Title: Catch 22 and Incense (I'm uncreative with titles)
Summary: For prompts #3 & #4 of the March challenge. Ronon and Lorne muse on decisions.
Disclaimer: I do not own nor am I making money.
He was here again, hand poised to knock. The soldier in him told him to turn and walk away, but the human side begged him to stay. It was the dilemma that he didn't want to rule his life. Therefore, this would be the last time.
It was always the last time.
The rules and regulations were there for a reason. He knew that. They were there to protect and better serve the overall population, and to prevent any situations that could endanger the general well-being of any mission that might arise in the future. Memorisation of the rule book had taught him this, or at least it should have taught him.
But he couldn't explain it. It was some sort of condition that kept bringing him back. Back to this same door and into this same situation. But, the night could only conceal actions for so long, before probing lights dissolved the curtain of dark.
He should stop. He should put his hand down and walk away. Something moved on the other side of the door. His presence was revealed, but the door didn't open. It was his decision. Everything belonged to him, including this catch 22 situation that he had created. He should stop. But could he?
Lorne knocked and stepped back as Ronon slide the door open without a word.
The incense floated lazily around the room, and Ronon watched it with his eyes. The smells had become too powerful for Teyla in her present state, and somehow they had come into his possession. And now it was wrapping itself slowly around the room, marking it's territory, bringing all things together under one scent.
Ronon's eyes flickered towards the door. It was late, the night slowly filtering through the window, and Ronon knew he was out there. It was the ritual. The quiet debate that happened every time he came over. Ronon was tired of it.
Rules were rules though, no matter how weird they were, even if they were just ignored in this repeating situation. Anyway, there was always a knock in the end, and Ronon could forget those rules that weren't his own, just one more time. He shifted off the bed and shuffled towards the door, flicking away a tendril of scented smoke that wound its way sneakily around his shoulders. It was almost time.
The knock was soft, but not timid.
Ronon slide the door open without a word, stepping aside to let Lorne in. The incense wrapped its way around the newcomer, marking him as well, binding everything together with its fragrance.
Beta-ed by the tyrant (jett_chan), although she has not seen the minor changes I made. If it's rusty, it's my fault; I've been hiding behind a "write nothing but reports" rock for the past two years, and I think I'm going to go back there now.