Ronon Dex

Mailbox

Ronon was being followed. It wasn't his years of tracking that allowed him to realise this because his tail was being entirely obvious. It was someone he didn't know and they were short, winged and ill tempered. The messenger - as he claimed to be had been following Ronon all the way from the compound to New Atlantis insisting he had a message for Ronon.

"Don't want it." Ronon told them and lengthened his stride which the messenger was hard pressed to keep up with. It was heart shaped. Ronon wanted no part of whatever island trick this was - he was getting married in less than a week.

The messenger did not give up though and he tackled Ronon waving the valentine determinedly. Or rather he tackled Ronon's leg. Ronon shook the surly cupid free and told him. "Go away."

When it launched at him again he felt entirely justified in pulling his gun and stunning the chubby winged pest. It would have made for a more peaceful journey to New Atlantis - if he hadn't been nearly there already.

Ronon had never cared for Christmas on Atlantis. He didn't mind it - but it had always seemed pointless to have a winter feast that celebrated winter on a planet a galaxy away. Some of the food had been interesting though.

On the island there was winter for the winter feast. It was the one time of year the weather changed. It reminded Ronon strongly of his arrival and the thought that he had been here a year now was not a comforting one. But if there was one thing he did appreciate it was the change in his and Jennifer's relationship.

On Christmas morning he slipped into her transformed home - earning himself a yowl from Socks and a muffled whine from the dog she'd inherited from Carson. He put the wrapped painting at the foot of her bed and leaned down to kiss her awake while Socks persisted into trying to climb him.

It had been on Ronon's mind for a while. There were plenty of children on the island and most of them it seemed had been born here.

The recent disappearances had reminded Ronon of how uncertain life was on the island. And though some - Vala for instance had remained long enough to give birth he could not help but think of Teyla and the fact that she had not. Even if she had - that was no guarantee either.

Being safe wasn't a concern for him and Jennifer yet - but Ronon saw that it could be, hoped it would be though he was content to take things slowly. It was still something that should be dealt with before they got that far.

It was probably the only occasion on island that Ronon had considered going to another doctor for. But not for long - it wasn't as if he wouldn't tell Jennifer that he was on the tablets that were the island form of birth control so why trouble another doctor.

He headed up to the clinic when he knew she had a shift, wondering if he would catch her knitting or trying to find some other way of keeping busy when it was so quiet.

The snow continued to fall, the fire continued to burn and Socks was content to snooze in front of the fire until Ronon prepared a little dried meat, fresh fruit and water - well Socks just ate meat and Ronon suspected that fruit might end up being in short supply if the snow kept up for long and the island didn't change to match it. But if that was the case fruit wouldn't be the best diet for this sort of weather. Jennifer had gone to sleep first despite her claims that she wasn't boring him - he'd covered her over with a fur and shifted her into a more comfortable position. He'd banked the fire to be safer but low burning and then laid down beside her. He hadn't meant to go to sleep - he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept beside anyone. Well he could remember - but he tried not to.

Ronon just meant to rest but the warmth from the fire and the lull of the wind outside had allowed to drift eventually startling awake when Jennifer moved beside him in her sleep. When she did wake up, he was prompted awake by her movement and reached for a weapon before he remembered where he was, he hadn't pulled the knife out of the sheath though he had stiffened onto the alert and he shifted awkwardly relaxing his grip on the knife hilt. "Hey," he said. "Sleep well?"

Ronon kept his eyes open on the island the same as any new planet even though he'd been her some time now. It wasn't like any other world he'd ever been too and not just because he couldn't leave.

It was his observation that had found him at the previously ignored bookcase in the compound. He'd just been passing through after walking up with Jennifer when she had a clinic shift. It had caught his eye because of something familar. A flash of a Satedan glyph. Investigating - snatching the thing off the shelf had revealed a book of Satedan war poems. One Ronon knew well - he'd drunkenly recited the entirety of one of the sagas after to equally drunken crowd after his first successful off world mission as a Specialist.

It was one of the books that he had brought to Atlantis when he had scavenged what was left of Sateda. He had not expected that the bookshelf - however strange it was would give him books from a dead world and even though he knew most of it by rote - he sat down to read it anyway.

It was cooler on the island at night but Ronon wasn't sleeping. He was used enough to the quiet sounds of New Atlantis at night that he could have been. It took next to nothing to wake him, but there weren't many places he couldn't sleep.

He could hear Sheppard being restless from a hut away - not that it was entirely unfamiliar to him anyway. He gave it a while and shifted out of the makeshift bed in his new hut when it was obvious it was going to continue. Not if Ronon could help it.

"Sheppard," he said leaning against the door of John's hut. "Come on out, I can hear you're awake." If Ronon had to take John jogging at night to tire him out enough to sleep - then he would. But there were other alternatives.

Though Ronon had not especially been looking forward to the party or a New Year that involved being stuck here, he had not envisaged it would end like this. After watching Jennifer drench herself in champagne, he had seen confirmation of the custom Vala had told him about and when looking for Jennifer - just in case he'd come across her and John Sheppard. Really really drunk John Sheppard.

Which was not, strictly speaking, without it's entertainment value in itself. He shrugged off his suit jacket and shoved it at Jennifer, "put that on." he told her - he might only have a shirt but it was at least a dry one.

Of course some traditions were the same everywhere. "You," he told John, "are going home." John however was having none of it and when Ronon picked him up off the couch it became obvious why. He'd been sitting on Carson who was clutching a bottle of alcohol - the sort which uncomfortably Ronon had last seen at Carson's funeral. "And you," he added hauling him up too and staggering slightly because they were struggling. He tried not to feel too annoyed as he dragged them to the door. When Ronon got drunk he had the decency to be happy about being carried home.

Ronon would never have said it to Heightmeyer or the woman who eventually replaced her who he had also been obliged to talk to on occasion (for a given value of talk). But every time he ran, every time he shifted his posture, picked up the pace and moved at speed, he could feel the Wraith at his back whether they were there or not. Running through the city levels with Sheppard, running through the buildings of Earth that mirrored Sateda just enough to make him think, racing back to the Jumper laying down cover fire. Ronon could feel the adrenaline race through him, his hands itching for a weapon even when he was already holding one. Ronon was no longer a runner – but he became one every time he ran. He'd mostly stopped wondering if that would ever change.

However it was not inaccurate to say that even now long after he has stopped being a runner that the Wraith had often been at his back. Right now - as he dodged through the empty corridors of the Daedalus trying not to think of Jennifer's stubborn, stupid sacrifice which he should have seen coming - that was certainly the case. Todd would kill her, Ronon was sure. Never trust a Wraith and right now Ronon had had enough of running as he had so many times before. He would stand, he would fight, Wraith would die and as he listened to the footsteps of drones and a prisoner, he realised he could do a little more good at the same time.

He ducked into an armoury and grabbed a extra gun.

The next bit was more complicated but whatever the reason for the design, the hand holds in the ceiling were thankfully obvious. He clambered up bracing himself. Now it was just a matter of waiting and he did not have long endure inactivity long. He shot quickly as he swung down before the orientation of the angle could confuse his aim and handed the spare gun off to Jennifer, dampening down his surprised relief that she wasn't dead because there were still drones coming.

Then there weren't. There weren't live drones. There wasn't Jennifer. There was no more Daedalus. There were trees, there was snow on the ground, two prone Wraith drones and the gun he had handed her lying on the jungle floor. One Wraith twitched and instinctively he put another blast of energy into it before bending to check they both were dead. He snatched up the machine gun and examined the area. There were no tracks. None. Snow normally made tracking easy - and this didn't look that freshly fallen.

Ronon had never seen Wraith tech that could do this and were normally incapable of using anything ancestral. But there was little he put past them even this had been an odd moment to try it. Todd had already betrayed them.

"Jennifer?" he called, first outloud and then into his static filled ear piece, receiving no response. He shivered, shrugged, armed his energy weapon picked a direction and set off at pace. Running again.