Who: Natasha Romanoff + Ronon Dex When: Backdated to truth bugs plot Where: Her house What: Post-sex cuddling leads to discussion of the past Warnings: Mentions of nudity and a few canon-related spoilers, nothing big Status: Closed | Completed Gdoc
Like Natasha had suggested, sex had most definitely taken place after Ronon’s arrival - and since they were both being very honest with one another about what they did or didn’t like, it had been even better than the night of the orgy. Now, a couple hours later, Natasha lay beside him in her bed with one leg casually resting across his, as her fingertips idly played with the bone necklace he wore even now, despite how naked they were. She’d already taken her time learning where some of his scars and tattoos were, and her cheek rested on his shoulder as her eyes studied the necklace.
“These look like fingerbones,” she mused aloud - again something she might not have come right out and said if not for whatever the Dome was doing to them, with the sudden impulse to be very truthful. “What are they from?”
***
“A wraith,” Ronon told her. He sighed, and reached up to finger the necklace. “Wraith are the predators of my galaxy. They cull entire populations, sucking the life out of their victims to feed themselves,” he explained. It was a gruesome process. Not something anyone should ever be subjected to.
“They destroyed my planet, left it in ruin, everyone dead.” Very few Satedans had survived the culling. All but Ronon were now dead and gone. He was the very last of his people. “I wear it to remind myself where I come from. What happened to my people. And as a memorial to them, rather than to the wraith I took it from.”
***
“Are these from a wraith you killed?” She could understand holding onto something like that, and wanting to wear something as a reminder. Running her nail across one of the bones one last time, Natasha then rested her palm on his chest instead.
“I don’t have anything like that - a reminder of where I come from. Unless you count what I was made into,” she added with a hint of dryness. “I never even knew the name of my father until a few minutes before I showed up here in town.”
***
“Sometimes I wonder if it’s too morbid,” he admitted. Being compelled to tell the truth was both a blessing and a curse. It made him say things, and talk about things, he didn’t want to discuss. But it also helped to prevent misunderstandings and such.
And it forced him to admit his feelings for Natasha were real. There was just something about her that he connected with, that made him want to get to know her better. The fact the sex was good helped.
***
“It’s a little morbid - but not too much so,” she told him with a small smile. “I understand why you have it. Will you tell me what your tattoos mean?” This time, she drifted a hand to his far arm to trace one of them slowly.
Meanwhile, Natasha turned her head just a little so that her lips could brush his skin, finding that she was enjoying the taste and his very presence in general - more than she would have anticipated. Her own feelings were harder to decipher than whatever it was forcing her to tell the truth, but something was stirring there. “I’d like to hear more about Sateda.” And if he talked about himself, it’d keep her from taking control of the conversation and spilling more of her own past and secrets.
***
He started with the series of triangles that formed a bracelet around his forearm, the most recent of his tattoos. The meanings were varied and personal, and he was unable to lie or in any way deceive, but there was nothing he was ashamed to say. The hardest to talk about wasn’t a tattoo, but the scar on his back where the Wraith tracker had been for seven long years.
He relaxed considerably when the conversation turned to Sateda. He had many good memories, up until the part where the Wraith came and culled the entire planet. He’d thought everyone dead, though he’d found a few straggling survivors over the years. “Now, though, it seems I am the last of my people.” Which was something that lay heavy on him. Even if he produced offspring, they would be only half Satedan, and within a few generations, all traces of Sateda would be gone and forgotten.
“Tell me where you are from,” he said, shifting to look into her eyes.
***
Natasha stayed quiet as she listened to him talk, enjoying the sound of his voice and learning more about him, and soothed him when it was clear that he didn’t like some of what he was saying. Her fingertips reached back to brush the scar softly when he told her about it, before draping across him again as he talked about his planet and his people - including his wife.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered softly in response as she drew one of the blankets over the two of them slowly. At his next words, Natasha wanted to change the subject or distract him….but the damn dome wouldn’t allow her.
“I’m from Russia...but I know little of it overall. I was taken from my parents when I was very young, and raised in a place called the Red Room,” she began, before reluctantly continuing on to tell him what she could remember. Her memory was so full of holes thanks to their torture and brainwashing, and some genetic manipulation - but she told him what she could, and what they did to her to mold her into a weapon entirely made of marble. When she told him about Clint, her voice softened and it was Natasha’s turn to relax a little. Then there was everything about SHIELD and HYDRA’s infiltration, all the way up to Thanos’ arrival and the devastation that came after.
Finally, she told him too about Scott showing up and their mad plan to travel through time to steal the stones, and her sacrifice. “When I first appeared here...I thought for a moment we failed. That I failed, somehow. I learned very quickly that it worked, thankfully.” Laying her head down, Nat let out a shaky breath. Her throat was a little sore from talking, and she was physically and emotionally exhausted from going through all that, having blinked back tears at different times that she refused to shed.
“I think you’re the first to hear everything.” Now he knew some things that even Clint didn’t know about her. “I need a drink.”
***
He listened, giving soft nods or grunts of encouragement and support as she talked. He knew it was difficult for her to tell him everything, that the dome or whatever powered it was behind the baring all. His own truths didn’t seem as terrible, compared to hers.
He actually felt a little inadequate. His story was a difficult one to tell, but hers was a bit more traumatic. Even he could see that. But it was also entirely different, and comparing them was like apples to oranges. There was no comparison.
“Do you have alcohol here, or should we head out?” He was all about giving her whatever she needed now, after baring her soul like she had. They were both raw. Alcohol might make it worse, or it might make it better.
***
“I have plenty here.” The last thing she wanted was to go out right now, particularly with how exposed she felt. Drawing away from him slowly, she ran a hand through her hair, then stood and moved to the dresser to pull out a simple shirt and a pair of underwear to tug on, not really feeling like she needed to wear more than that in front of him.
Stopping in the doorway, she looked over her shoulder at him and gave a faint smile. “Coming?”
***
He blinked, clearing his thoughts. He could get caught up staring at her.
“You don’t have to ask me twice.” Ronon got to his feet, and tugged his own underwear on. He didn’t bother with anything else. There wasn’t any need, he thought, if they were staying in. He was grateful for that; he too felt exposed and vulnerable after the conversation they’d had and the truths they had shared.
“This is a nice way to spend the evening,” he told her. It was definitely better than sitting home alone staring at the walls.
***
Natasha's smile widened a little as she watched, not bothering to hide her interest, though she met his eyes when he finished and approached. "It is," she agreed. "Maybe...we could do this more often?" Natasha liked the thought of spending more time with him, and now….well. She didn't have any secrets left to keep.
*** “I think that can be arranged,” he said as he moved behind her and leaned down to nip at her neck.