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FIC: Week 130-132: Show

Title: Show Me
Author: altyronsmaker
Wordcount: 732
Rating: PG
Pairing(s): Ronon/Amelia
Prompt(s): Week 130-132: Show
Disclaimer: Don't own these guys, just playing. Also, this just sort of popped into my head. It's not even beta'd. Just a freeflow of ideas.


He’s sleeping.

It’s strange to watch him sleep; he’s always so kinetic. No. That’s not right. He’s still and silent, like a tiger stalking pray, unmoving but for the slow steady skulking when no one’s looking. But beneath the smooth skin, sloe-eyes, sealed lips, there lurks the potential for explosion. A living statue in the background, warm and solid but motionless, while a sense of kinesis vibrates the air around him, like the stillness before the heaves of a storm.

He makes me nervous. Or. He made me nervous.

Not anymore.

I impressed him, I think.

I’d heard the rumors. He and the Doc trapped in the infirmary. Some of the marines whispered about getting their asses handed to them a little harder the week or so after McKay and Keller started dating. But I never pictured him with her. She’s…frail – for lack of a better word. She’s not cut from the same cloth. She’s pretty enough, and heaven knows they’d have been a gorgeous pair, but he’d have grown exasperated with her.

But I think I impressed him.

I’d barely recovered my breath, and he asked me, “You can fight?”

Well, no, not really. I’m good in the ring, but to really fight? I might be able to save my own ass in a pinch, but to fight like others’ lives depended on it? To fend off Wraith? No.

“Being able to save your own means you’ll be around to try to save others,” he told me. Then proceeded to kick some serious hybrid ass. I followed behind him, in awe. Then we got separated.

It was a few months after that. I was in the gym, doing my regular work out. It was quiet, the only sounds my own breath and the slap of my shoes and gloves against the bag. The sweat ran down my back, my hair in a ponytail but still sticking to my face – which I’m sure was flushed with exertion.

“Lower your shoulder, follow through with your whole body,” I heard his voice from behind me and whirled.

He was leaning in the doorway – he never leans – ankles crossed and his arms folded over his chest.
His eyes raked over me once, twice. Then he frowned. “Again,” he muttered, and nodded at the bag.

I did what he said, lowered my shoulder, followed through the punch with my whole body. The bag swung away from me, fierce and sudden. I jabbed out with my other fist, to deflect it’s arc back, and he said, “No, kick,” and my right leg swung out, catching the bag on its return, sending it flying again out to the left. I was stunned. I’d never tried that combination before, didn’t think I could. I said as much, grabbing hold of the bag and turning to look at him.

He stood and stalked over to me, his eyes keeping contact with mine, never letting go. I felt hunted, his feral glare exhilarating. “You can do a lot more,” he said, reaching to take the bag out of my hands.

I knew he was talking about more than defense. About more than fighting. He never touched me, but I felt branded.

I took a deep breath, rubbed the back of my hand over my brow and met his gaze again. “Show me,” I said.

That was two months ago.

He starts most nights in my quarters, but he hardly ever sleeps here. It’s a rare pleasure for me, to catch him sleeping. He’s not so kinetic in sleep; that intimation of roiling energy is gone, and peace settles over him. They say that when a warrior sleeps, his youth returns, but that’s not true in his case. His youth was long ago chased out of him. Now, it’s serenity that returns to his face. The hard lines of vigilance are gone, replaced with the softness of security and comfort.

He’s home, I believe, though he won’t ever say it.

I wish I could reassure him.

I wish I could make him see that – though his world is destroyed and his people scattered across this far-flung galaxy – he has a family here.

“I wish I could say exactly what it means to us – to me – that you’re here,” I whisper, and push a stray curl of raven hair off his forehead.

He opens his eyes, startling me.

“Show me.”

So I do.


( 3 comments — Leave a comment )
Nov. 21st, 2013 05:07 am (UTC)
oh, this is awesome. great insights and nice yearning at the end.

“You can do a lot more,” he said.

and if that isn't Ronon... :)))
Nov. 21st, 2013 07:19 am (UTC)
Very enjoyable read, and great insight on the pairing. Well done, thanks for sharing ^_^
Nov. 21st, 2013 01:52 pm (UTC)
Oh, I love this! Totally would bond and fall in love over sparring practice!

I also love Ronon leaning when he never leans. Totally picked them up from John, huh?

( 3 comments — Leave a comment )

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