"The Ties That Bind" (4/6)
Nov. 29th, 2007 02:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kristen999Title: “The Ties that Bind” (4/6) Gen
Author: Kristen999
Character(s): Ronon and Sheppard Friendship
Genre(s): Stargate Atlantis: Some drama, action and h/c.
Rating: T
Words: 21,000 total –2300 this section
Spoilers: Season 4 “Reunion”
Summary: Ronon asks Sheppard to join him on a dangerous search unaware that some answers are gained in the journey.
Notes: This is all from Ronon's POV, but a study of their interesting friendship. There were a few things from “Reunion” that I thought needed further exploration. For some reason this was a tough nut to crack, but I enjoyed doing so.
This is complete, updates will be every other day as I tweak things.
Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
everybetty for her invaluable beta service, poking and prodding me until this was my best effort. Also to rednz for her wonderful encouragement and fast as lightening suggestions.
Previous Chapters
-------------------------------
It feels like the flames of damnation are licking his skin, melting the layers away from his bones in a slow, boiling torture. Ronon opens bloodshot eyes and gags on the smell of burning metal. He spits to rid the taste of ash from his mouth and the room sways into a cloudy focus. He can't move; his hands are tied behind his back and attached to the bindings of his ankles.
It's clever; the more he fights, the further his arms are pulled backwards and his back spasms as it’s pulled into a strained arch. He's alive, trussed up in a smelting room of the mine, a live furnace roaring in front of him. His eyes sting from smoke in the room, his face slick with sweat mixing with the moisture that streams down his face.
He feels nothing but overwhelming fury and grief, his volatile emotions burning along with the fire next to him.
He works on the ropes, abrading the skin in his attempts to get free. It's difficult to breathe and he fights against choking. He closes his watery eyes; the images of Sateda on fire and in ruins flash in his mind.
Gone is the splendor of markets, the golds and bronzes of beautiful buildings and bridges leading to the town square. Gone are the streams he used to go swimming in as a kid or the giant yumta fields he hid within during harvest.
There are craters where the Great Halls once stood, the place where his mates got married and they all got drunk off of Fireale.
Nothing's left of the great Satedan military, a force to be feared and honored by their neighbors.
All of his friends are dead except the ones that have become tainted and twisted by the Wraith.
And now he's suffered another terrible loss and he does everything to bury the agony deep down inside.
His wrists bleed from rubbing them on the filthy floor; his joints pop from trying get out of the knotted rope. His head pounds and aches. It's getting harder to draw oxygen and his vision swims from the incineration of the ore so close by.
His mind drifts in the balmy room, wondering if he'll ever stop failing all the time.
“You awake?”
Ronon tries not to think about all the faces stuffed into a building of worship at Doctor Beckett's funeral.
“I know you're not dead yet.”
Or the image of Dr Weir dying in bed while he stands by helplessly.
“You really are pathetic,” Turesh sneers, kicking him in the back.
Ronon rolls onto to his side to stare up defiantly. “You should have killed me.”
“I wanted to, but Lars wanted to get his licks in.” Turesh chuckles, turning towards the bar owner who is standing next to him. “I must say, I'm not surprised that a Satedan fell for something like that.”
Ronon lets the sharp pieces of silt dig into his palms as he rubs at the ropes.
Lars peers over the murderer's shoulder, still holding onto the P-90 like a prized possession.
Turesh lowers to his haunches, enjoying how he twists the invisible blade. “You know, your friend fought like a wild animal... kicking, punching. Not very effective, but then again, he'd been winged.”
Ronon just concentrates on the feeling of the ropes splitting and weakening.
“He didn't scream though. I was impressed. He did grunt like an animal after I twisted up that shoulder enough.”
Ronon won't say a word, doesn't allow himself to think or feel.
“You know what we do to sick and injured animals, Lars old buddy?” Turesh turns to look at the other man.
“What?”
“We put them down.”
Ronon can't block the image of Sheppard's dead body anymore. Nothing can hold back the gun shot or the way the pilot's head jerked and how his blood had stained the ground.
He breaks free from his bonds and launches himself at the man who killed Sheppard right in front of him.
Every fighting technique is gone, his coordination nonexistent. He's all fists and madness.
He pins the mercenary to the ground with his knees even with his ankles still bound together. Turesh doesn't have time to shield his face from the pounding. Blood stains Ronon's knuckles; parts of his fingers burn from being cut on his foe's teeth.
Bone meets flesh, his body quaking from the outpouring of guilt and hatred.
He does it for every fallen comrade. For every Satedan building blown up by the man's bombs.
Ronon pummels the man before him for his friend.
Turesh slams a fist into his jaw to no effect. There's an elbow here, a blow there. It's not until fists slam into each of Ronon's ears at the same time that the Terinian is able to wiggle away.
“Shoot him!” Turesh orders the trader.
Ronon sways, trying to clear the cobwebs, but the room is spinning and he can't get to his feet fast enough. Lars doesn't move, too cowardly to get into the feud.
“I'm going to rip you to shreds when I'm done with this piece of Satedan dreck,” Turesh spits at the bar owner.
Ronon tries to undo the rope still binding his ankles when he feels a piece wrap around his throat. The big Terinian hisses in his ear, “It was so easy to subdue your buddy.”
Turesh tries to throttle him; the rope rubs away skin as it tightens around his larynx. Ronon wrestles with it, his lungs already weak from breathing in the burning fumes of the furnace.
“Poor Satedan, once again unable to defend others.”
Ronon helped pull the trigger, helped place the bullet in Sheppard's brain.
“It's too bad I can't shoot your pal twice.”
Ronon lashes out blindly behind him and rips out the metal jewelry from Turesh's nose. The rope grows slack and he finishes freeing his ankles as the mercenary roars in pain, blood dripping down his chin. Ronon grabs a handful of the Mohawk, yanking on the hair and sending the Terinian into the wall. The furnace crackles and spits out flames next him, falling embers burning his arm. He slams the mercenary's skull into the stone behind him with a crack.
The thug sways dizzily and Ronon holds him against the wall and pounds away. After several minutes, he pauses to glare at Turesh's bloody face and raises his fist again. “This one is for Sheppard.”
He feels an itch... a tingle... and turns around.
Lars has been waiting for this moment to take them both out. The P-90's safety is off and he fires at both of them.
Ronon jumps, dives to the ground and instinctively rolls away. Lars isn't prepared for the powerful kickback of the automatic rifle and several stray bullets hit the furnace. The reaction is instantaneous and the kiln explodes into a fireball.
Heat from the flames bakes into Ronon’s back as he gets a shoulder full of shrapnel. He covers his head as the blast shakes the room and chunks of the ceiling begin to fall. He’s numb, tempted to just lie there and wait for another explosion or toxins from the burning ore to take him out. Another rumble and a piece of the ceiling falls on him, jarring him out of his stupor.
It takes a few attempts to get back to his feet; his head still aches and the air is heavy with particles. He has to know... has to make sure after all this that Turesh is dead. It won't be worth it... nothing could be, but he won't walk away without knowing.
Most of the area around the furnace is thrashed; rubble is strewn all over the floor and some of the scrap still burns.
Both men are buried under debris and he leans over the mercenary's unmoving body. He reaches out to feel for a pulse and is startled by the hoarse plea a few feet away.
“Help me!”
Lars's legs have a huge chunk of rock covering them; the black marketer's face is covered in blood and he holds his arm at an odd angle. “Please... help me.”
Ronon looks up at the ceiling, taking note of the raining debris. “No.”
“I'll die if you leave me.”
“Don't care.”
The fumes are overpowering and it won't be long until the rest of the roof falls in.
“I'll tell you where the others are....I'll tell you how to find more of your people. I know that's why you didn't kill me when you had a chance.”
Ronon hesitates, part of him still needing to know, but he can't make himself move towards the backstabber. He ignores the man's plea and is reaching for Turesh's carotid when the murderer's eyes open.
“Still alive,” Turesh rasps.
“Not for long,” Ronon replies, standing.
He lists to the left, feeling woozy, and knows it's time to go and leave these two to their fate.
“Help me escape, Dex.”
Ronon's laughter is swallowed up by a hacking cough.
Turesh tries to move but is trapped under too much rock. “Don't you want to know where the body is?”
Ronon freezes.
“You want your comrade to be left to rot like an animal or take him home to be buried?”
Ronon squeezes his eyes closed.
“What will you tell his family and friends? That you left his corpse on some strange planet? Because you'll never find it without me.”
Ronon sees Rodney's anguished expression, Teyla's downcast eyes, Carter's inability to understand why he didn't bring John back.
“I'll find him myself,” he grunts over the mental anguish.
“I had one of my men dump him deep in this complex. You know how unstable the mines are under here. If this room goes... so does the rest.”
“No, take me! I can find more of your people!” Lars begs as more of the ceiling collapses on him.
Ronon holds onto the wall to steady himself; Turesh's bravado falters as he coughs up blood. He stalks over and begins removing blackened stone and burning trash. He finds his blaster and stuffs it in his holster, then yanks on Turesh's arm, hauling him to his feet.
“You pick a corpse over your people!” Lars bellows as Ronon drags the mercenary away.
“Take me to his body,” Ronon orders.
They take barely two steps away from the furnace room before it collapses.
-----------------------
Ronon isn't gentle with the murderer, dragging him through tunnel after tunnel without saying a word. He ignores every painful grunt, slapping the man's face for further directions. Blood drips from the wound in the back of his shoulder but the floor is coated with the mercenary's and he takes satisfaction in that.
They come to a split in the tunnels and Turesh raises his head. “I want you to let me go. I know a way out from here.”
Ronon slams Turesh against an opposite wall. “No.”
“Leave me; I'll tell you how to get to his body.”
“You take me to him or die right now,” Ronon demands, pulling out a knife and pressing it to the man's throat.
“You’re going to kill me over some dead buddies from years ago?” Turesh smiles. “How are you going to gain vengeance for a long ago dead planet?”
“I'm not. I'm going to get it for the death of someone else.”
He slices the steel across the thug's throat. Turesh gasps, blood spurts out in rivers, his hands unable to staunch the massive wound. The man's body slumps to the ground with the majority of his blood volume soaking the front of his shirt. Ronon curses the murderer in Satedan, turning his back on him.
Turesh gave himself away, his eyes flicking to the tunnel on the right. He follows it down a twisty path, lost in his emotions. His steps are slow and hesitant. The dank hallway opens up to a small room and he freezes at the sight of the pilot's uniform.
Sheppard is face down on the floor, his body carelessly dumped next to other discarded and decayed bodies. Ronon doesn't want to move, his limbs heavy with guilt and sorrow. He forces himself to go towards his commander's body, avoiding the crimson stain on the ground. He rolls the colonel's body over and pushes back the strands of hair sticky with blood away from the clammy forehead.
The pilot’s eyes are mercifully closed and Ronon takes a deep breath, wondering what would be the best way to carry him back to Atlantis. Ronon rests his hand on the colonel's shoulder. “I'm sorry, Sheppard.”
This is his responsibility. His fault.
He swallows back the desire to retch; he's going to suck it up and tough it out. That's what a soldier does and he's not going to desecrate Sheppard's honor by losing it now.
He contemplates a moment before slipping one arm under the colonel's neck and the other under the pilot's long legs. Ronon looks at Sheppard one final time and notices the colonel's temple is still bleeding, a rivulet of crimson running down his ear.
He curses at his own stupidity, for letting grief overcome common sense. Turesh had been too busy staring at him to eat up his reaction to pay attention to his aim. The colonel's skull is still intact.
Ronon's hand shakes at the remote possibility as he examines the head wound. There is a deep, horrible gash that bleeds freely, but there is no bullet hole. He presses his fingers against Sheppard's neck and feels a weak beat underneath.
Sheppard's alive. He wants to shout in triumph but knows his friend is gravely wounded and they're still trapped in a maze of tunnels on a hostile planet.
“Doesn't matter,” Ronon says out loud.
He'll find a way. If Sheppard can cheat death again then he's going to get them both off this world alive.
Chapter 5
Author: Kristen999
Character(s): Ronon and Sheppard Friendship
Genre(s): Stargate Atlantis: Some drama, action and h/c.
Rating: T
Words: 21,000 total –2300 this section
Spoilers: Season 4 “Reunion”
Summary: Ronon asks Sheppard to join him on a dangerous search unaware that some answers are gained in the journey.
Notes: This is all from Ronon's POV, but a study of their interesting friendship. There were a few things from “Reunion” that I thought needed further exploration. For some reason this was a tough nut to crack, but I enjoyed doing so.
This is complete, updates will be every other day as I tweak things.
Thanks to
everybetty for her invaluable beta service, poking and prodding me until this was my best effort. Also to rednz for her wonderful encouragement and fast as lightening suggestions.Previous Chapters
-------------------------------
It feels like the flames of damnation are licking his skin, melting the layers away from his bones in a slow, boiling torture. Ronon opens bloodshot eyes and gags on the smell of burning metal. He spits to rid the taste of ash from his mouth and the room sways into a cloudy focus. He can't move; his hands are tied behind his back and attached to the bindings of his ankles.
It's clever; the more he fights, the further his arms are pulled backwards and his back spasms as it’s pulled into a strained arch. He's alive, trussed up in a smelting room of the mine, a live furnace roaring in front of him. His eyes sting from smoke in the room, his face slick with sweat mixing with the moisture that streams down his face.
He feels nothing but overwhelming fury and grief, his volatile emotions burning along with the fire next to him.
He works on the ropes, abrading the skin in his attempts to get free. It's difficult to breathe and he fights against choking. He closes his watery eyes; the images of Sateda on fire and in ruins flash in his mind.
Gone is the splendor of markets, the golds and bronzes of beautiful buildings and bridges leading to the town square. Gone are the streams he used to go swimming in as a kid or the giant yumta fields he hid within during harvest.
There are craters where the Great Halls once stood, the place where his mates got married and they all got drunk off of Fireale.
Nothing's left of the great Satedan military, a force to be feared and honored by their neighbors.
All of his friends are dead except the ones that have become tainted and twisted by the Wraith.
And now he's suffered another terrible loss and he does everything to bury the agony deep down inside.
His wrists bleed from rubbing them on the filthy floor; his joints pop from trying get out of the knotted rope. His head pounds and aches. It's getting harder to draw oxygen and his vision swims from the incineration of the ore so close by.
His mind drifts in the balmy room, wondering if he'll ever stop failing all the time.
“You awake?”
Ronon tries not to think about all the faces stuffed into a building of worship at Doctor Beckett's funeral.
“I know you're not dead yet.”
Or the image of Dr Weir dying in bed while he stands by helplessly.
“You really are pathetic,” Turesh sneers, kicking him in the back.
Ronon rolls onto to his side to stare up defiantly. “You should have killed me.”
“I wanted to, but Lars wanted to get his licks in.” Turesh chuckles, turning towards the bar owner who is standing next to him. “I must say, I'm not surprised that a Satedan fell for something like that.”
Ronon lets the sharp pieces of silt dig into his palms as he rubs at the ropes.
Lars peers over the murderer's shoulder, still holding onto the P-90 like a prized possession.
Turesh lowers to his haunches, enjoying how he twists the invisible blade. “You know, your friend fought like a wild animal... kicking, punching. Not very effective, but then again, he'd been winged.”
Ronon just concentrates on the feeling of the ropes splitting and weakening.
“He didn't scream though. I was impressed. He did grunt like an animal after I twisted up that shoulder enough.”
Ronon won't say a word, doesn't allow himself to think or feel.
“You know what we do to sick and injured animals, Lars old buddy?” Turesh turns to look at the other man.
“What?”
“We put them down.”
Ronon can't block the image of Sheppard's dead body anymore. Nothing can hold back the gun shot or the way the pilot's head jerked and how his blood had stained the ground.
He breaks free from his bonds and launches himself at the man who killed Sheppard right in front of him.
Every fighting technique is gone, his coordination nonexistent. He's all fists and madness.
He pins the mercenary to the ground with his knees even with his ankles still bound together. Turesh doesn't have time to shield his face from the pounding. Blood stains Ronon's knuckles; parts of his fingers burn from being cut on his foe's teeth.
Bone meets flesh, his body quaking from the outpouring of guilt and hatred.
He does it for every fallen comrade. For every Satedan building blown up by the man's bombs.
Ronon pummels the man before him for his friend.
Turesh slams a fist into his jaw to no effect. There's an elbow here, a blow there. It's not until fists slam into each of Ronon's ears at the same time that the Terinian is able to wiggle away.
“Shoot him!” Turesh orders the trader.
Ronon sways, trying to clear the cobwebs, but the room is spinning and he can't get to his feet fast enough. Lars doesn't move, too cowardly to get into the feud.
“I'm going to rip you to shreds when I'm done with this piece of Satedan dreck,” Turesh spits at the bar owner.
Ronon tries to undo the rope still binding his ankles when he feels a piece wrap around his throat. The big Terinian hisses in his ear, “It was so easy to subdue your buddy.”
Turesh tries to throttle him; the rope rubs away skin as it tightens around his larynx. Ronon wrestles with it, his lungs already weak from breathing in the burning fumes of the furnace.
“Poor Satedan, once again unable to defend others.”
Ronon helped pull the trigger, helped place the bullet in Sheppard's brain.
“It's too bad I can't shoot your pal twice.”
Ronon lashes out blindly behind him and rips out the metal jewelry from Turesh's nose. The rope grows slack and he finishes freeing his ankles as the mercenary roars in pain, blood dripping down his chin. Ronon grabs a handful of the Mohawk, yanking on the hair and sending the Terinian into the wall. The furnace crackles and spits out flames next him, falling embers burning his arm. He slams the mercenary's skull into the stone behind him with a crack.
The thug sways dizzily and Ronon holds him against the wall and pounds away. After several minutes, he pauses to glare at Turesh's bloody face and raises his fist again. “This one is for Sheppard.”
He feels an itch... a tingle... and turns around.
Lars has been waiting for this moment to take them both out. The P-90's safety is off and he fires at both of them.
Ronon jumps, dives to the ground and instinctively rolls away. Lars isn't prepared for the powerful kickback of the automatic rifle and several stray bullets hit the furnace. The reaction is instantaneous and the kiln explodes into a fireball.
Heat from the flames bakes into Ronon’s back as he gets a shoulder full of shrapnel. He covers his head as the blast shakes the room and chunks of the ceiling begin to fall. He’s numb, tempted to just lie there and wait for another explosion or toxins from the burning ore to take him out. Another rumble and a piece of the ceiling falls on him, jarring him out of his stupor.
It takes a few attempts to get back to his feet; his head still aches and the air is heavy with particles. He has to know... has to make sure after all this that Turesh is dead. It won't be worth it... nothing could be, but he won't walk away without knowing.
Most of the area around the furnace is thrashed; rubble is strewn all over the floor and some of the scrap still burns.
Both men are buried under debris and he leans over the mercenary's unmoving body. He reaches out to feel for a pulse and is startled by the hoarse plea a few feet away.
“Help me!”
Lars's legs have a huge chunk of rock covering them; the black marketer's face is covered in blood and he holds his arm at an odd angle. “Please... help me.”
Ronon looks up at the ceiling, taking note of the raining debris. “No.”
“I'll die if you leave me.”
“Don't care.”
The fumes are overpowering and it won't be long until the rest of the roof falls in.
“I'll tell you where the others are....I'll tell you how to find more of your people. I know that's why you didn't kill me when you had a chance.”
Ronon hesitates, part of him still needing to know, but he can't make himself move towards the backstabber. He ignores the man's plea and is reaching for Turesh's carotid when the murderer's eyes open.
“Still alive,” Turesh rasps.
“Not for long,” Ronon replies, standing.
He lists to the left, feeling woozy, and knows it's time to go and leave these two to their fate.
“Help me escape, Dex.”
Ronon's laughter is swallowed up by a hacking cough.
Turesh tries to move but is trapped under too much rock. “Don't you want to know where the body is?”
Ronon freezes.
“You want your comrade to be left to rot like an animal or take him home to be buried?”
Ronon squeezes his eyes closed.
“What will you tell his family and friends? That you left his corpse on some strange planet? Because you'll never find it without me.”
Ronon sees Rodney's anguished expression, Teyla's downcast eyes, Carter's inability to understand why he didn't bring John back.
“I'll find him myself,” he grunts over the mental anguish.
“I had one of my men dump him deep in this complex. You know how unstable the mines are under here. If this room goes... so does the rest.”
“No, take me! I can find more of your people!” Lars begs as more of the ceiling collapses on him.
Ronon holds onto the wall to steady himself; Turesh's bravado falters as he coughs up blood. He stalks over and begins removing blackened stone and burning trash. He finds his blaster and stuffs it in his holster, then yanks on Turesh's arm, hauling him to his feet.
“You pick a corpse over your people!” Lars bellows as Ronon drags the mercenary away.
“Take me to his body,” Ronon orders.
They take barely two steps away from the furnace room before it collapses.
-----------------------
Ronon isn't gentle with the murderer, dragging him through tunnel after tunnel without saying a word. He ignores every painful grunt, slapping the man's face for further directions. Blood drips from the wound in the back of his shoulder but the floor is coated with the mercenary's and he takes satisfaction in that.
They come to a split in the tunnels and Turesh raises his head. “I want you to let me go. I know a way out from here.”
Ronon slams Turesh against an opposite wall. “No.”
“Leave me; I'll tell you how to get to his body.”
“You take me to him or die right now,” Ronon demands, pulling out a knife and pressing it to the man's throat.
“You’re going to kill me over some dead buddies from years ago?” Turesh smiles. “How are you going to gain vengeance for a long ago dead planet?”
“I'm not. I'm going to get it for the death of someone else.”
He slices the steel across the thug's throat. Turesh gasps, blood spurts out in rivers, his hands unable to staunch the massive wound. The man's body slumps to the ground with the majority of his blood volume soaking the front of his shirt. Ronon curses the murderer in Satedan, turning his back on him.
Turesh gave himself away, his eyes flicking to the tunnel on the right. He follows it down a twisty path, lost in his emotions. His steps are slow and hesitant. The dank hallway opens up to a small room and he freezes at the sight of the pilot's uniform.
Sheppard is face down on the floor, his body carelessly dumped next to other discarded and decayed bodies. Ronon doesn't want to move, his limbs heavy with guilt and sorrow. He forces himself to go towards his commander's body, avoiding the crimson stain on the ground. He rolls the colonel's body over and pushes back the strands of hair sticky with blood away from the clammy forehead.
The pilot’s eyes are mercifully closed and Ronon takes a deep breath, wondering what would be the best way to carry him back to Atlantis. Ronon rests his hand on the colonel's shoulder. “I'm sorry, Sheppard.”
This is his responsibility. His fault.
He swallows back the desire to retch; he's going to suck it up and tough it out. That's what a soldier does and he's not going to desecrate Sheppard's honor by losing it now.
He contemplates a moment before slipping one arm under the colonel's neck and the other under the pilot's long legs. Ronon looks at Sheppard one final time and notices the colonel's temple is still bleeding, a rivulet of crimson running down his ear.
He curses at his own stupidity, for letting grief overcome common sense. Turesh had been too busy staring at him to eat up his reaction to pay attention to his aim. The colonel's skull is still intact.
Ronon's hand shakes at the remote possibility as he examines the head wound. There is a deep, horrible gash that bleeds freely, but there is no bullet hole. He presses his fingers against Sheppard's neck and feels a weak beat underneath.
Sheppard's alive. He wants to shout in triumph but knows his friend is gravely wounded and they're still trapped in a maze of tunnels on a hostile planet.
“Doesn't matter,” Ronon says out loud.
He'll find a way. If Sheppard can cheat death again then he's going to get them both off this world alive.
Chapter 5
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-11-29 09:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-30 06:42 pm (UTC)Thank you.
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Date: 2007-11-30 12:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-30 06:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-30 12:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-30 06:43 pm (UTC)Thank you.
no subject
Date: 2007-11-30 02:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-30 06:46 pm (UTC)Glad you enjoyed this!!
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Date: 2007-11-30 11:05 am (UTC)Love Ronon. The man is very scary sometimes, but deep down, he's a big teddy bear. Can't wait til he gets Shep back to Atlantis and has to explain.
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Date: 2007-11-30 06:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-17 10:14 am (UTC)♥ I am full of love for this fic.
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Date: 2008-04-18 03:52 am (UTC)Thank you, this type of enthusiasm really inspires my muses.
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Date: 2009-01-23 04:09 pm (UTC)