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The thing that the Lanteans never seem to realize is that Ronon is an observant man. He has to be, of course -- an unobservant man wouldn't have survived seven years as a Runner. Still, somehow that fact seems to slip their minds. They think that he's oblivious when they stare at him, that he doesn't hear the whispers behind his back, murmured insults of "savage" and "dangerous" and (perhaps worst of all) "untrustworthy."
He does notice these things, of course. He just doesn't let the Lanteans know. Advantage is everything, after all. And so, in his first few weeks in the city of the Ancestors, Ronon watches the Lanteans who are watching him, studies their differing cultures and habits, friendships and hostilities. It's a good distraction from this restless feeling in his blood, the way his heartbeat starts to sound like, "Leave, leave, leave" if he listens to it for too long.
He learns all he can about his rescuers, the ones who have brought him to the city of the Ancestors, a place Ronon once considered sacred. He remembers his father, head bowed, praying for the Ancestors to hear his plea-- that their planet might be unseen and unscathed by the Wraith for another generation. The memory tastes of ashes when he thinks of it. Ronon hasn't prayed to the Ancestors since Sateda fell. Either the gods are impotent or they are indifferent; Ronon isn't certain which is worse.
There are several people in the city who especially catch his interest when he studies them. First is Teyla, the only one in the city who truly understands what the Wraith have done to this galaxy, what the people of Pegasus are willing to sacrifice to see the Wraith forever destroyed. She is also clever and subtle and witty, and reminds him of his sister Denana, who had always sounded most innocent when she was having a joke at someone else's expense.
Sheppard, Weir, McKay-- they also attract his attention. Sheppard, because for some reason he trusts Ronon unequivocally; Ronon wants to (has to) understand why Sheppard has such faith in him, a faith he hasn't done anything to earn. Weir, because it is fascinating and warming to watch her lead the city and see the love and trust in people's eyes when they look at her. He thinks (he hopes) that Weir's leadership will dull the sharp, bitter memory of Kell's betrayal. And then there's McKay, because, well, McKay is what Ronon's mother would have called the offspring of a thenari and a spine-back dolinia: a mystery that fascinates and exasperates you at the same time.
He doesn't really notice Radek Zelenka until he's been in the city for almost three months, has simply categorized him as one of the scientists that McKay infuriates on a daily basis. It isn't until McKay comes down with something that leaves him feverish and contagious and even more temperamental than usual, when he sulks in bed and finally snaps at Carson, "Fine, fine, just tell Zelenka not to blow anything up while I'm trapped in the infirmary!" that Ronon realizes that Zelenka is -- to all concerned -- McKay's right-hand man.
One of many things that Ronon has learned over the years -- besides that the gods will not save them and that courage doesn't always guarantee victory -- is how the second-in-command is almost more important than the actual leader. At the very least, a right-hand man will give you clues as to how his or her superior commands. It's why he made certain to study Sheppard's second-in-command, Lorne, access the man and see what he does behind Sheppard's back, if he dislikes his commander or has to pick up any slack. (Lorne doesn't dislike Sheppard, though he does seem to view him with a mixture of fond exasperation and irritated pride, an odd mix that continues to fascinate Ronon.)
Ronon stops by the lab where Zelenka is working and just watches him for a long moment. Zelenka is not particularly striking -- though not displeasing to look at -- but what Ronon notices most of all is how every inch of the scientist is animated. Even his hair seems alive and electric as he snaps his fingers and points at the white board, saying something to one of his fellow scientists in his eager, accented way. The animation is catching, judging by the way the other scientist's grin widens and her eyes gleam with excitement.
Ronon keeps watching. At first, Zelenka doesn't seem to notice him, smiling at the other scientist and nodding enthusiastically in response to whatever she's just said. His eyes are very blue, piercingly so; not for the first time Ronon wonders if he will ever get used to how many Lanteans have blue or green eyes. They were rare on Sateda, rarer still on most worlds, and yet the green and blue hues seem to be in abundance on Earth.
Those intensely blue eyes glance towards him at last. Something flickers in their depths for a moment -- surprise, perhaps, or uneasiness, a look Ronon has grown used to over the years -- and then Zelenka offers him a puzzled look and polite, "May I help you?"
Ronon shrugs. The excuse falls easily from his lips. "Figured you'd want to know Beckett's making McKay stay in bed."
An eyebrow arches at that and Zelenka 's mouth twists into a wry smile. Ronon's cousin Malson had often worn an expression like that, a crooked little grin whenever something had struck him as particularly amusing. "Did Carson have to threaten to sedate him?"
"Only to tie him down," Ronon assures him, and is rewarded by a soft, throaty chuckle from Zelenka and a smothered laugh from the other scientist. He lingers for a moment, but there's nothing left to say and being obvious that he's studying Zelenka will only unnerve or annoy the other man. When Zelenka raises an eyebrow, he improvises and adds, "Beckett also said not to let McKay have his laptop. He's supposed to rest." Beckett's said nothing of the sort, but it sounds like something he would say, and besides, McKay might actually rest if he can't use his computer.
"I will have someone hide it," Zelenka promises dryly and then blinks, his features taking on that same bright excited look McKay gets when he's figured something out. He turns to the other scientist and asks, "You said Kulkarni had a theory on what it was for?" The woman nods, and Zelenka taps his comm link. "Doctor Kulkarni, could you come to Lab 3 as soon as possible? Doctor Simpson and I have been examining the Ancient tech Major Lorne's team found on M3G-499 and we'd like your help." He pauses and rolls his eyes, so reminiscent of McKay that Ronon wonders if it's a habit Zelenka picked up from him or if McKay got it from Zelenka. "Yes, I realize you have the morning off, but I would like to know what the tech is now, not later."
He's forgotten all about Ronon, and so Ronon seizes the opportunity to leave, the door humming shut as Zelenka begins to argue with Kulkarni via radio.
*
The first thing Ronon notices as he enters the commissary is Zelenka scowling at his plate. He stands next to the scientist and peers curiously at the meal, wondering what has Zelenka so irritated. It's simple fare: a bowl of tirungi leaves with Lantean foodstuffs (cucumbers, onions, and yellow cheese) mixed in and then the pale green leftover peels of two mangar fruit that Zelenka's already eaten.
"What's wrong with the tirungi?" he asks when Zelenka continues to glower.
Zelenka's scowl directs itself toward Ronon instead. After a moment, though, his expression softens, shifts from annoyed to half-exasperated, half-mournful. "Lettuce should not be orange," he declares plaintively. "It isn't right."
Ronon looks down at the shredded tirungi leaves on Zelenka's plate, shrugs, and steals a piece, popping it into his mouth. Zelenka doesn't look like someone who'd get angry at the theft of a leaf or two of tirungi. A cloying sweetness bursts on his tongue as he begins to chew and he grimaces. "It needs to be dried out." Ronon remembers his mother making tirungi salad, drying out the leaves and then dipping them in sour sauce to offset the sometimes saccharine taste, and feels-- not homesick, precisely, but a quick, sudden tightness in his chest that lasts only a second and then vanishes.
"It is Lieutenant Preobrazhensky's turn for kitchen duty," Zelenka says, as though that explains everything.
As he sits down next to Zelenka, Ronon tries to remember who Preobrazhensky is. He thinks he remembers a ruddy-faced Marine with black or brown hair and brown eyes. Tall. A decent fighter in hand-to-hand, if Ronon's thinking of the right man. He's offered to teach Ronon a wrestling discipline called Boyevoye Sambo.
Zelenka prods at the tirungi leaves for another moment and then gives up. "Luckily, it is only for a week." A corner of his mouth curls upwards and he looks almost mischievous. "I highly doubt we will starve."
Ronon shrugs and then steals a cucumber, ignoring Zelenka's quiet sound of protest.
"Go get your own food, please," Zelenka says, though there's no real heat behind the words. He doesn't even try to intercede when Ronon smirks and reaches for another cucumber, his expression one of amused resignation. "Really, I have to deal with Rodney constantly stealing my coffee. I don't need you stealing my lunch as well."
"You weren't eating it," Ronon points out and Zelenka pointedly seizes a cucumber and bites into it.
"Ronon. Doctor Zelenka." They both look up at Teyla, whose expression is polite, eyes bright with amusement. "May I join you?"
Zelenka smiles warmly. "There is no need to ask. You are always welcome," he assures her, gesturing for her to take a seat. Ronon's puzzled for a moment at the warmth and familiarity, and then remembers Teyla mentioning that she, Zelenka, and Lorne had been put in charge of the city for a few weeks while Weir and the others in command had visited Earth. It made sense for them to have become, if not friends, then at least something closer than acquaintances.
"Are you not eating, Ronon?" Teyla asks as she places her tray down across from Zelenka. It's said in the innocent tone he's come to learn means she is being anything butinnocent. And yes, there's definitely mischief lurking in the curve of her mouth as she adds, "It is quite unlike you to skip a meal."
"The tirungi isn't dried," he informs her, and a momentarily dismayed look flickers across her face as she looks down at her bowl of tirungi. She has a second bowl, this one filled with sliced mangar fruit; after a moment, she sighs and abandons the tirungi, selecting a piece of fruit and lifting it to her lips. Ronon eyes the second bowl thoughtfully but he knows that if he tries to steal a slice, Teyla will be swift and certain in stabbing the offending hand with her fork, no doubt smiling all the while.
He contents himself with stealing another cucumber slice from Zelenka, who frowns at him for a moment and then turns to Teyla and says, "Miko told me you did very well in the last night's poker game. Congratulations."
Teyla's smile turns a little smug around the edges. "I had several winning hands, yes." She leans back in her chair and selects another piece of fruit, adding, "Of course, the game is mostly one of chance, not skill, but it is pleasant to win nonetheless." She inclines her head in a polite gesture. "I understand your chess club is doing well. How many members does it have now?"
"Ah, fifteen," Zelenka says, a pink flush spreading from his throat to his face. He smiles, apparently torn between embarrassment and pride. "Though Yilmaz might join, which would make it an even sixteen. He is still thinking on it."
"Chess?" Ronon repeats, gaze flickering between Zelenka and Teyla. Teyla has explained to him what poker is-- a card game similar to one they'd played in the northern regions of Sateda. Melena's father had won a few competitions and promised to teach Ronon after he and Melena were married, though Ronon had never expressed interest in the game. It was a game for the upper class, which Ronon decidedly wasn't, for all that he'd been steadily gaining rank in the military. Here in the city of the Ancestors, Lorne has offered to show Ronon how to play poker; Ronon still isn't interested, despite the fact that poker seems to be a game played by all classes on Earth.
When Zelenka doesn't immediately answer, Teyla attempts to explain. "It is a game between two players in which you each have sixteen pieces. There are--" She pauses, frowns as she chooses her words. "There are pawns, soldiers, priests, castles, a queen, and a king. There is a board that you use as a battlefield. If you capture your opponent's king, you win."
She glances over to see if she has explained correctly and finally Zelenka nods and adds, "Chess is a strategic, tactical game. On Earth, it's actually an organized sport with structured international and national leagues." He laughs a little, the sound dry as a desert. "It is merely another way of betting here." For a moment, though, his face mirrors the smugness of Teyla's smile as he adds, "Not that I'm complaining-- I won a full day's pay off Rodney the first time we played."
"Huh," Ronon says and steals another piece of cucumber. Chess sounds like a more practical game than poker, though not one he'd expect someone like Zelenka or McKay to play. It seems more fitting of a soldier -- Sheppard, maybe -- to sharpen his or her tactical and strategic skills. "Can I watch?"
Zelenka blinks and then stares at him for a moment, expression uncertain, as though he's not sure whether or not Ronon is serious. "Watch?" he repeats, incomprehension making the word flat and almost harsh, and then he blinks again. "Oh, if you'd like you're, ah, welcome to watch. I must warn you that many find the game boring." He hesitates, expression still saying that he thinks this is Ronon's idea of a joke, but finally concludes, "Our next meeting is this Friday."
Ronon nods, filing away Zelenka's words. The game might turn out to be even duller than poker, but Ronon's interested in seeing the ratio of soldiers and scientists who are in the club. On Sateda, chess would have been a warrior's game, but perhaps it isn't on Earth-- just another piece of the puzzle that makes up Zelenka and the other Lanteans. "Friday," he repeats, and Zelenka nods.
Later, once Zelenka has gone back to his lab, Teyla raises an eyebrow and focuses her sharp gaze on Ronon. "I was unaware that you and Doctor Zelenka were...friends," she says, with a deliberate pause before the final word, tone one of affable surprise. It's the tone she uses when she has a question but is too polite to ask outright.
He pretends to misunderstand the question in her eyes and shrugs. "He's interesting."
"I see," is all she says and then lightly but firmly stabs his hand with her fork as he tries to snag a slice of mangar.
*
The meeting is in the commissary, games scattered among the numerous tables. Zelenka sits at the closest table to the entrance, his back to the door. It's a vulnerable spot-- if an enemy burst through the doors, Zelenka would be the first one taken down, probably without any fight at all. He looks up at the sound of the doors opening, though, and smiles. "Ah, so you decided to come after all," he says, sounding pleased and still a little baffled that Ronon's so interested in his club.
Ronon nods and sits down at the table, making himself comfortable as Zelenka returns his attention to his chess board. Zelenka's opponent is another scientist. Now that Ronon scans the room, he sees that the majority of the players are scientists rather than soldiers. Sheppard and McKay sit in the far corner of the commissary, McKay scowling darkly at the board and Sheppard looking amused, slouched so low on the bench that he appears ready to slide to the floor. "Isn't this a tactical game? Shouldn't soldiers be more interested in it?" he asks Zelenka. He'd planned to just be quiet and observe, but he knows that this question will distract him the entire time if he doesn't ask it now.
Zelenka blinks at him. Ronon can't tell if he's puzzled by the question or surprised that Ronon cares enough to ask. "While it's believed that chess originated as chaturanga, an Indian game involving four divisions of the military, over the years, it has become an...intellectual game of sorts." An intellectual game? Ronon's not certain what that tells him about Earth. Do they consider battles simply games? Ronon doesn't know enough about Earth to even hazard a guess.
Meanwhile, Zelenka moves a piece on the board and then smiles, waiting for his opponent's reaction. Ronon watches them play and while he has no idea what the rules are -- there seem to be limits on which piece can be moved where, but that's all Ronon can figure out -- he quickly realizes that this game involves thinking three, four, five steps ahead of your opponent. Zelenka's expression is intent, calculating, his blue eyes flickering over the board, and Ronon can see him examining various possibilities with lightning-quick speed.
The other scientist wears an equally intent look, though a hint of mild anxiety colors his expression. Zelenka's opponent has numerous nervous tics, such as worrying his lower lip with his teeth as he ponders his next move, or when his fingers occasionally hover over a piece in silent indecision for a few breaths.
After about twenty minutes or so have gone by, however, Zelenka leans back in his seat, radiating smugness with just an arched eyebrow and mock-thoughtful expression. "If I'm not mistaken, that's check. Your move, McNab."
McNab stares for a moment and then swears, low and fervent, his nervousness replaced by surprise and disappointment. Ronon files the words away for future study. Lantean profanity is, after all, varied and extremely entertaining. "How the--" He stares at the board for another moment or two and then shakes his head and tips one of his pieces onto its side. "You win. Again. I'll get you those magazines tomorrow." McNab mutters something that sounds like, "Should have known better."
Zelenka smiles brightly at that. "Perhaps you'll beat me next time," he suggests, smile widening at McNab's snort of disbelief.
As McNab makes his way over to watch another game, Zelenka turns his attention to Ronon. There's a long stretch of silence and then Zelenka clears his throat. "I could, ah, show you how the game is played, if you wish," he offers. A hint of pink touches his face. "Miko -- Doctor Kusanagi -- was supposed to play against me next, but she's still in a game against Esposito. They're fairly evenly matched so their game might take some time."
Ronon shrugs and offers him a small smile in return. "Sure," he says, and watches some of the pinkness fade from Zelenka's cheeks. If he could figure out how to put the scientist at ease, he would. It isn't his goal to make Zelenka uncomfortable, after all. Besides, Zelenka might be at a loss as to why Ronon's here, but he's still willing to be friendly. It's nice, especially when compared to the reactions of some of Zelenka's fellow Lanteans when Ronon so much as glanced in their direction.
He moves around to sit in what was formerly McNab's spot, watching Zelenka set up the board for a new game. Black versus white, each piece gleaming as though they were freshly polished. Somehow, Ronon suspects this is Zelenka's personal set. One long, slender finger taps a small white piece and then Zelenka begins, his accented voice quiet and matter-of-fact. "This is the pawn. The pawn is the one of the most limited pieces and generally considered the most expendable...."
Ronon listens, lets Zelenka's voice wash over him as he explains the rules of the game. Apparently Zelenka finds pleasure in teaching, because as he explains each piece's function and the rules that govern the game, he relaxes, tension leeching from him. His smile becomes more genuine, his gestures more expansive, and by the time he finishes with the overall description of chess, he is leaning back in his seat and favoring Ronon with a wide, pleased smile.
"Am I interrupting?" a quiet voice asks and they both turn to look at the scientist who hovers next to the table. It's one of the quieter scientists, Kusanagi; Ronon's seen her moving confidently and softly in the wake of one of McKay's uproars, patting people's shoulders and reassuring them that McKay really isn't planning to ship them back to Earth on the next Daedalus trip.
Zelenka turns that wide, pleased smile on her. Ronon is surprised by the tiny spark of jealousy that flares in his chest at the loss of Zelenka's full attention. He pushes the sentiment down deep, tries to ignore it as Zelenka says, "I was just showing Ronon how to play." His blue eyes flicker back to Ronon and then to Kusanagi. "Perhaps we, ah, can play another time?"
"Play," Ronon tells him. "I'll watch and see if I remember the rules."
"If you're sure--" Zelenka says and then smiles as Ronon moves so that Kusanagi has easy access to the chess board. "All right."
Ronon watches them begin to play. Kusanagi is more confident than McNab and more calculating as well. Within the first few moves Ronon gets the feeling that Kusanagi and Zelenka are fairly well-matched. It should be an interesting game.
Now that the two have their attention on the chess board, Ronon takes the opportunity to press his hand against his chest and rub a thumb against the spot where the flare of jealousy had touched him. He thinks about the question in Teyla's eyes and his simple words to her -- "He's interesting" -- and smiles an inwardly rueful grin. Interesting, indeed. He watches as Zelenka takes out one of Kusanagi's bishops and wonders if Zelenka would be interested in giving him further lessons on how to play chess.
He needs to learn all that he can about the Lanteans, after all. Advantage is everything.