff, choosing to focus on the monsters and the friends by her side who helped her fight them. Much of the magic stayed because on this world, like many in the Pegasus Galaxy, technology and superstition were indistinguishable. In the end she released everyone’s captured voices and with one pure human scream, the Gentlemen fell where they stood.
When she had finished Dr. Keller started clapping loudly but the sound echoed in the silence and she stopped quickly. Applause was an Earth custom, the Athosians preferred a form of quiet reverence.
Teyla stood up, and approached her. They bowed their heads till their foreheads touched and Teyla placed her hands on Slayer’s shoulders in a gesture of gratitude. “Thank you for your story, it was quite unique.”
Slayer returned to the blankets where Dr. Keller was sitting. There seemed to be some unspoken understanding that the celebration had ended because many of the Athosians were gathering their things and leaving the square.
Teyla joined them a few minutes later and when she did Slayer asked. “So what now?”
“The ceremonies of Tendol are over but that is not necessarily the end. Many, particularly those with children to consider, will retire for the night but many others will stay, reconnect with old friends and make new ones till late into the night. Some may even fall asleep under the stars.”
Slayer lay back on the blanket with her arms behind her head, staring up at the starry sky above. She could see three moons and it made her miss the sky of Earth, of home.
“Slayer?” asked Dr. Keller.
“Yeah?”
“Was that story you told true?”
Slayer continued to look up at the sky as she answered. “Some of it. Bunch of the details changed. Lost in translation type stuff. I left out the guy I was dating at the time, but he wasn’t really relevant.”
“But the monsters? The ‘Gentlemen’ ?”
“Yeah, they were real. Galaxy is a pretty weird place sometimes.”
“I’m sorry. It sounds like you had it rough growing up.”
“Yeah,” and then, so she wouldn’t have to answer more questions on the subject she sat up and said. “So Teyla, I saw you dancing with a good looking guy out there.”
“I danced with many people tonight. Of whom are you referring?” she replied coyly.
“Oh come on.” Said Dr. Keller joining in. “Black hair, red scarf.”
“Kanaan. His name is Kanaan.”
The name stirred something from earlier that night. “The brewer?”
Teyla looked surprised. “Yes. I wasn’t aware you knew him.”
“I don’t. Halling mentioned he’d made the wine for this evening.”
“To Kanaan.” said Dr. Keller, downing the dwindling contents of her wine skin. “And his wonderful wine,” she was starting to sound drunk again.
“So?” asked Slayer.
“So... what?” Teyla asked.
“The details. Who is this guy? Where did you meet? Come on, spill.”
Teyla smiled. “We grew up together. We both possess the power to sense the Wraith’s approach.”
“You’re Kindred?” Slayer asked, interrupting. Her hand clasped over her mouth the moment word left her tongue. There was insult in the name but Slayer had never heard another word to describe those that knew the Wraith were approaching before they arrived.
“Yes, I suppose.” Teyla said slowly, “I have heard that word used for us on some worlds. Not in a very pleasant manner most of the time.”
“Why?” asked Dr. Keller from her position lying down.
Teyla and Slayer shared a look.
Finally Teyla said, “Some call us Wraith-kin. There is a belief on some worlds that we are connected to the Wraith, that our ability to sense their approach means we will eventually become like them. Those that wish to be subtle with their insult instead call us Kindred.”
Slayer nodded. “It’s about as bad as being called Wraith-Bringer.” The two women shared a lingering look, some understanding of what it was like to be in any way linked to the Wraith in the Pegasus Galaxy.
Slayer broke the silence. “You grew up together, you’re both… sensitive.” she prompted.
“It set us apart from the other children. We grew close.”
“But this is a recent thing?”
“It is. Kanaan’s wife Tre died in the last culling of Athos three years ago. We have been growing close since then.”
Dr. Keller interrupted. “So you’re his rebound?”
Teyla’s brow furrowed. “I have heard Colonel Sheppard use this word, it is always in the negative. I do not understand why it must be so. In our culture, two people being sworn together is rarely ever a permanent arrangement. Life is often fleeting and so we embrace it as it is happening, knowing that it will not last. Kanaan and are a comfort to one another. That is enough.”
“Well,” Slayer said with a sly smile. “Comfort can sometimes turn into more.”
“Is that how you and Ronon started?” asked Teyla.
“He never told you how we met?”
“Said you met in a bar when I asked him,” interjected Dr. Keller from her position sprawled across one of the blankets.
Slayer smiled. “Sounds about right. I bought him a drink, asked him back to my room. Rest is history.”
“Whoof, you move fast.”
Slayer shrugged. “Don’t have another speed. At least not in those days. We were both running for our lives. Not exactly a great position for candlelight dinners and romantic walks on the beach. We took what we could get when we could get it.”
“And then you started running together?” asked Dr. Keller. Her eyes were far away and she sounded wistful.
“Don’t do that.” she said.
“What?”
“Make it sound like some romantic adventure. We barely survived.”
“Sorry.”
“And no, we didn’t start running together. We barely kept ahead of the single bands of hunters, neither of us could handle them doubling their numbers, even together.”
“I presume you kept in contact?” said Teyla.
“Yeah, sorta. We met up twice a year. Stayed together long as we could manage and then went our separate ways again. We managed nine weeks once, another time we couldn’t even stay together for a full hour but those meetings were the highlight of my year. They were…”
“Comfort,” Teyla finished her thought for her.
“Having him there, it made me feel human again. I remember this one day he painted me this giant mural on the wall of the cave we were sleeping in. Spent the entire night on it so I’d have something beautiful to wake up to.”
“Wait, waitwaitwait.” said Dr. Keller, her words blurring together. “Ronon… paints?”
Slayer nodded. “You didn’t know? His mom was some big artist back on Sateda. That painting Ronon has in his room is one of hers. She was commissioned to make it by the military to commemorate some big victory against the Wraith as a way of boosting morale.”
“Ronon’s an artist?” Dr. Keller said in disbelief as she flopped onto one side.
“Yeah, bunch of different types. Painting, drawing, carving. That grip on his blaster he wove himself from Wraith hair. I think he even tried his hand at poetry a couple times. I don’t know how much he still does it though.” Running pounded that kind of thing out of people. The more she ran, the more she lost those things that weren't immediately necessary for survival. It kept her alive but it didn’t leave her much to live for.
Not wanting to dwell on it she said “What about you Dr. Keller? Someone special waiting for you?”
“I–” Dr. Keller started and then fell silent, her muscles tensing. The jovial atmosphere seemed to thicken, becoming a stiff and awkward silence.
Teyla looked at the doctor appraisingly. “This is one of those relationships your military does not permit you to speak on.”
“I–” Dr. Keller started again, not looking at either of them. “Yeah.”
“Come again?” Slayer asked.
There was a quiet moment in which Dr. Keller said nothing; instead Teyla spoke. “On their world, their leaders have certain ideas about what types of relationships are appropriate for those that serve as their warriors. They do not feel the need to inquire about such relationships that do not fit these ideals unless presented with evidence of it. Therefore those that do not conform must keep their partners secret or find another vocation.”
Teyla’s tone contained a quiet and measured but no less evident amount of disgust.
It took Slayer a moment to parse out precisely what Teyla was talking about. On her Earth that particular military policy had a name. “Oooooh,” she said, drawing out the word with a playful smile. “So who’s the lucky girl?”
“Um, she’s–” Dr. Keller still looked awkward, unsure how to vocalize something she’d evidently become very adept at not talking about.
Teyla passed her a full wine skin. “Do not worry Dr. Keller, you have my word that no one on Atlantis will hear anything you say here tonight.”
Dr. Keller the wineskin but didn’t drink. “You don’t care?” Her gaze went past Teyla, looking directly at Slayer.
Slayer shrugged. “I don’t care. I got a lot of… comfort while I was running. Some of them were girls. On the whole, doesn’t really much matter to me, long as they’re kind.”
Dr. Keller nodded, apparently reassured she took a long swig of the ruus wine before she started speaking. “Her name is Alicia.” Her face lit up just saying the woman’s name. “She’s a member of an offworld team, SG-21, back on Earth. Since I got assigned to Atlantis last year we’ve been trying a long distance thing. It’s not the easiest arrangement but she’s funny, and she’s cute, and she’s so much more outgoing than I am.”
Slayer smiled. “You pass notes?”
Dr. Keller nodded. “Rodney lets me put encrypted letters to her in the monthly databurst back to Earth. Alicia has a guy at the SGC, Dr. Lee, do the same for her. Rodney knows what they are but he pretends he doesn’t. He knows what it’s like dating in the military. I think Dr. Lee thinks they’re communiqués about a top secret project being run out of Atlantis and he’s supposed to deny ever seeing them if anyone asks.”
She took it all in, feeling for the sliver of anxiety down her spine at all the noise and the people and the things happening behind her, out of her sight, and it was there, the fear, the need to be on guard, to protect herself at a seconds notice, but it wasn’t the only thing. She felt in control of herself. She was more than just a raw ball of gut reactions and death. She was her.
Amusement, exasperation, the gentle, giddy feeling of making new friends; of having fun . She felt all of it. It felt good. She met Teyla’s gaze with her own and she smiled, just a twist of the corner of her mouth but still a genuine smile. It tugged at her face like her muscles had forgotten the steps.
She let out a long, low exhale before she said, “Buffy,” into the still, cool air of the night.
“What?” Dr. Keller asked from her place splayed out along the ground.
“My name,” she said after a long pause, “before all this, was Buffy Summers.”
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