The Long Way Home

Chapter One Hundred and Six: Shelter

It was late when Ronon felt it. It burst through his consciousness like a stone bring thrown into a serene pond, it's ripples still plaguing his mind as he jerked awake. Anguish filled him as emotions so raw they felt like they had been flayed from beneath his skin haunted him. It was fresh, like a wound that had just been ripped right open. He hadn't felt like this since Sheppard had rescued him from his own crippling despair back on that planet with the furiously hot days. It took a few minutes for Ronon to sort through the overwhelming feelings that were coursing through him, the disorientation from sleep made him weary and confused.

Hope...

Ronon realized that this bundle of hopeless emotions was coming from her. She was scared, the terror seized her like a vice, choking the life right out of her. Ronon was already drawing back the cool sheets and pouncing onto his feet. He snatched up the light grey sweats that he used for runs against Sheppard, yanking them on in record time before pulling on a white v-neck T-shirt over his bare muscular chest. Ronon was already slipping through the doors to his quarters and heading towards the Transporter.

Ronon knew what it was like to be frightened and alone. He could feel her attempts to repress the sadness that flooded her system. She had lost everything in the culling, all her personal effects had been destroyed and the life that she had known had gone up in smoke.

Ronon knew what it was like to lose your position, to have everything you possessed snatched away from you. Hope didn't have a role any more and he knew that that sense of displacement was hard on her. Couple that with her experiences at the hands of Michael and her dreams had become the stuff that nightmares were made of. She had survived something that could only be described as heinous, that residual effect would leave patterns on her mind for years to come.

He raked both hands through his long dreadlocks securing them at the base of his back with a simple hair elastic he kept braided around his wrist. The feeling was getting worse with every step he took. He could feel the devastation filling her up and Ronon wanted nothing more than to take it all away.

Ronon pressed the small notch for the doorbell inside Hope's apartment. He knew she was up, he could hear her moving around on the other side of the metal doors. There was no hiding from Ronon, not with the connection that ran so strongly between them. He wondered if she knew that, if she knew that he was experiencing everything she felt. It was a double edged sword at best.

It meant that Ronon would never be able to shroud his own feelings away from her and he found that difficult to come to terms with. He had always been a solitary man even in his past relationships. His thoughts and feelings were his own and he enjoyed the solitude immensely. Sharing them with anybody else verbally was hard for him and to do it so naturally through a mental bond was frightening. Yet Ronon would never be able to ignore it.

The doors glided open revealing Hope standing before him clad in the burgundy pyjamas they gave to the patients in the Infirmary. Her layered, chestnut hair was bedraggled and her onyx eyes were rimmed with red. There was no way to hide the fact that she had been crying, there were tears still rolling down her cheeks as he stepped inside her quarters, his heart literally aching with the desire to absolve her fears.

His thumb reached out, smoothing away the salty tears that slipped down her flushed cheeks. Her eyes were glistening as she stared up at him sadly. He was seeing everything and she was letting him. His large hands enclosed on her shoulders drawing her tiny lithe body closer to his protective male form. Ronon's strong arms wrapped around Hope cradling her with the entirety of his love. He wanted her to feel everything he felt for her. He would shelter her from whatever harm that came her way, he would tear her enemies to pieces, he would die for her.