Title: Batman and Ronon
Authors note: A Stargate Atlantis AU type thingy. This is all the fault of arnaa. Do not archive without permission.
Summary: Ronon wasn't sure it was going to work out.
Ronon wasn't sure at first if this was going to work out.
He had been serving Mr Sheppard as his sidekick for almost full year now and Ronon admired him greatly. He had a warriors zeal, his vengeance driven life was a lofty goal for Ronon, and Mr Sheppard had earned Ronon's devotion on top of the sheer gratitude of having this chance to take over from the departing Robin. The sticking point was McKay.
Alfred had turned in his notice reluctantly more than two years ago and it had been just as reluctantly accepted by Mr Sheppard, but they both had to face the fact that Alfred was ancient and when a man couldn't dodge his own invention - a spring loaded bat knife launcher - it was time to throw in the towel. Alfred took his three remaining limbs and retired with dignified style to the country.
His parting shot in the war to keep Mr Sheppard from marinating in his own angst was the appointment of his replacement. A man called McKay, who insisted at first on being addressed as Doctor McKay and got really shrill when Ronon consistently accidentally-on-purpose forgot to add the honorific. By the time Ronon arrived to take up his appointment McKay was entrenched in Mr Sheppard's life. Although Ronon wasn't sure what it was he did exactly. There were day housekeepers to clean, gardeners, handymen and other staff so McKay never cleaned or cooked. Or served come to think of it.
Ronon recalled his first morning at the mansion after an uneasy sleep. He came down to the breakfast table after getting slightly lost. He found Mr Sheppard carrying a full plate from a buffet on the sideboard and a pale skinned stocky man sitting slumped at the table scowling at Mr Sheppard's copy of the Gotham Times. Mr Sheppard introduced them and McKay's eyebrows rose incredulously. "Do you have a time machine you didn't tell me about? Is he Neanderthal or a previously undiscovered offshoot of Homo Sapiens Sapiens. Homo Sapiens Hirstutis."
Ronon felt the scowl form on his face. Strong men cowered from his scowl. It had, in fact, been what had gotten him this job. McKay just rolled his eyes hard enough to detach his retinas and muttered into his paper "Jesus John, where do you find these people?" "Aren't you meant to be the servant?" Ronon grunted. Mr Sheppard was watching them like they were a particularly fascinating tennis match. McKay didn't even look up. "If he wont buy me a decent coffee maker he can't expect decent service" he sniffed. And that seemed to be that.
During the months that followed Ronon fell into the rhythm of his new life. He trained with Mr Sheppard for hours every day. His benefactor taught him strategy as well as tactics and Ronon learned to rein in his more homicidal impulses until the proper vengeance could be exacted with full planning and precision. Mr Sheppard was the master and Ronon learned a lot. He also managed to teach Mr Sheppard some knife skills. Ronon felt Mr Sheppard was too reliant on projectiles, but the car was awesome. Ronon had had some very sticky dreams involving memories of them driving in that car. He had been pretty worried until he'd realised he wasn't fixating on his boss in the latex suit, but instead the beautiful piece of machinery he drove. And occasionally flew.
McKay had been horrified at the injuries from a few missed defensive moves during the knife fighting lessons. They were nothing worse than scratches but McKay went on like Mr Sheppard was *this* close to needing prosthetic limb replacement. He even tried to forbid Mr Sheppard from responding to a Bat Signal because he was "...Practically on deaths door! You could have tetanus! Septicaemia! Fine! don't come crying to me when our entire system shuts down!"
From that point on McKay felt obligated to chime in on the ongoing problem of Ronon's secret identity name since he wasn't going to be Robin. McKay's suggestions so far had been along the lines of 'Knife Boy', 'The Hairy Kid' and 'Kid Dread'. Ronon had growled so loud he almost missed Mr Sheppard coughing to cover a laugh. "Isn't there already a Judge Dredd?" McKay mused. Oblivious to Ronon's simmering expression he rambled on in his cranky superior way.
"Honestly, no-one has any sense of style in naming these days, let alone costumes. Big Red flying around with his underwear on the wrong side. The Joker. Hah! There's a case in point. The man wouldn't know restraint if it bit off his balls and spat them into the sink. The clothes, the puns...good God. Now, Luthor. Lex Luthor has style. Call him an ego maniacal sociopath if you must but don't hate the man for his threads. His plans are elegant too. The Joker, huh, I could plan better snares when I was four and in the hospital with two IV lines attached after a massive systemic reaction...." and so on.
One memorable time they had all been on edge after a string of bad cases and Mr Sheppard was so deep in his brood that not even McKay and Ronon deliberately going at it like screaming harpies penetrated his funk. Mr Sheppard had the moody face on, as McKay put it, and when he emerged from his office (*Cave* McKay coughed from the other side of the room) he was in full Dark Avenger mode and ordered Ronon to gear up. As they strode out to battle once again against the forces of evil Ronon distinctly heard McKay bitching in the background. "Go Issues Boy! To the Emo-mobile!".
Ronon ignored McKay largely, he didn't approve of the attitude he showed their employer but he figured Mr Sheppard knew what he was doing. Even when Mr Sheppard snapped at his manservant, and the irrepressible McKay snapped right back with mocking zingers like "Holy Repression, Batman!" when Mr Sheppard had just outlined a new mission, the affection between them was obvious. Ronon figured it was a war buddy thing. Despite McKay loudly decrying any effort to get him to do any form of physical exercise let alone any form of combat training.
McKay would shout that he was hired for his brains and having them splattered on the side walk after a pitched battle was a criminal waste of Mr Sheppard's resources. Mr Sheppard would shout back that anyone who had anything to do with him tended to live in danger so McKay would learn to defend himself or find another job. McKay would then hit new levels of shrill and it would rapidly go downhill from there. Ronon had learned early to leave them to it. They screamed and bitched and sometimes he could hear furniture being moved and things breaking in the scuffles, but they always came out eventually. Looking exhausted and flushed, and relaxed now they had gotten it off their chests, Ronon supposed.
Near the end of the first year Ronon served Mr Sheppard, he still didn't get McKay. Despite the tinkering with the bat signal to 'juice it up' one time - and had every local alien complaining of light pollution in this corner of the galaxy - he still didn't know what McKay actually did around the place since McKay just dismissed his enquires with a waving hand and a rude "You wouldn't understand. There isn't enough room under that hair to have a big enough brain."
After all this time Ronon knew how to reply to that now. "At least I have hair. Hey, do you want some of mine? We could do a transplant" he riposted one day, utterly straight faced. McKay had gaped and Mr Sheppard had bolted from the room with another coughing fit. Unfortunately they didn't get to enjoy the moment long because right then the Joker decided to come out and play in the streets of Gotham and things became serious very quickly.
Mr Sheppard was captured and Ronon was pretty badly wounded. Very badly. It wasn't going to stop him but, frankly, right now he wished he could abandon the stoic face and bitch like McKay. He bet it would make him feel better. Tying off the tourniquet with his teeth he grunted out a grudging report to McKay. Ronon tried to stand and actually fell on top of the eerily silent man. There was no bitching about possible spinal injury after breaking Ronon's fall. No long suffering sighs. No venomous comments about Mr Sheppard's apparent 'death wish'. It was beginning to freak Ronon out.
McKay tucked himself under one of Ronon's shoulders and helped him to the cave to get back into the car. On the way he stopped, propped Ronon against a doorway and then did something to make a whole other room appear from behind a sliding wall. It was a work room and as Ronon spied some of the toys he and Batman used in their missions he finally guessed what McKay did now. McKay rapidly filled a backpack with gadgets, and Ronon was sure he saw a chunk of C4 and a canister of fissionables make its way into the bag, before levering Ronon into the passenger seat of the Batmobile.
They made it to the Jokers lair in record time. Ronon was glad to have the excuse of blackouts from blood loss to cover for his involuntary closing of eyes against McKay's horrendous driving. McKay only let him set charges on the front entrance and left him to it before disappearing into the lair with a steady face and intent eyes. Ronon was just about to snap from the tension of the whole place being so quiet when McKay came staggering out, covered in blood, and dragging the limp and battered figure of Batman.
Somehow they got home and went into injury recovery lock-down. Ronon dragged himself out of bed the next day however. He had to check what had become of the Joker and his minions. He went to the lair. He saw the bodies Or what remained of the bodies. They hadn't died fast or pretty. Ronon came home with a lot to think about and a new respect for the abilities of scientists under pressure. He climbed wearily up the massive staircase to his bedroom and automatically diverted to check Mr Sheppard's room as he did every night during his personal security sweep.
Mr Sheppard was tucked up in bed, lying sprawled comfortably with his head resting on McKay's chest. McKay was stroking Mr Sheppard's hair and face and gently leant down to kiss him on the crown of his head. Mr Sheppard didn't look surprised. Only comforted. Ronon withdrew silently and continued to his room. McKay would do, he supposed. It would work out after all. Maybe he could teach McKay some knife tricks in return for a new gadget....Ronon went to sleep dreaming of big guns and visions of latex and bitching butlers swimming in his head.
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