fic: "Left Behind" [Pt.6]

[renisanz]

TITLE: Left Behind – Pt. 6
AUTHOR: renisanz
SUMMARY: Many questions arise when Ronon brings an mysterious young woman to Atlantis. There are no easy answers. A sequel to “Leather” and “Let Go.”
CATEGORY: Angst/Drama/Mystery/Romance
RATING: PG-13
WORDS: 1,644
DISCLAIMER: I don't own 'em, but they're fun to play.
NOTES: The role of Dr. Marc Pedersen will be played from now on by Joseph Gordon-Levitt. This chapter was fun to write. There are a lot of things going on at once, so it was interesting trying to make everything fit together. I hope it works.

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Left Behindn - Pt. 5


At 0500 her alarm clock wailed.

Jennifer groaned.

Shifting under the mountain of covers underneath which she had buried herself the night before, she wondered how she could have been so naïve. So stupid. She didn't exactly feel used. . . Well, she reconsidered. Yeah, she actually did feel quite used, and betrayed. Embarrassed. There was an ever growing list of adjectives to describe the emotions she felt after fleeing from the infirmary the night before.

She wiggled an arm out and reached over to the the alarm clock, switching it off.

Jennifer was positive she hadn't misread his signals. He had kissed her, for goodness sake. You couldn't really mistake one's intentions from that. Could she? However, a kiss, no matter how searing or earth shattering, was not a promise of commitment or monogamy. It hurt to admit, but she had made a lot of assumptions based on little fact, following her heart rather than her head. She knew very little about Satedan culture. When she'd walked in on Ronon and Seraih, he hadn't acted like anything was wrong. She had been the one about to crack in two the tablet in her hands, too shocked and confused to say anything at first.

And then Ronon had asked her if everything was alright. He sensed that Jennifer was upset, and she had lied in a weak attempt to avoid reacting like a jilted schoolgirl. Not wanting to admit that she had been wrong.

Jennifer groaned as she rolled from her stomach onto her side, ignoring the twinge in her ab muscles, evidence of her weakness. Her bleary eyes watched the digital numbers turn from 0503 to 0504, watched another few minutes of her life wasted sulking. Over him.

Ronon Dex. His name on her lips caused fresh tears to well up. She really needed to get a grip. There was work to do, cures to find and lives to save. That person laying on the operating table might be a little worried if the one responsible for their life couldn't hold it together under pressure because of some lover's spat.

She realized there were people around who would laughed at the fortune of her lot in comparison. Teyla's people were still missing, and Seraih's world had been culled. The pregnant young woman—Jennifer's patient—was in the infirmary, alone, for the most part, and Jennifer was still laying in bed crying over what could amount to a simple cultural misunderstanding.

Jennifer smirked at the thought and wiped her eyes. Her heart didn't hurt much less, but the thought definitely put things in perspective. She glanced at the clock once more—0510—and threw back the mound of covers.

. . . . . . . . . .

Dr. Marc Pedersen caught a glimpse of the familiar blonde ponytail as its owner disappeared into the entrance of the mess hall. Dr. Keller sure was up early. He glanced at his watch: 0530. Wow, really early, he thought.

He had woken up only a few minutes before, his face planted on the desk in the biology lab. He fell asleep in front of his laptop after a late night going over the results from the Wraith autopsy. Not exactly what one would call light reading. Definitely disturbing as well as enlightening.

Marc hesitated a few steps before reaching the mess. He hadn't showered since. . .yesterday. . . morning? His body screamed for caffeine in excessive doses, but another part of him said that it might be best to show his CMO that he possessed a modicum of consideration for personal hygiene before approaching her at breakfast. He didn't kid himself into believing that the fact that his CMO was young, female, and quite attractive, with a sharp sense of humor had no bearing on his decision as he turned away, walking in the direction of his quarters.

Shower first.

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Seraih had been up for the last hour, awakened by an exceedingly uncomfortable pressure on her bladder. The lights were dimmed and Ronon was nowhere in sight, but for the first time, she was relieved to be alone. She looked around her bed and found the device Ronon told her was used to summoned a nurse. A few minutes later a slight, dark-haired woman appeared —Marie—and helped Seraih out of the bed. Her legs felt wobbly at first, and the floor was chilly beneath her bare feet, but she insisted on walking. After a moment of consideration, the nurse obliged, but she wrapped her arm around Seraih's waist to help keep her steady.

After attending to her personal needs, she took the opportunity to study her appearance in the mirror, her usually unruly curls hung limp at her and her skin looked—and felt—icky. Given, she had been laying in bed unconscious for three of the past four days. The need to cleanse herself was desperate.

When Seraih expressed to Marie the desire to wash, the woman nodded, a sympathetic look crossing her features. She instructed Seraih to wait while she went away to retrieve the needed materials.

. . . . . . . . . .

Ronon thought he caught a glimpse of Jennifer as she rounded the corner, but he was already on his way to the infirmary, and he figured he'd see her there eventually. Right now, he wanted to check in on Seraih. As he entered the infirmary, the sound of Jennifer's delighted laugh pricked his ears and he wondered what, or who, could be the cause of it.

He arrived at in the secluded ward at Seraih's bed, only to find her gone. The covers were drawn back, and the bed left unmade. Had she been moved somewhere else? Ronon figured Jennifer would have told him if they did. He walked around the ward, seeing only more empty.

“Hey,” he called to a young nurse who seemed to be trying to avoid him.

“Yes,” she looked up at him, clutching the medical chart to her chest.

“Where's Seraih?”

“I'm sorry. Who?”

Ronon rolled his eyes and barely suppressed the urge to grown at the woman. Jennifer had warned him about “terrorizing her staff.”

“Ronon,” he whirled around to face Marie.

She was holding an armful of supplies. Soap and shampoo, and that fluffy sponge thing.

“She's fine,” Marie said, and he relaxed at the news.

“Where is she?”

“She wanted a bath, so. . .”

“Oh,” Ronon grunted, feeling foolish. Girl stuff. He should have thought of that.

. . . . . . . . . .

“I don't understand these markings,” Seraih said as she picked up the small, pale green, cylindrical container. She ran her hand over the smooth surface, intrigued by the neat combination of lines and curves that was the 'Lantean written language.

“Oh,” Marie pointed at the bottle in Seraih's hand. “This is conditioner.” She pointed to another, very similar, pale red one on the counter beside the sink. “This one is shampoo. To wash your hair. Rinse out the shampoo, and then apply the conditioner, leave it on your hair for a few minutes, then rinse it out. It'll bring out those lovely curls,” she explained.

Seraih blushed.

Marie smiled. Reaching for the larger bottle, she held it up and explained, “This one is body wash. Basically soap. Just squeeze a bit onto the sponge.” Marie gestured toward the pink ball of meshy material. “It lathers up nicely.”

“Ah,” Seraih nodded in understanding. She had guessed the sponge correctly, but she hadn't been sure. Atlantis was different than any place she had ever been, so it was not guaranteed that utensils for hygiene would be the same as those on other worlds. Set gently set the conditioner on the counter and turned to Marie.

“Ok, ready?” Marie asked.

“Ready,” Seraih affirmed with a shy smile. She then allowed the nurse to help her remove her gown.

. . . . . . . . . .

Marc nearly spilled his cup of coffee as Jennifer slammed into his chest. She had been looking back while rounding the corner, and he hadn't been paying attention because Sergeant Mehra and Captain Vega had just jogged past, on their usual morning run.

“Ah sh—crap!” he hissed as a few drops of the hot liquid sloshed over the edge of the mug, onto his hand.

Jennifer stumbled but reach out and grabbed Marc's arm, steadying both him and herself. “Oh, I'm so sorry,” she said in a rush. She looked behind her and then turned back to him.

“What's with the averted curse?” Jennifer asked. Marc felt her watching him intently as he fished a few napkins of of his lab coat pocket and bend down to wipe up the spilled coffee from the floor.

“Oh, that?” Marc ran a hand through his damp, shaggy hair, thought he might need a haircut soon, as he considered telling her. “Uhm. . .my mom raised me not to cuss in front of ladies,” he confessed.

Jennifer blinked at him for a moment, and he noticed the faintest hint of a blush. “Oh my. You're serious, aren't you?” She regarded him with thinly veiled amusement. She took the mug from him and he wiped his scalded hand.

Marc was sure it sounded like a line to her, but he admitted, “Yeah. I was brought up sort of old-fashioned about certain things. I guess it stuck, despite my best efforts to use science to rid myself of her brainwashing.”

Jennifer chuckled at that as she returned the mug to him. Her fingers barely brushed his. “Well, it's not completely useless. I'm sure it gets you lots of girls.”

Marc looked wistful, remembering all the times a girl had told him how he was a nice, “sweet” guy, but. . . “Not as much as one would think.” He couldn't see Jennifer being one of those girls, but he'd been wrong before.

Jennifer fell in step beside him as he walked towards the biology lab. He turned to her and whispered, “Just be glad I didn't call you 'Ma'am.'”

Jennifer's laughter echoed down the corridor.


Back Home - Pt. 7
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A/N: Feedback is much appreciated. :)