Ronon sat in front of the mirror, holding a piece of paper in his hands. His hair was loose and fell to his shoulders. He had stripped down to his boxers and could feel the hair on his arms and back and chest beginning to stand on end from the chill of his room, but he made no move to cover himself. His eyes traveled over his reflection, marveling at how long it had been since he’d studied himself in a mirror.

He recalled one incident vividly – when he was getting ready for his first date with Melena when he was still a teenager. He remembered shaving as carefully as he could but nicking his chin anyway. He remembered embarrassing himself by practicing his smile. He didn’t think twice about his appearance again until the two were wed a year later and he was struggling to get past how ridiculous he looked in traditional Satedan wedding garments.

But then Melena was lost and he ran... most of his twenties were a mosaic of memories of scavenging for food, building traps, hiding from people, scraping moss off of rock... until Teyla came. That was the second vivid memory he had of looking at his reflection. When he first came to Atlantis.

He hadn’t properly seen himself for seven years. His body had gained bulk, his cheeks had lost their baby fat, and his hair was, well, gross. He remembered how brown the water in the shower ran day after day as he attempted to wash out years of his hair as his only pillow.

Ronon studied himself now, cocking his head at the dusting of goosebumps that was beginning to fade. He had the tall, lanky frame of his mother, and he could see the shades of her skin reflected in his own. He remembered the feel of her calloused hands when she would cup his face or rub his back, but her face was long since faded and he could no longer tell her features apart from Liliana’s.

He studied his own expression, his eyes tracing the curve of his lips and brows that looked like his brother’s. Except that his brother had been better-looking and knew it. He smiled faintly when he remembered Conor teasing him before he married Melena, telling him that he was stupid to be marrying at eighteen and that he’d be missing out on lots and lots of women. Conor had never understood how Ronon could be happy without lots and lots of women but rather with one woman who was stable, who made him laugh, who was strong-willed, who wanted to make a difference.

His eyes, he knew, were from his grandmother. He had only seen her a few times in his life before she died, but everyone recalled her piercing sea green eyes that stood out against her dark skin. As dark as rich soil.

While he didn’t have the same wisdom in his eyes from his grandmother, nor the same lady-slaying looks as his brother, nor the command of language as his father, he was all that remained of them. Their ghosts were reflected in his features and in his heart.

The smooth, raised flesh of his lash scars licked around the sides of his ribcage and he studied the way they caught the light. The scar on his abdomen was purpling. The feeding scar on his chest was nearly gone but his skin still possessed the memory of the imprint as an autumn leaf stains the ground as it fades.

He let out a deep sigh and looked down to the piece of paper in his hands, reading it for the dozenth time. It was written in Liliana’s slanting hand: Your name is Ronon Dex. You come from Sateda. You are brave and strong and a true warrior. You are kind and gentle and full of laughter. You have made our lives better. We are blessed to know you. We love you and always will. You are better than everyone who has hurt you. You are better than everyone who has hurt you. You are better than everyone who has hurt you.

Reading and memorizing the note felt childish. Repeating the last three lines as he tried to fall asleep each night felt infantile. Relying on a piece of paper ever since Liliana had left the day before felt vulnerable. But believing every word made him feel invincible.

Teyla glanced at Ronon across the gym as he entered then she slugged the punching bag. Sweat slipped and slid down her face and torso as she punched and kicked, wanting to reach the point of being utterly spent where no anxiety could hold sway with her mind for she was too tired. Ronon disappeared into the locker room and Teyla let out a small cry as she roundhouse kicked the punching bag. He hadn’t acknowledged her if he even saw her at all.

Just as well. She had nothing to say to him. Seeing him drowning himself in his own pain, slowly fading and limping away at every offer of help was draining her and she couldn’t afford to be drained. Not after surviving as a slave, losing a child and leading a revolt. She had learned to steel her resolve and protect what was left of her faith in people.

A part of her felt guilty and she knew that she should want to help Ronon, to weather his storms, but she was too tired. Tired of seeing him in pain. Tired of feeling helpless. Tired of hating how their lives had shifted and drifted apart. He was a grown man and if this was the way he wanted things, then fine. They could both be selfish and lick their wounds in the dark. Alone.

Ronon came back out of the locker room and looked at her. Teyla held his gaze for a moment before giving the bag one last punch and stepping aside, grabbing her water bottle and towel and striding out, unable to keep the anger from her frame when she thought of how much she had sacrificed for him – how much time and effort and despair she had wasted.

The Satedan watched Teyla go then called after her. “Teyla?”

She paused, looking at him over her shoulder.

He parted his lips, wanting to say more, wanting to tell her that he didn’t like to see her angry. But the breath came out empty and his shoulders slumped. She arched a brow and he merely shook his head.

Teyla looked away, feeling the fire within flare at Ronon letting yet another opportunity slip past, unable to make the effort for himself. For her. She straightened her spine and continued onwards, and Ronon felt a part of him leaving with her, tearing like old fabric.

You are better than everyone who has hurt you. Ronon sighed, setting the piece of paper down on his nightstand. His stomach twisted as he rolled onto his side. He had felt a dull ache inside ever since he had watched Teyla walk away that afternoon and now at night, with nothing left to distract himself but his own thoughts, the ache became a piercing pain in his heart.

He knew he was the reason for the thin lines that formed around her lips, for the sternness of her jaw, for the stiffness of her shoulders. Though he certainly didn’t intend to, Ronon held power over Teyla unlike anyone before. She loved him and as such, he could crush or caress her with a single word. He knew his silence was hurting her but it wasn’t his fault – he didn’t ask her to love him. It wasn’t fair that he still loved her, as well, yet was such a coward that he couldn’t remind her of how he felt about her without feeling like the blood from his body had spilled at her feet.

You are better than everyone who has hurt you. He swiftly reminded himself as loathing stalked into his mind on taloned feet, grinning, ready to rip his heartstrings. Who else but a fiend would let the person they loved suffer so? Would let her walk away? Would hide in burning shame? He was fast becoming a man he despised.

You are better than everyone who has hurt you. Including yourself. Ronon stiffened. His only enemies now were his mind, his heart, his memories. He thought of Teyla’s laugh and the smooth skin of her shoulders. He hastily climbed out of bed and walked out of his room before he could think twice about it.

His bare feet led him down the smooth, cool hallways of Atlantis. He hugged himself against the chill, realizing that he’d left his shirt behind and hoped that no one would waltz around the corner and see him in nothing but pajama pants. However the hour was late and the corridors were quiet.

Waving his hand in front of Teyla’s door panel, he waited until the door swooshed open then stepped inside. Teyla lay on her bed, stirring from the noise of someone entering. His heart felt as if it would break one of his ribs as he watched her sleepy form, so perfectly flawed in the moonlight. Without a word, he crossed over to her bed and lay down beside her.

Teyla stiffened as he did so, squinting at him through her bleary eyes. “Ronon?”

He wrapped an arm around her waist and felt her shift to look at his face.

In the hoary light he could see the elegant curve of her cheekbone, the frizzyness of her slept-on hair, the confusion and timidity in her eyes. “What is wrong?”

He cupped her cheek in his hand, fighting to tell her everything that was welling in his breast. But the words were locked, snared by the healing tendrils of his heart. He smiled softly and gently pressed his lips against hers. Teyla was stiff for several heartbeats before she relaxed into his warmth, bringing her hand up to rest upon his. After a moment, Ronon reluctantly pulled away and Teyla reached out to stroke his cheek, searching his face in the pale light, running her knuckles over his stubble. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

A small smile tried to alight upon her lips then fluttered away before it showed. “Where have you been?”

He shook his head, struggling to harness his racing emotions as he saw the anger and hurt melting away from her face. His eyebrows twitched towards each other. “She lay on top of me.”

“Who?”

“I don’t want to say to her name.”

Teyla let her hand slide off of his cheek as he leaned back to sit on his haunches. She climbed to her knees, tugging the covers onto her lap to keep in the heat of her body. His lips were pressed together and his back was slightly hunched, his eyed locked onto hers. She let out a sigh and looked down to his hand before lightly grabbing it and squeezing his fingers. “She said something crude and I feared she had indeed –”

“I couldn’t stop her,” he whispered with a tremble in his voice. “But I didn’t want to. And it’s made me so ugly. So ashamed.”

Teyla shook her head. Her voice was firm. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, Ronon.”

“I’ve only ever been with you and my wife. I feel...” he trailed off, his eyes searching the room as they glistened.

“Disrespected,” Teyla said and Ronon met her gaze again. “Violated. Hurt. Angry.” She shook her head and sighed. “Wounded.”

He solemnly nodded. “I’ve wanted to tell you, but... I didn’t know what to say. It’s like I was safe inside my skin my whole life, even as I was whipped and beaten and fed upon. But then one thing like that – one horrible thing – and suddenly my skin’s not mine anymore. Like something was stolen or broken... something....”

“Something sacred.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Something sacred. And it’s not fair.”

“No, it is not.” She rested her hand on his shoulder then pulled him into a hug and Ronon wrapped his arms around her, leaning into her small frame. “And though I am satisfied with having killed her, it does not fix what was done to you. But know that I do not think any less of you. In fact, I am proud of you, Ronon.”

“I’m a coward.”

“It is all right to be afraid. I thought I had lost you. I thought this was the end. Yet here you are, even though I can feel you shaking.” She pulled away to meet his eyes with a smile. “I am proud of you.”

She could barely hear him whisper “thank you.” Letting out a deep sigh, Teyla waited until the glimmer in his eyes had faded before speaking again.

“I wish you had come to me sooner.”

“I know... you deserve much better than me.”

Teyla shook her head. “I do not want anyone else.”

He leaned to rest his temple against hers, squeezing her hand. “Neither do I.”

“What are we going to do?” she whispered, shifting so that their foreheads and noses rested against each other’s.

Ronon shook his head a little and she could hear him sniffle, keeping his tears at bay. “I don’t know how to surrender – to let you live inside of me.”

“Nor do I...”

He closed his eyes and for several moments all they heard was each other’s breaths and the beating of their own hearts. At length Ronon slid his hand down to her hip and rubbed her side before lying down, guiding her to follow him. She lay down beside him and lifted the covers to share. Ronon pressed himself against her warmth and brushed the hair off her cheek with a small smile. Teyla returned the expression then let it slowly fade as his hand slid over her shoulder, gently tugging her nightgown down her torso, baring her breast.

He bent down and kissed her collarbone and neck before hugging her, and she felt the wonderful warmth of his chest pressed against hers and smiled at the simple gesture. She kissed his lips and wrapped her arms around him before relaxing against his body while he combed his fingers through her hair. They could feel each other’s hearts beating at different paces, speeding and slowing with their thoughts until they matched each other’s drumming, humming together, lulling the two warriors to sleep.

Branded Heart

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