There is blood on the floor, blood on his hands. He stands for a long time and stares at the blood as if looking can somehow make it go away. It isn't supposed to be there. It isn't supposed to/

/“Ronon, what are you doing?”

Teyla stood with her back to the wall, concerned brown eyes fixed on his face. He didn’t want to kill her, he really didn’t, but the knife was in his hand and there was her throat and he had no choice.

/happen this way. These people are his friends. He trusts them. He doesn't want to hurt them/

/“Hey, Ronon, what’s up?”

Sheppard was all spiky black hair and quizzical green eyes. He could tell something was wrong, and he was halfway to his feet by the time the thrown knife struck him in the heart. It took him a while to die, and he asked why, but Ronon didn’t know the answer.

/so why is there blood on his hands?

He remembers something, voices that wouldn't go away, voices in his head and how it hurt and how he had to do what they said. They said to kill his team/

/The alarms were going off by the time he reached McKay’s lab. The scientist’s eyes went wide when he saw the gun and his mouth gaped but the bullet didn’t give him time to panic. He wasn’t like Sheppard; he died quickly and didn’t say anything.

/and now there is blood on his hands, the blood of his friends, the blood of his family. He doesn't hear the voices any more but now it is too late.

"Ronon, put down your weapon!"

The words come from behind him; it's Lorne, who says meaningless things about how Ronon was brainwashed and it wasn't his fault and Carson can make him better. Ronon knows it's too late for that; nothing will ever make him better.

The voices are silent; he makes his own decision because it is what he has to do. He turns and points the gun at Lorne, and Lorne fires and the bullets hit Ronon in the chest and he knows how Sheppard felt.

He is on the floor. There's blood on the floor, blood on his hands, but this time it's his own blood. He thinks this is what justice feels like.