A/N: I think there is a lot of unvisited angst available for Ronon after that last episode, Broken Ties and I am not completely confident they're going to address it in the next episode, so I'm going after it here. I love Ronon but I'm not sure how well I'll write him so feedback is appreciated.
A/N2: I suck at making up names for make-believe items, just FYI.
Disclaimer: Don't own the show, although if Ronon is for sale I'm totally there. Some dialogue from 'Reunion' and 'Broken Ties'.
"You're wraith worshippers? After what they did to Sateda?!"
Ronon sat on his bed in the infirmary, his legs hanging on one side while he waited for Keller to complete his 'discharge' papers. He felt a little more comfortable now that he was back in his own clothes, but he would feel better once he was back in his own room. Away from prying eyes and pitying looks.
As it was he was staring at the ground avoiding the eyes of anyone who might look his way. His kamtra sword sat next to him, patiently waiting to be returned to it's resting place beside his bed. Sheppard had shown an incredible amount of trust giving that back to him, when just hours before he'd been ready to destroy Atlantis and it's inhabitants without mercy.
The words echoed in his head.
No retreat in the face of battle, no sympathy for the fallen, no mercy for our enemies.
In an instant the infirmary faded away and he was back on the Wraith planet, kneeling at the feet of his master, repeating a mantra of Wraith philosophy with the conviction he'd once recited his gythna prayers as a boy.
His stomach turned at the memory and his body shook with rage turned inward.
"After what they did to Sateda?"
Keller's voice saved him from himself, "Ronon, are you alright?"
He opened his eyes, not realizing he'd closed them, and looked at her. She stood in front of him, her eyes roaming his face with concern. He looked away.
She furrowed her brow and stepped forward, pressing her fingers to his neck before checking a few other vitals. "Your pulse is elevated and you feel a little warm. Maybe we should-"
"I'm fine." Ronon repeated, his voice just a little edgier, "Can I go?"
Jennifer's face darkened slightly, but, after giving him another quick once over, she nodded. "Yes, you can. But you're on light duty, you hear me? No sparring or off world activities for at least a week," she called to his back as he exited the infirmary.
Ronon didn't think either of those conditions would be a problem. He couldn't imagine Sheppard would be too eager to have him back on the team. Even if he was, because he'd been known to be overly optimistic at times, Woolsey certainly wouldn't be.
He looked down at his kamtra, his mind flashing back to the moment the Wraith had handed it to him. The way had taken it, swinging it swiftly through the air, ready to fight. To kill anyone the wraith looked at funny. Including – especially – anyone from Atlantis. He dropped the sword back to his side.
No, he wouldn't be sparring any time soon either. It didn't matter, that Sheppard trusted him, Sheppard trusted everyone until given a reason not to. And even then, he still might if the situation suited him. But Ronon wasn't that way, too many years spent lying and being lied to for no other reason than survival. It took a lot to earn his trust, and now the one person he'd always relied on, had shattered it. And how could he ever trust himself again?
Ronon made it to his room and opened it, but took a second before stepping inside. Almost two weeks had passed since he'd set foot inside it, and everything was exactly as he'd left it, save of a thin layer of dust on everything.
The clothes he'd left behind, some of his knifes and books. His painting. They all stared at him, mocked him from the same positions he'd last seen them in. All reminding him of everything he was and everything he wouldn't be again. They were Satedan things. Things he'd used to remember his people and himself. Things to be honored and venerated.
He twisted his face in disgust. He didn't deserve the honor their presence bestowed on him. He'd sat in this very room, on this very bed surrounded by these same things when he'd returned from the wraith planet the first time. When he'd fought Ara and Rakai to the death. A death without honor. A death he'd thought they deserved. A death he deserved.
Inhaling sharply, his body suddenly jumped to action, his eyes frantically searching the room for something to throw. Suddenly, fueled by power born of anger, he started gathering everything he could see and throwing, shoving, heaving them all into a corner.
"You're wraith worshippers?"
The candles Teyla gave him for his meditation. A wooden instrument, a yawnee, he'd never actually gotten around to learning how to play.
"After what they did to Sateda?"
The box he put his garman necklaces in. The metal drum-like thing he'd traded for on Manaria. The wooden carved remembrance statue Solen gave him.
"What did they do to you?"
His kamtra. His bed-furs.
"They broke you."
He didn't stop until his room was in shambles and he could hardly breathe from exertion. Even then his whole body felt tingly with restless energy. He turned his back on all of it and made for the door at a run. He went left, avoiding all the transporters and any populated parts of the city, instead going down, running through the bowels of the city, some parts still soggy with seawater. Past residences, past labs, past windows and doors. He kept running, kept pushing. And the memories kept following.
"Ronon, what's happening here?"
Of the wraith ship. Of all the wraith ships. And wraith labs. All the times he'd chosen death over them. Chosen his friends over himself.
Except the one time that mattered.
His chest burned when he stopped at the edge of the West pier, his lungs greedily sucking in the salty air as it whipped against his face and hair. He self-consciously reached up and touched the rough scarring on his chest from the repeated wraith feedings and flinched as the action sent shooting pain across his chest up his shoulders and down his arms.
Resisting the urge to scratch them, he let his hands drop to his side and stared out at the ocean. Silently the wind washed over him. And he let the memories – and the dark thoughts that followed - take him.
"After what they did to Sateda?!"
So, I think maybe that sword Shep gave him at the end of Broken Ties was Tyre's, but I wrote it as Ronon's for plot's sake. Hope you will forgive.