I haven't wrote this much in years!!! Guess R/K brings out my muse.

Starting this, it's 11:30 PM on October 27th, aka my birthday. It's been a rough year of death and loss so I can't really bring myself to celebrate much, hence listening to my depressing music. Broken Like An Angel by Crossfade came on, and there were some lyrics that inspired this and reminded me of Jen and Ronon.

No time permits to open up

When you've been hiding thoughts so strong

She's been holding out for an angel to come along

No reply from the sky

But she just keeps looking up

She just keeps looking up

-- Broken Like An Angel, Crossfade

------------------

When you're leaving Atlantis, you never really expect to miss it after everything that's happened. So much death in such a short time. Some at the hands of yourself, things you couldn't fix. Couldn't save.

But then you're home and the newness and you reacclimatize yourself to Earth and its customs all over again. Things you used to look at as innocent and happy you watch with a wary eye and clenched fists… even if rationally you know Missus Meyer's Yorkie can't do much other than annoy the piss out of you.

Nearly getting your arm severed off in an attack on Atlantis didn't leave you of much use while you recuperated. Shipped off first thing with the rest of the crew that weren't going to be of use.

Six months later, this city hasn't begun to feel anymore like home than Chippewa Falls had the first month you stayed there. And even with General O'Neill and General Landry checking in on you every few days didn't help. They refused to tell you anything of Atlantis. Home was in another galaxy. Home was with the people you left behind. With the people who you don't even know whether or not they're alive.

"Jen?"

The voice surprises the woman, startling her from her reverie, turning sharply to find Sam Carter had helped herself into the little cottage overlooking the lake and mountains. Her look is bleak, worried. Something's not right. There's news. Nothing good. Someone…

"Who?" Jen's voice is stronger than she feels.

------------------

The funeral is hollow. No words are spoken of what a great life was lost. No body inside the casket. Tears are wept and hope is lost as only a handful gather to mourn the loss of the marines, the civilians, the scientists.

"He was a good man." She stated through a knot in her throat, her fingers lifeless, the flower they held long since trampled beneath nervous shifts of feet throughout the minister's words of departure for the soul. Asking for the soul to be enveloped by warmth and love, heal the pain he endured. A mother's sob, a sister's wail, a lover's heart breaking.

No one seems to remember that's what he was. A man. To others he was a soldier. A damn good commanding officer. A caring son. A protective brother. A gentle lover. A talented painter. But some forgot that he was just flesh and blood and breakable up in the sky.

Evan Lorne would greatly be missed.

------------------

A year passes since she's been on Atlantis. She doesn't even know if it's in the same spot it last was. Maybe Rodney fired up the ZPM and whisked them to another uncharted planet, another galaxy. Maybe he'd already blown half their solar system to hell too. Maybe Teyla was working on a second child. Maybe Laura was moving on after Evan. Maybe Sam was trying to get her back on the base. Maybe John was regaining his short term memory. Maybe Ronon…

The name froze even her thoughts. Her physical body had stopped in its progress from one end of the house to the other. A name she hadn't let herself think of. A name she'd gave up the right to think of. A name she missed. A name she cared for. A name…

She rotated her shoulder, pain blossoming in short spasms as she remembered the day on the base that nearly ended her life. If he hadn't have grabbed her wrist, dragging her through decimated hallways littered with bodies of friends and colleagues. If he hadn't been dragging her, if she'd been moving on the sheer will of her own pace that was considerably slower than his, the sharpened metal debris surely would've sliced through her chest and ended her life on the spot. Instead it'd embedded itself in her shoulder with a sickening slice and pinned her to the wall.

Sliding off and feeling the metal caressing the inner workings of vein and muscle squished through her brain and danced in her ears at night when she slept. His voice echoing as it called her name in panic. Fear. Sorrow. Worry. When her shoulder stiffened and locked with inane tasks such as getting the mail or putting Chewie's leash on. (She wouldn't even psychoanalyze why she'd named her dog that. Refused to see the obvious.)

She hadn't even gotten to thank him. The blood loss was immediate, the damage severe. More than her understaffed staff without their CMO could handle in the middle of a war zone. The Daedalus had beamed her up with their medical team and done as best they could as they evacuated as many people from Atlantis as possible. When she woke up, she'd been in the infirmary at Stargate Command. People refused to tell her anything while she recuperated and went through physical therapy. Too fragile. Too soon. Too… empty.

------------------

Eighteen months. Her fingers curled around her shoulder, clamping tightly as she lifted her shoulder against the force to test its mobility after another round of physical therapy. She wondered if she'd ever be able to perform surgery again. Or if the way her hand shook at a certain angle was too much of a liability.

------------------

Two years. Her hope ebbs away more and more each day. Surely Atlantis was rebuilt to full capacity by now with Rodney there? Sure he had a bit of a limp and his hands shook from nerve damaged caused by an explosion, but even paralyzed from the neck down, he'd be able to put the city to full power and reconstruction by now. All he'd have to do was yell a lot more than usual.

Maybe they'd forgotten about her. Maybe as she looked up at the sky, wondering if one of the shooting stars was Atlantis flying through hyperspace -- and knowing logically, deep down, that it wasn't for more than one reason -- they'd forgotten all about her.

If she wasn't getting data anymore about Atlantis from O'Neill or Landry, then they weren't getting info on her recovery. Maybe Beckett had stopped asking. Maybe he'd forgotten. Maybe Laura only had a foggy memory of a blonde cradling her deep into the night after burying the man she deeply cared for. Maybe Teyla told her son stories of a vague woman who cradled him as an infant and cooed over him adoringly. Maybe Ronon shared stories with the new medical team of the woman that treated him without shrinking away in fear. Maybe Rodney thought of the woman he'd unknowingly confessed to loving. Maybe John wished she were around instead of Beckett, 'cause she was a little more gentle with the post-op check-ups.

'That one CMO… that proceeded Beckett. What's her name… Jenna or something'. Maybe that's what she'd been reduced to.

A faint memory. The name on the tip of the tongue. A whisper from the past.

------------------

She was starting to build a life. A job at a teaching hospital that SGC had set up for her, some friends. A growing population of dogs. Oddly resembling and named after someone from Atlantis. A life that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't let go of.

Then a data burst came through while she was at SGC for a check-up on her shoulder. The only place she could go after the elite alien metal had left traces in her blood and infected her. Traces of it still flowed through her, non-threatening, but still would trigger panic in normal hospitals.

The data burst came through and she followed Landry through the whole building, even bursting into his office when he closed the door, and demanded answers for the first time. She wanted to know what was going on. Was it safe? Was it rebuilt? Could she go home?

After a long, drawn out pause… all three answers were yes.

------------------

She requested complete silence on her return to Atlantis. She wanted it to be a surprise. She wanted to see if they remembered her. Wanted to see if they missed her.

She'd never been hugged as hard in her life as when Carson Beckett skidded to a halt in the gate room on his way to the infirmary and saw her. Teyla behind him, with a slightly rounded stomach, touched her forehead to Jennifer's in a long moment before hugging her with whispered words of a most welcomed return.

When Rodney saw her, his tablet had dropped to the ground, and he stuttered for a moment before bear hugging her. John gave her an awkward hello and one-armed hug under the scrutinizing eye of the gate room. Sam's long legs took the stairs two at a time when she snapped from shock and told her it was good to have her home.

Home.

He wasn't there. Sam knew when Jennifer tensed against her. She knew what the other woman was looking for. Who. So she told her where to find him; his quarters.

Everything looked the same, but felt foreign to her. Even as Sam directed her through the halls on a route that was as familiar as the back of her hand, the halls that had been blown apart and glued back together again, she couldn't shake the feeling of ghosts roaming the halls and caused a shiver along her spine.

"You'll get used to it." Sam said solemnly, noting the girl's shudder. She smiled sadly over her shoulder, before stopping at the door. "He's in there."

"But…"

"Yeah."

It was her room. Where it'd been. Where she remembered it. No where near his. Sam activated the chime before walking away, an encouraging smile left in her wake to leave Jen with a knot of dread in her stomach as she waited for him to open the door. Waited to see if he remembered her. If he missed her.

It was clichéd to say it felt like hours before the doors slid away to reveal his tall, muscular build. All sharp lines and dangerous curves of muscle and scars. Hope and death wrapped into one 6'4" dreaded beautiful package.

His eyes widened with recognition, surprise, disbelief. His glorious green eyes. The right marred with a slash from the arch of his eyebrow to the swell of his cheekbone. Healed and scarred. A burn on his neck. Welts of reminders across his arms from the war.

Ronon.

A sob broke through her throat as he rushed her, grabbing her into his arms securely and burying his nose into her hair. Her fingers curled into fists against the material of his shirt as she desperately clung to his body. Words left unspoken for now.

Thank you.

You're home.

You saved my life.

I missed you.

I missed you.

I was afraid…

I was so scared I'd lost you.

Never scare me like that again.

There's no one else. There's never been anyone else. Never will be. I love you.

You're home with me where you belong.

I'm finally back where I belong.

------------------

It's October 28th now that I'm posting this (when I went to last night, FFN was doing stuff to the site). I can get back to life. This was… a little different for me. The formatting. The way I wrote it. I'm not sure I like it. The last sentences were obviously thoughts between Ronon and Jennifer. It starts with Jennifer and alternates if you didn't get it. It goes: J, R, J, R, J, R, J, R, J, R, J. I'm not really a fan of established ship in fic (I like reading it all out seeing as it hasn't happened on the show -- I highly recommend ALL of Nika Dixon's fics, 'cause she's just simply amazing with all of that) but it's implied here I suppose. Or just that attraction still, their feelings unspoken and whatnot. You can decide which it is to fit your preference. :)