The_Jett_Jett (jett_chan) wrote,
The_Jett_Jett
jett_chan

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Title:  A Dangerous Game
Author:  Jett-chan
Fandom:  Stargate Atlantis
Characters:  Ronon Dex/Evan Lorne
Rating:  PG (at the least)
Summary:  The good major finds himself in a caught between a rock and a hard place.

-

“Blue-squad Three, are you in position?” There was static for a moment over the walkie.

 

“Sir, Blue-squad Three is in position.”

 

“Good. Hold until you get the signal from ‘Squad Two.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Major Lorne couched low and peered cautiously around the corner of the wall. He was all that was left of Blue-squad One, the rest of his men having been captured by the enemy. He took a deep breath to calm himself. The other two groups under his command were planning a jail break of sorts. Hopefully, this would be enough to distract the enemy from the target. He would be in this alone, but nothing could be done about that. Surprisingly, guard around the target was sparse. This did, of course, make him suspicious, though once again he reminded himself that nothing could be done. He’d only get one shot to pull this off, so screwing up was not an option. Too much was riding on this. Way too much.

 

He wanted that day off, damn it, and a few Red guards were not going to stop him.

 

He tightened the blue bandana around his arm and checked his weapon. Half-loaded. Good enough. He was close anyway. He slowly stood up, as to not alert his presence to the Red guards only yards away. Taking a deep breath he stepped away from the wall and turned the corner, firing three times. One guard was hit twice, once in the shoulder and another in the chest; the second was shot in the hip. Disarmed. The sound of curses and disappointed grunts followed him down the hall as he ran. If Zelenka was right, the target was two corridors down. He made a sharp turn at the second hallway only to skid to a halt. He lowered his weapon and shoulders in defeat. He looked despairingly into the eyes of the Red-guard he was not allowed to shoot.

 

Ronon stood between him and the crimson flag, a red bandana tied to his upper arm.

 

Lorne tilted his head back slightly and groaned.

 

“Crap…” The Guard could not be shot with the paint balls like the other Reds. The Guard had to be fought hand-to-hand. Those were the rules. Ronon smirked.

 

“’Fraid this is as far as you go,” he said, arms crossed. Lorne shrugged, still breathing rather heavily.

 

“You’re not kidding. This whole plan depended on Sheppard being the Red-guard. But hey, man,” Lorne began, “I know a lost battle when I see one.” He dropped his paint-ball gun and put his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. It seemed all was for naught. Ronon snorted, uncrossing his arms and taking a few steps towards the major.

 

“Cowardly, but smart. ‘Cuz there was no way you were getting this flag,” the ex-runner chuckled. Lorne managed to get out a small laugh in between deep breaths.

 

“I know! I mean, look at you. You’re a wall!” he said, waving in Ronon’s general direction. “Sheppard I could have handled.”

 

“Yeah, maybe,” Ronon said, nodding as if somewhat relaxed. Lorne straightened up slightly.

 

“Yeah, well, you know what they say, right?” he asked. Ronon lifted a brow.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“The bigger they are, the harder they fall.” Lorne dropped suddenly, extending his leg and sweeping it around the back of Ronon’s. Lorne didn’t bother to enjoy the resounding ‘thud’ of the larger man hitting the floor, completely abandoned his gun, and almost tripped in his hurry to the flag. Wrapping his fingers around the pole of the flag (which was only about the size of a baton) he ran towards the second door that was located on the opposite side of the room. Lorne would have to poke fun at Sheppard for that poor security decision, later. He could hear Ronon’s outraged roar and didn’t dare look back. He just continued to run towards Blue base, pretending he was on his uncle’s farm and being chased by those unusually hostile dogs the old man liked to keep around.

 

He, of course, had forgotten about the other Reds that had paint-ball guns and were still in position in the Gateroom. Lorne ducked his head down but continued sprinting. Maybe it would be harder to hit a target running somewhere around the speed of Ohgodohgodohgod-I’m gonna die! Reckless? Most certainly.

 

It was only by the grace of all underdogs everywhere that his (newly freed) team appeared from their above positions on the second floor. A flurry of blue paint splatter erupted on the Reds in Lorne’s way. Two of his team met him on the floor and began to flank him, keeping him slightly hidden from the enemy. They escorted him all the way to the teleporter before they took guard on either side of it. Lorne chose his location and was beamed to the opposite side of the game’s boundaries where the Blue-base was located. When the doors slid open, the major felt a wave of relief crash over him as he was met by two other Blues that looked at him with surprise. They had obviously not believed they’d ever see the Reds’ flag, what with Sheppard’s team on the Red side. Lorne gave an exhausted smirked, stepping out of the teleporter and holding up the flag. It was then that he noticed it wasn’t surprise in their eyes, but shame. Lorne’s smirk faltered drastically when he saw the distinct shape of a gun in his peripheral vision and noticed the red paint splatter on the vests of his men.

 

“Sorry, Major, but I’m gonna have to take that back.” The smirk in Col. Sheppard’s voice was unmistakable, and Lorne once again groaned. He didn’t have his gun. Teyla appeared at his other side, smiling at him in a way that was almost apologetic, and took the flag from his hand.

 

Game Over.   

 

-

 

“I suck…” Lorne said as he placed the ice packs on his legs. Atlantis was huge and had a lot of ground to cover. He sat at a mess table with Sheppard and his team, discussing the detail of the “training session,” as the colonel liked to call it. Teyla patted his back.

 

“You and your team did very well, Major. A jail break, an ambush, nearly making it back to your base…”

 

And, I hear you managed to pull one over on Ronon,” John said, smiling around his sandwich. Ronon growled a little.

 

“He got lucky.”

 

“And you got dropped,” Lorne retorted, causing John to laugh out loud (McKay would have, but he was sitting next to Ronon at the time). Lorne grinned as Ronon cast him a hooded look. “But I can’t believe I didn’t see that coming. I should have known McKay would have found our base like Zelenka found yours.”

 

“That’s what training’s for. To learn from mistakes,” Ronon said suddenly, surprising everyone a little. Lorne blinked and nodded. Sheppard eased the sudden silence by telling everyone, in great detail, what he would do with the day off the Reds had won.

 

Soon afterwards, everyone slowly left the mess hall and to their quarters after their long and neck-breaking day of training (though no one would ever admit to not having fun), leaving Lorne and Ronon alone at the table. The good major was dozing in his chair slightly, looking out on the waves and the setting sun, thinking of how much his mom would love to paint it. The burning in his legs had subsided, replaced with a dull ache. He put some serious thought into just sleeping in the chair. He looked over to Ronon, who hadn’t said anything since the others left. It surprised him enough to wake him up a little when he found Ronon was staring at him. The ex-runner’s face was unreadable, and for a second Lorne thought it was a glare. The other man wasn’t that upset about the fall, was he? Lorne was either so concentrated on this though or he was too tired; but when Ronon suddenly stood up from his chair, Lorne jumped slightly and blinked up at him. Ronon walked around the table and took a chair in front of the major.

 

“How’d you do that?” he asked. Lorne blinked and tilted his head just a little.

 

“Do what?” Perhaps the question would have made more sense to him if he wasn’t about to fall asleep. Ronon averted his gaze for a second before settling on Lorne again.

 

“How’d you throw me off guard like that?” he clarified. Lorne shrugged absent mindedly.

 

“I guess it’s because I’m such a nice guy,” he joked, giving the other man a half-smile. Ronon looked like he was thinking it over before he shook his head.

 

“No, don’t think that’s it,” he said firmly. He reached out as he stood up, gently running a hand up Lorne’s thigh. The major’s breath hitched. “Try to get some rest. We’ve got another training session like this next week.” And with a slight nod from Lorne, Ronon stood up fully and walked out of the mess. Lorne breathed slowly, his eyes staring at his leg. It was still sore, if not a little tingly now.

 

-

 

One week later saw the two teams once again locked in their game. It once again found the good major moving with great stealth through corridors and empty rooms, staying hidden. But unlike last time, Ronon was not the Guard. And really, one couldn’t blame Lorne for not realizing he was being followed. Ronon had stalking prey down to a fine art. One could question the major’s loyalty, however, when Ronon pushed him into an empty observation room and proceeded claim Lorne’s mouth, without any form of resistance.

 

Lorne smirked against the Satedan’s lips. The game could wait.


-

After a bad experience of capture the flag at a fourth grade camping trip, I knew I had to face my fear hatred of it and make it into a joyful game once again. This is... probably not so much joyful as much as it is wishful thinking, but hey~ My childhood therapist would be so proud. *sniffle*

It has an  awkward flow, I'll admit... I tried to fix it. D:

As always, beta'd by the uber talented nelle_tenebre. If you see any left over mistakes, those would be my own (she has not seen the final product), and I would be overjoyed if you would point them out.
Tags: fic, games, ronon/lorne
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