Beginning of WorldsAuthor:
PG-13 - NC-17Chapter:
1 of at least 8Word Count:
none, not yet anyways; general spoilers for Ronon's pastDisclaimer:
Not mine. *sad face* They belong to the people responsible for Stargate: AtlantisSummary:
Runner Ronon accidentally gates to what he thought was an uninhabited planet, only to meet someone who will change his life forever.Notes:
This is an AU that takes place about a year pre-expedition: Ronon's been on the run for about five years. Instead of the expedition, Rodney and friends are natives of the Pegasus galaxy that Ronon's going to run into.Notes 2:
I've been posting this story on lj; throughout the course of the next day or so, I'll post here the five or six chapters already over there.
Ronon stumbled through the gate, one hand on his blaster, the other pressed against his side, blood seeping through his fingers. He knew he had a few hours before the Wraith could match the location of his transmitter with a Ring address, and lately they’d been coming less often, sometimes giving him three or four days before he had to move again. It happened every once in a while; maybe a few of the hunters had lost interest, or maybe they were engaged with another ship. It didn’t matter. It would start again. It always did. The most he could hope for was enough time to stitch and clean his wound, find some food, and maybe even sleep.
He didn’t think that the cut from the sweeping knife had reached any of his internal organs, but it still burned, and he hadn’t stopped moving for days, never mind slept. He walked wearily down an overgrown path for quite a while, holding back a sigh of relief when he rounded a corner to see an old, abandoned village. It burned him inside to see another planet destroyed by the Wraith, but he had long ago become a pragmatist, and an abandoned village like this offered him food, shelter for a night or two, and any technology he could scavenge.
As he walked down what used to be the main street, he was vaguely pleased in an exhausted sort of way. This village was perfect, the ruins were old enough that it was obvious the Wraith hadn’t been there for a very long time, but not so old that there wouldn’t be anything he could use. He stumbled into the nearest house that looked even slightly defensible and fell in a controlled sort of collapse onto a sturdy wooden chair. He reached into one of the many pockets of his overcoat and pulled out a needle, already threaded. This was not the first time he’d had to tend his own wounds in the last five years. He lifted up his shirt and twisted a little to see the gash. He grunted. This was going to hurt like a bitch. It was an awkward place for him to stitch up himself, but hopefully he could get enough of it that any parts he missed wouldn’t be a problem.
He should have been paying attention, he knew better, but the awkward position took concentration and the catch-and-slide of the thread through his skin was distracting, so he was caught off guard when the door suddenly banged open and a young man walked in, humming. He jumped up, grabbing for his holster when a wave of pain moved through him, so intense that he had to fight not to black out. When his vision cleared, he took notice of the man he was pointing his gun at. He was Ronon’s age, maybe a little older, closer to thirty. He had clear blue eyes and fair skin, both of which were rare on Sateda, and made him seem exotic. He had short hair that looked like it would curl if it grew any longer. He was fairly tall and well built, with wide shoulders like the boys that used to play Caught. Ronon took in all this in a split second. Then the man started to talk.
“Whoa! Hey, I didn’t mean to scare you like that, not that you look scared, that is, and not that you scared me, either, it’s just that I didn’t know you were here, and what are you doing here, anyway? And really, there’s no need for the gun. This village is long abandoned. Well, I’m here obviously. And you’re here too, but the point is there’s no one else here, and you really don’t need to point your gun at me quite so accurately. I mean, really, what am I going to do to you? Nope, what I’m going to do is just back slowly out the door, and you’ll go your way and I’ll go mine, and-.” He stopped and cocked his head to the side, though Ronon was still a sentence or two behind and took a minute to realize he’d stopped.
“Is that blood
? Are you bleeding? What the hell do you think you’re doing, standing there while all your blood drips out onto the floor, which, admittedly, could use a change, but I really don’t think that red is the way to go, and anyways, here, turn this way, let me see,” and it was only then that he realized that the strange man had moved forward and was poking at his side with an intense look and a frown on his face.
“Jeez, what did you do, have an argument with a machete? You’re lucky you didn’t hit anything important, like, oh I don’t know, your spine?!” And then he was picking up the needle and thread still attached to his skin and that
was when Ronon finally caught up.
“Back off!” He growled, pushing the man away and getting his gun up and between them. The wound must have been worse than he thought, and he swayed slightly, trying to focus on the man and stay on his feet.
“Yes, yes, you have a gun,” the man snapped acerbically. “I noticed. However, seeing as how you’re about thirty seconds from falling over, it would really be in your best interest to let me help you.” The man did not look at all intimidated any more. In fact, he was coming closer again. Ronon waved his gun at him, but he could feel
his consciousness slipping away.
“Look,” the man said, his voice gentler now. “If you don’t let me help you, you’re probably going to die anyways. You have nothing to lose here.”
He was losing the battle, he knew it, but he still managed to whisper harshly “Not safe...”
“Don’t worry, there’s no one here, and I’m not going to hurt you. Well, not on purpose. Just stay still.”
“Not for me, for you,” he tried to say, but the words wouldn’t come, and then he was gone.