donutsweeper (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
donutsweeper) wrote2008-07-13 04:47 pm
donutsweeper) wrote2008-07-13 04:47 pm
Entry tags:
Being There
Title: Being There
Pairing/Warning/Rating: SGA fandom, Ronon & Sheppard friendship, spoilers for "Outcast" 4x15, rated PG
Word Count: 580
Beta:_medley_
Summary: Sheppard realizes there are some things friends don't let friends face alone.
Author's Note: Written forsmithy161's prompt for my recent writing meme and my paliphrase 10 fandom challenge
Pairing/Warning/Rating: SGA fandom, Ronon & Sheppard friendship, spoilers for "Outcast" 4x15, rated PG
Word Count: 580
Beta:
_medley_Summary: Sheppard realizes there are some things friends don't let friends face alone.
Author's Note: Written for
smithy161's prompt for my recent writing meme and my paliphrase 10 fandom challengeThere was so much to do whenever the Daedalus arrived. There was the new personnel to sort out, the supplies to unload, the status reports to go over with Colonel Caldwell, and paperwork, lots and lots of paperwork. Usually, Sheppard hated paperwork, even in its modern paperless form, and rushed through it as fast as he could, but not today.
Because of the box.
Sheppard almost never got mail from Earth. Ever. Not a postcard, an envelope, a package, nothing. Until this supply run when he was informed that the Daedalus had something for him. Lorne himself had brought it by, putting it in the corner at his request, where it stayed for the rest of the day, mocking him.
Damn box.
“You’re gonna have to open it eventually,” Ronon drawled from the doorway.
Sheppard didn’t look up from his paperwork. “You heard?”
“Everyone heard.” Ronon walked in and threw himself into a chair.
“Atlantis rumor mill strikes again, hmm?”
Ronon shrugged, but didn’t say anything.
Sheppard tapped his tablet aimlessly, opening different forms, emails, and memos, before finally raising his head and looking Ronon in the eye. “It’s stuff from my father’s estate.”
Ronon’s forehead crinkled. After a pause he asked, “Estate?”
“When someone,” Sheppard started to explain, but then waved his hand, “never mind. Dave, well, Dave sent some of my stuff that my father had.”
“Cool.”
Sheppard waited, but Ronon didn't say anything else, so, after a minute he returned to his so-called paperwork. It was hard to do paperwork with someone in the room, watching you. Even more so when said person took out their knives and started sharpening them. Slowly. Making that skritchy squeeking noise, over and over again. “Can I help you?”
Skritchy. “Nope.” Ronon didn’t even look up from his knife. Skritchy.
Sheppard went back to reading the memo from the SGC. Skritchy. They were changing the regulations regarding skritchy the methods of skritchy with something about skritchy and the skritchy... Finally Sheppard slammed the tablet on the table. “Ronon?”
“Yeah?” Skritchy.
“Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?”
Skritchy. “Nope.” Ronon grinned. Sheppard knew that grin.
“So... you’re just going to stay here all day.”
“Yep.” Ronon brought the word laconic to new levels sometimes.
“And sharpen your knives?”
Skritchy. “Yep.” Skritchy. Skritchy.
Sheppard sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He knew what Ronon was doing- word had gotten out about the box and somehow Ronon figured out what a big deal it would be to Sheppard and, like the damn inconsiderate lug that he was, refused to let Sheppard face the contents of the box alone.
“I have no idea what’s in there.” Sheppard gestured to the box.
“I know.” Ronon put his knife away and leaned forward in his chair.
“It may be nothing.”
“I know.”
Capitulating to the inevitable, Sheppard stood up. “Want to help me find out?”
Ronon didn’t say anything, just lumbered to his feet. In one fell swoop he grabbed the box and plopped it down on the desk, and then crossed his arms, waiting.
Sheppard couldn’t help but respond with a lopsided smile. He should have known Ronon would never have let him face something like this by himself. Hell, the man had invited himself along when Sheppard went to the funeral in the first place. Ronon was there for him then, and he’d be here for Sheppard now; no matter what memories the box held, he wouldn’t let Sheppard face them alone.
Because of the box.
Sheppard almost never got mail from Earth. Ever. Not a postcard, an envelope, a package, nothing. Until this supply run when he was informed that the Daedalus had something for him. Lorne himself had brought it by, putting it in the corner at his request, where it stayed for the rest of the day, mocking him.
Damn box.
“You’re gonna have to open it eventually,” Ronon drawled from the doorway.
Sheppard didn’t look up from his paperwork. “You heard?”
“Everyone heard.” Ronon walked in and threw himself into a chair.
“Atlantis rumor mill strikes again, hmm?”
Ronon shrugged, but didn’t say anything.
Sheppard tapped his tablet aimlessly, opening different forms, emails, and memos, before finally raising his head and looking Ronon in the eye. “It’s stuff from my father’s estate.”
Ronon’s forehead crinkled. After a pause he asked, “Estate?”
“When someone,” Sheppard started to explain, but then waved his hand, “never mind. Dave, well, Dave sent some of my stuff that my father had.”
“Cool.”
Sheppard waited, but Ronon didn't say anything else, so, after a minute he returned to his so-called paperwork. It was hard to do paperwork with someone in the room, watching you. Even more so when said person took out their knives and started sharpening them. Slowly. Making that skritchy squeeking noise, over and over again. “Can I help you?”
Skritchy. “Nope.” Ronon didn’t even look up from his knife. Skritchy.
Sheppard went back to reading the memo from the SGC. Skritchy. They were changing the regulations regarding skritchy the methods of skritchy with something about skritchy and the skritchy... Finally Sheppard slammed the tablet on the table. “Ronon?”
“Yeah?” Skritchy.
“Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?”
Skritchy. “Nope.” Ronon grinned. Sheppard knew that grin.
“So... you’re just going to stay here all day.”
“Yep.” Ronon brought the word laconic to new levels sometimes.
“And sharpen your knives?”
Skritchy. “Yep.” Skritchy. Skritchy.
Sheppard sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He knew what Ronon was doing- word had gotten out about the box and somehow Ronon figured out what a big deal it would be to Sheppard and, like the damn inconsiderate lug that he was, refused to let Sheppard face the contents of the box alone.
“I have no idea what’s in there.” Sheppard gestured to the box.
“I know.” Ronon put his knife away and leaned forward in his chair.
“It may be nothing.”
“I know.”
Capitulating to the inevitable, Sheppard stood up. “Want to help me find out?”
Ronon didn’t say anything, just lumbered to his feet. In one fell swoop he grabbed the box and plopped it down on the desk, and then crossed his arms, waiting.
Sheppard couldn’t help but respond with a lopsided smile. He should have known Ronon would never have let him face something like this by himself. Hell, the man had invited himself along when Sheppard went to the funeral in the first place. Ronon was there for him then, and he’d be here for Sheppard now; no matter what memories the box held, he wouldn’t let Sheppard face them alone.
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