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Title: The Drowning Deep
Author: Alasse
Rating: PG13,
Category: Gen, episode tag
Summary: Ronon and McKay are sent to the mainland to recuperate. Tag to "Sateda".
A/N: Tag means spoilers. Many thanks to my meerschweinchen; Aniko, Dee, Yllek, Toni, etc. You knew I couldn't just leave it there ;)
0x0x0
fear is the brightest of signs
the shape of the boundary you leave behind
so sing all your questions to sleep
the answers are out there in the drowning deep
~ Vienna Tang "Harbor"
0x0x0
He woke slowly, feeling the pain first. Burning and itching between his shoulder blades, and in his thigh. The rest of his body ached; there was a dull throbbing in his forehead and face, and soreness almost everywhere else.
He was lying on his stomach, with his face turned to the side. His arms were curled up around his head, and for a single terrifying moment he thought he was back on the wraith ship. Then he felt the cool fabric of the pillow beneath his cheek and relaxed. Wraith ships did not have pillows.
Or sheets. He flexed his shoulders slightly and felt the same cloth pull tight across them. He was wearing those sheet-like pajamas they put on you in the infirmary when you were sick or hurt. Ronon was never sick, but occasionally he was hurt.
The movement had increased the burning in his back and he grunted softly. Was he back on Atlantis? No, the smells and sounds were wrong. He took a deep breath - the air tasted stale, artificial. He could hear and feel beneath him the steady throbbing hum of engines.
There was a closer sound - tapping. Rhythmic and lulling at first, it kept pausing just when he got used to it. Tap, tap, tap, and pause. Tap, tap, pause, and tap. A growl of annoyance started in his throat and he opened his eyes.
Between two thick brown lock of his own hair he saw the shiny silver back of an Atlantean computer, and above that the grinning face of Rodney McKay.
"Good morning, sunshine." McKay pulled the top of the computer down halfway. "How're you feeling?"
Ronon lifted his head, and winced as his shoulder blades drew together and sent a shooting pain down his back. He settled for resting his chin on his arm and eyeing McKay, realizing that the scientist was stretched out on top of the bed next to him, fully clothed down to his boots.
"Where are we?" Ronon asked, ignoring the other man's question.
"The Daedalus." McKay reached for a plate next to the computer and popped something into his mouth. "Heading back to Atlantis," he continued, talking around his full mouth. "We should be there," he glanced at his watch, "soon."
Ronon had no idea how far Sateda actually was from Atlantis, and no idea how long he'd been unconscious, and he didn't want to ask. The last thing he remembered was being in the jumper and hugging Doc Beckett. He must have been delirious from pain.
"Do you have to keep tapping?" he said.
"Tapping?" McKay frowned and glanced down at his computer. "Oh." He closed the cover. "Sorry. Here," he stretched his arm out to the table between them and picked up a cup, which he thrust at Ronon, straw dangling over its side. "Carson said to give you this."
Ronon put the straw in his mouth and took a sip of the water. It was cool and sweet, but the straw opened up one of the cuts on his lip and he got the metallic tang of blood as an aftertaste. He pushed the cup away. "Where's Doc?" he asked. "And why are you here?"
"Around," McKay said vaguely, waving his hand. "He kicked Sheppard and Teyla out because they were getting in the way, but as I'm technically a patient…" McKay's grin faded. "Do you need him? Should I call?" He reached up to his ear.
"No." Ronon dropped his head back down. His arm and his hair smelled like Sateda. The burnt out smoking Sateda that had haunted his nights for the past eight years. He moved his arm away and buried his face in the pillow.
0x0x0
"Ronon."
A gentle hand was touching his shoulder, and he recognized Beckett's voice, the unique way he made the R sound in his name. "We're home, lad."
Home. He had been home, but he knew Beckett meant Atlantis.
"Can ye stand, or shall we just take the gurney to the infirmary?"
Ronon pushed his head up. "I can walk." He allowed Beckett to help him first to sit and then to stand, forcing himself not to wince. Sheppard and Teyla were waiting behind the doctor and they moved in immediately to either side of him, taking his arms.
"Hey, someone want to help me off this thing?" Rodney sounded annoyed somewhere behind him.
As Beckett rolled his eyes and went to help McKay, Ronon turned to face them. "Doc," he said quietly.
"Aye?" McKay's computer in one hand and the scientist's arm in the other, Beckett looked back at him.
"I don't want to go to the infirmary," Ronon said carefully.
Beckett frowned.
"I just want to shower and sleep in my own bed. Please," he added for effect. He had no idea how to express how badly he needed to scrub the dust of Sateda off his skin, but something must have shown in his face, because Beckett sighed and nodded.
"Alright, but if there is any drainage from your stitches, you come to the infirmary immediately, understand? And I want to see you first thing in the morning."
"Okay." Ronon turned around again toward the door. He felt Teyla's hand tighten on his arm, and resisted the urge to shrug it off. The more cooperative he was, the sooner he would be alone.
He tried to ignore the two beside him, and McKay and Beckett bickering behind him as he limped down the ship's corridor, down the ramp into the docking bay, past an anxious looking Elizabeth Weir, and toward the nearest transport chamber.
0x0x0
A dark haired woman was waiting for them at the door to his quarters. As they drew close, Ronon recognized Anne Matthews, Beckett's head nurse. For a moment he thought she was going to say Beckett had changed his mind, but instead she held a handful of packages out to him.
"Doctor Beckett says to take two of these right away, and then two every six hours," she instructed, pressing a foil and plastic packet of large capsules into one of his hands.
"Take one of these if you can't sleep," she continued, pressing another packet, this one of small white tablets into his other hand.
She paused. "If we were to give you painkillers, would you take them?" she asked frankly.
"You should save them for McKay," he told her just as frankly.
Anne laughed. "Well just in case," she said, holding out a third pack of larger white pills to him. "And you're to come…"
"To the infirmary first thing in the morning," Ronon finished for her.
"Right." She smiled. "Feel better," she added softly, before disappearing down the hall.
Sheppard cleared his throat and handed Ronon the blaster he'd been carrying in his other hand. "This is the last time I'm carrying this for you," he said in mock warning.
Ronon nodded gravely and took his weapon. Teyla handed him a large bag. "Your clothes," she said softly.
Sheppard waved at the door controls and stepped back as the door swished open. Ronon limped inside and stopped at Teyla's voice.
"You will call us," she said, "if you need anything."
He nodded again, and let the door close. He realized he'd been holding his breath, and he let it out in a sharp exhalation. He dumped everything on the bed and headed straight for the washroom. No one was there to hear him so he let himself groan as he pulled off his clothes. He stepped into the shower and stood still, letting the hot water pummel his body. He grit his teeth as the water stung his wounds, but didn't move.
A year spent on Atlantis had made him soft. He'd grown unused to pain, and accustomed to hot running water and dry clothing. He turned the water hotter and stood there as the room filled with steam. He ground soap into his hair, and scrubbed every inch of his body. He still didn't feel clean, so he did it again and again until he stung all over.
Finally deciding he'd had enough, he shut the water off and stepped out into the dense fog of steam. Grabbing a towel, he dried his face, wrapped his hair, and then wiped off the mirror with the back of his hand.
He examined first his wounds - stitches down the left side of his back where Beckett had removed the wraith tracking device. Again. Stitches down the side of his right thigh where he'd been hit with shrapnel. The area around those stitches was puffy and hot to the touch. He ignored it and turned to look at the mirror straight on.
His skin was flushed from the hot water, and the scar in the center of his chest stood out - a slash of angry, puckered skin. The wraith had fed there - eight years ago - sucking at him for only seconds before releasing him to have seven years of his life sucked away from him as a runner.
And just when he'd begun to get comfortable, to allow himself some companionship, the same wraith had come and done it all over again. Now it was dead, killed by his new friends, and Ronon was finally free.
So why didn't he feel free?
He left the tiny washroom, tendrils of steam following in his wake. He found the loosest clothes he owned and pulled them on over his still damp skin. He dry swallowed two of the capsules Anne had given him, contemplated the sedatives, and swallowed one of them too. The pain killers he tossed on the floor with the bag of clothes. Head still wrapped in the towel, he lay face down on the bed alongside his blaster, and closed his eyes.
0x0x0
The window imploded with a flash of flame, sending burning glass and fire into the room. As the inferno engulfed Melena, her face transformed into waxy pale blue, white hair sprouting from her burning head. The Melena-Wraith looked straight at him, and in a deep, gravelly voice, said "You can't run for ever, Ronon."
He screamed.
The fire chased him down the long dark corridor. Flames licked at his legs, burning his flesh, and smoke filled his nostrils, suffocating him. He reached the end of the hall and flung himself at the window. Glass shattered at the impact of his body, shards sliced his back as he tumbled through.
He fell.
Ronon sat up on the floor of his quarters. The fall from bed had landed him on his bad leg, and the pain had woken him. Gasping for breath, he pulled the towel away from his face and pushed back his hair.
He was drenched with sweat, and his leg burned, the fire felt as real as in his dream. The room was dark and still. Too still. Dim lights from the city streamed in the window, making shadows on the wall. As he stared at it the wall seemed to move toward him, closing him in.
He pushed himself to his feet, grunting as his weight pressed on his right leg. Grabbing his blaster from the bed, he strapped it around his waist. As an afterthought he scooped up the packets Anne had given him, and shoved a few pills into his mouth.
He exited his room into the still corridor. He hadn't checked the time, but he knew it was late. Only the control room and the mess hall never slept on Atlantis. And some of the labs, but he wasn't going anywhere near those. He needed air.
Moments later he found himself on one of the inland piers on the north side of the city. In the distance the ocean waves rolled, moonlight reflection lifting and falling. A cool breeze blew in, tasting of salt. Right near him was a deep pool of captured seawater, still as a mirror.
Taking deep breaths of the cool air, he sank down beside the pool. The soft pants he worked out in were loose enough to roll, and he pulled them up almost to his right hip. Some of the stitches had burst, and a thick milky liquid was oozing out between them. All around there his skin was angrily red and swollen. He cupped his hands and brought up some water from the pool gasping audibly with relief as he poured it over the wound.
He stretched out on his side, keeping the now wet wound up to the air. He looked out at the sea and watched the waves rock in the moonlight. He felt like he was floating, the moon and the water spinning around him. As he tilted his head back to look up at the spires of the city, the metal seemed to shimmer. Before his eyes it crumbled into the dusty, ruined stone of Sateda.
He cried out in anguish and buried his face in his arms.
0x0x0
Rodney McKay hobbled through the silent corridor, the tray cradled carefully in his hands. Ronon had gone straight to his quarters, without first stopping at the mess hall. At this point it had been about two days since they had first gone to the wraith culled planet, and he doubted those people, or the wraith for that matter had provided food. When Ronon woke, he was going to be starving. So he, Rodney, had fixed him a tray. Let no one say he didn't care about the big guy.
Sheppard said Carson had sent Ronon a whole bunch of drugs, so he figured he'd be out cold. He'd just slip in, leave the tray, and go. Maybe leave a note so Ronon would know who had brought the food. Yeah, good point.
He mentally overrode the lock and eased the door open. Walking as softly as he could he moved to the desk and set the tray down. He squinted in the dim light, looking about for a piece of paper. Finding none, he shrugged. He could always tell Ronon later. As he turned to go, he saw a swath of moonlight stretching across Ronon's bed. The bed was rumpled, and empty.
What the…. Rodney switched on the lights and took a closer look. The sheets were crumpled in a ball, and on the floor were a wet towel and a bunch of foil packets. He picked up the nearest one. Flipping it over he saw it was an unopened pack of Vicodin. "He gave you the good stuff, Caveman," he muttered. "Why didn't you take any?"
The other two packets were one of Levaquin with two pills missing, and an empty one of Lorazepam. Uh oh. Somewhere on Atlantis was a drugged out, wandering Ronon. And it looked like it was up to Rodney to find him. With a sigh, he trudged back out the door.
He went straight to the control room, where the Canadian technician who was always making eyes at Teyla was on duty. Rodney gave his countryman the barest nod of acknowledgement and leaned over a console, resting his left knee on the chair.
It was almost too easy. The majority of the life signs were in personnel quarters, a few in the mess hall, and one or two fellow scientists burning the midnight oil. There was one solitary life sign way out on the north pier. "Gotcha," Rodney murmured triumphantly. Then, as he realized how far the area was from the nearest transport chamber, he gave another heavy sigh.
He found Ronon lying curled on his side, dangerously close to the edge of the pool. In the dim yellow light streaming in from the door behind them, Ronon's face was extremely pale. He was drenched with sweat, and shivering. When Rodney touched his shoulder, the other man opened his eyes and stared at him, mumbling something about fire.
Rodney's eyes strayed down to Ronon's bare leg and he swallowed hard. Tapping his ear piece, he said "Medical emergency on the north pier."
0x0x0
"So how is he?" Elizabeth Weir set a cup of tea on Doctor Beckett's desk and settled herself into the chair opposite, holding her own cup. She'd woken early to a message from Rodney detailing the night's adventures. Carson on the other hand looked like he hadn't slept.
The doctor sighed. "Aside from a raging case of cellulitis and a barbiturate overdose, which fortunately his body mass can handle, he'll be fine. Once he sleeps it off. I never should have let him go off on his own."
"It's not your fault, Carson," Elizabeth said automatically. That seemed to be her current refrain these days. "How long do you think before he can return to duty?"
"I've had to reopen the wound on his leg, and he's staying put until that heals and the antibiotics finish, like it or nae. After that…" Beckett shook his head.
"What?"
"Well, if anyone else on this base had been through half of what Ronon has, I'd send them to Kate before clearing them for duty, but Ronon-"
"Will never talk to her," Elizabeth finished.
"Aye. He'll clam up tighter than a, well, a clam. Can't send him home to recover, he's got no home to go to." Beckett sighed again. "I honestly don't know how to help him."
"He's grown close to the members of his team," Elizabeth said, "You saw yourself how they were willing to fight for him. Maybe he'll talk to them."
"Rodney's decided he's his best friend all of a sudden, we should give him that assignment," Carson said, the hint of a twinkle forming in his tired eyes.
Elizabeth laughed. "You might be right, at that. I'll have a word with the team."
"Good," Carson said, "and while you're at it, see if ye can get them out of here for awhile, would ye? My nurses can't get anything done."
"And you need me to be the bad guy?" Elizabeth's lips quirked in a wry smile.
"What's a boss for?" Carson wheedled.
Elizabeth pushed herself out of the chair. "Okay, but you have to promise me you'll get some rest yourself," she admonished.
Not waiting for a promise that probably wouldn't come; she carried her tea through the infirmary to the separate observation room in the back where Carson had put Ronon. As she had suspected before the doctor had said anything, the whole team was there. She stood outside the window watching them as she sipped her drink.
Rodney had dragged in another gurney, placed it at a right angle to Ronon's bed, and was peeking over the top of his computer every few seconds, presumably to check that his teammate was still there.
John was leaning back in his chair, feet propped up on the end of the bed, shuffling a deck of cards back and forth between his hands. As Elizabeth watched, John casually flicked a card over his shoulder to land on Rodney's keyboard. Scowling, Rodney picked up the card and flung it back. One the other side of the bed, Teyla looked up with a frown from her book, and hissed something at the two men. She caught sight of Elizabeth standing in the window, and her eyes widened. She said something else and both men swiveled to look at her.
"Morning all," Elizabeth said softly, pushing open the door to the room.
"Morning," three sleepy voices whispered back. In the bed Ronon slept on, oblivious.
""You officially have," she glanced down at her watch, "thirty minutes to shower, get breakfast, and report to the conference room for debriefing."
As whispered protests began to form, she held up her hand. "I let things slide last night, but this morning there will be a proper post mission briefing. I assure you we have fine medical staff, and they have this situation entirely under control." She held the door wide, and gestured for them to precede her through it. "Please be sure you wash behind the ears."
John shot her a withering look as he walked out, followed by a more polite Teyla. Rodney continued his quiet typing. Elizabeth cleared her throat.
"What?" Rodney whispered, looking up. "I'm technically a patient."
"You participated in the mission, you get debriefed. Now please, Rodney."
"Fine." With exaggerated wincing, McKay slid off the gurney and limped heavily toward the door.
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "You got out to the north pier just fine last night, Rodney, don't even try it." His shoulders stiffened, but his limp decreased.
She watched to make sure they all actually went, and before turning to go herself, she looked down at Ronon. Skirting McKay's gurney, she moved closer to the bedside. Ronon was positioned on his side, with pillows supporting his back. His stretched out arm held a slowly dripping IV.
Ferocious looking as he could be when awake, in sleep Ronon looked as young as he was. He was breathing shallowly through a slightly open mouth, and locks of his hair were lazily falling across the turned up side of his face.
Unable to stop herself, Elizabeth reached out and brushed one of the falling locks back, running it slowly through her fingers. Another and another, and then Ronon stirred slightly and turned his cheek against her hand. "…lena," he murmured, not opening his eyes.
She jerked her hand back and spun around, face flaming, to see if anyone had seen. Carson was nowhere to be seen, just a solitary nurse counting supplies on the other side of the infirmary. "Shh," she whispered, turning back to Ronon and tucked the sheet more snugly around him. He didn't stir again.
0x0x0
Elizabeth firmly pushed her actions in the infirmary to the back of her mind as she headed to her office. After her admonishing to the team, it wouldn't do to be late herself. She gathered her tablet and papers, and with a spare couple fingers grabbed the message the gate tech waved at her as she passed by the control room. Reading it quickly, she couldn't help but chuckle out loud, prompting a puzzled glance from the Canadian.
"Perfect," she said to herself. "Just perfect." She tapped her headset. "Carson, Elizabeth. I think we've found a solution to our problem…"
She breezed into the conference room to see the others already there. John and Teyla were sitting stiffly in their usual seats, Rodney stood behind them, leaning against the wall.
"I assume you don't mind if I stand," he said, his tone petulant.
Elizabeth sank into her chair, and sighed. "Don't get me wrong," she told the three of them. "I'm very glad to see how well you all have bonded as a team. And I'm sure that Ronon appreciates your being there as well. But Carson says he needs to rest, and," she paused, "he also had a few concerns I didn't want to discuss with you at Ronon's bedside."
That got their attention. John sat up straighter, and Rodney pushed away from the wall and moved closer to the table.
"Carson said that Ronon was going to be fine," Teyla said with a frown.
"Yes, he is. Carson is concerned about the psychological effect this will have on Ronon."
"Oh." McKay moved back to the wall, while Sheppard squirmed in his seat uncomfortably.
Teyla looked thoughtful. "In similar situations, do you not send people to talk to Doctor Heightmeyer?"
"Yes, but," Elizabeth raised a gentle eyebrow in the other woman's direction. "Do you think Ronon will talk to her?"
"No," chorused the men.
Teyla shook her head reluctantly. "Ronon does not talk much."
"No," Weir agreed. "He doesn't. But of the talking he does do, I'd venture a guess the majority is to the three of you."
"I'm not sure I like where this is going," John muttered.
"Me neither," McKay muttered back to him.
Teyla silenced them both with a glare. She turned to Elizabeth. "What would you like us to do?" she asked.
"Just keep an eye on him," Elizabeth replied. "See if you can get him to talk at all about what happened on Sateda."
Teyla nodded. "Of course."
"Now, Rodney," Elizabeth spread the message the tech had given her on the table and smiled. "We've got another assignment for you."
McKay darted a nervous glance at Sheppard, who shrugged.
"Halling called us earlier today. He and some of the men in the Athosian village," she nodded at Teyla, "are attempting to clear more farmland. They want our help to divert a stream. As soon as Ronon is cleared by Carson, I'm sending the two of you."
"What?" McKay sputtered. "I'm an astrophysicist, not an engineer! Send Zelenka."
"Zelenka is on assignment with Major Lorne's team," Elizabeth said. "And as you pointed out before, you're technically a patient. You're grounded from further gate travel until your injury is fully healed, so you might as well make yourself useful." She smiled sweetly at the scowling scientist.
"Come on, McKay," Sheppard chimed in, clearly relieved to be getting off so lightly. "How hard can it be? Build a dam; try not to fall in the lake. You'll be back before you know it."
To be continued soon as my little fingers can paste...
Author: Alasse
Rating: PG13,
Category: Gen, episode tag
Summary: Ronon and McKay are sent to the mainland to recuperate. Tag to "Sateda".
A/N: Tag means spoilers. Many thanks to my meerschweinchen; Aniko, Dee, Yllek, Toni, etc. You knew I couldn't just leave it there ;)
0x0x0
fear is the brightest of signs
the shape of the boundary you leave behind
so sing all your questions to sleep
the answers are out there in the drowning deep
~ Vienna Tang "Harbor"
0x0x0
He woke slowly, feeling the pain first. Burning and itching between his shoulder blades, and in his thigh. The rest of his body ached; there was a dull throbbing in his forehead and face, and soreness almost everywhere else.
He was lying on his stomach, with his face turned to the side. His arms were curled up around his head, and for a single terrifying moment he thought he was back on the wraith ship. Then he felt the cool fabric of the pillow beneath his cheek and relaxed. Wraith ships did not have pillows.
Or sheets. He flexed his shoulders slightly and felt the same cloth pull tight across them. He was wearing those sheet-like pajamas they put on you in the infirmary when you were sick or hurt. Ronon was never sick, but occasionally he was hurt.
The movement had increased the burning in his back and he grunted softly. Was he back on Atlantis? No, the smells and sounds were wrong. He took a deep breath - the air tasted stale, artificial. He could hear and feel beneath him the steady throbbing hum of engines.
There was a closer sound - tapping. Rhythmic and lulling at first, it kept pausing just when he got used to it. Tap, tap, tap, and pause. Tap, tap, pause, and tap. A growl of annoyance started in his throat and he opened his eyes.
Between two thick brown lock of his own hair he saw the shiny silver back of an Atlantean computer, and above that the grinning face of Rodney McKay.
"Good morning, sunshine." McKay pulled the top of the computer down halfway. "How're you feeling?"
Ronon lifted his head, and winced as his shoulder blades drew together and sent a shooting pain down his back. He settled for resting his chin on his arm and eyeing McKay, realizing that the scientist was stretched out on top of the bed next to him, fully clothed down to his boots.
"Where are we?" Ronon asked, ignoring the other man's question.
"The Daedalus." McKay reached for a plate next to the computer and popped something into his mouth. "Heading back to Atlantis," he continued, talking around his full mouth. "We should be there," he glanced at his watch, "soon."
Ronon had no idea how far Sateda actually was from Atlantis, and no idea how long he'd been unconscious, and he didn't want to ask. The last thing he remembered was being in the jumper and hugging Doc Beckett. He must have been delirious from pain.
"Do you have to keep tapping?" he said.
"Tapping?" McKay frowned and glanced down at his computer. "Oh." He closed the cover. "Sorry. Here," he stretched his arm out to the table between them and picked up a cup, which he thrust at Ronon, straw dangling over its side. "Carson said to give you this."
Ronon put the straw in his mouth and took a sip of the water. It was cool and sweet, but the straw opened up one of the cuts on his lip and he got the metallic tang of blood as an aftertaste. He pushed the cup away. "Where's Doc?" he asked. "And why are you here?"
"Around," McKay said vaguely, waving his hand. "He kicked Sheppard and Teyla out because they were getting in the way, but as I'm technically a patient…" McKay's grin faded. "Do you need him? Should I call?" He reached up to his ear.
"No." Ronon dropped his head back down. His arm and his hair smelled like Sateda. The burnt out smoking Sateda that had haunted his nights for the past eight years. He moved his arm away and buried his face in the pillow.
0x0x0
"Ronon."
A gentle hand was touching his shoulder, and he recognized Beckett's voice, the unique way he made the R sound in his name. "We're home, lad."
Home. He had been home, but he knew Beckett meant Atlantis.
"Can ye stand, or shall we just take the gurney to the infirmary?"
Ronon pushed his head up. "I can walk." He allowed Beckett to help him first to sit and then to stand, forcing himself not to wince. Sheppard and Teyla were waiting behind the doctor and they moved in immediately to either side of him, taking his arms.
"Hey, someone want to help me off this thing?" Rodney sounded annoyed somewhere behind him.
As Beckett rolled his eyes and went to help McKay, Ronon turned to face them. "Doc," he said quietly.
"Aye?" McKay's computer in one hand and the scientist's arm in the other, Beckett looked back at him.
"I don't want to go to the infirmary," Ronon said carefully.
Beckett frowned.
"I just want to shower and sleep in my own bed. Please," he added for effect. He had no idea how to express how badly he needed to scrub the dust of Sateda off his skin, but something must have shown in his face, because Beckett sighed and nodded.
"Alright, but if there is any drainage from your stitches, you come to the infirmary immediately, understand? And I want to see you first thing in the morning."
"Okay." Ronon turned around again toward the door. He felt Teyla's hand tighten on his arm, and resisted the urge to shrug it off. The more cooperative he was, the sooner he would be alone.
He tried to ignore the two beside him, and McKay and Beckett bickering behind him as he limped down the ship's corridor, down the ramp into the docking bay, past an anxious looking Elizabeth Weir, and toward the nearest transport chamber.
0x0x0
A dark haired woman was waiting for them at the door to his quarters. As they drew close, Ronon recognized Anne Matthews, Beckett's head nurse. For a moment he thought she was going to say Beckett had changed his mind, but instead she held a handful of packages out to him.
"Doctor Beckett says to take two of these right away, and then two every six hours," she instructed, pressing a foil and plastic packet of large capsules into one of his hands.
"Take one of these if you can't sleep," she continued, pressing another packet, this one of small white tablets into his other hand.
She paused. "If we were to give you painkillers, would you take them?" she asked frankly.
"You should save them for McKay," he told her just as frankly.
Anne laughed. "Well just in case," she said, holding out a third pack of larger white pills to him. "And you're to come…"
"To the infirmary first thing in the morning," Ronon finished for her.
"Right." She smiled. "Feel better," she added softly, before disappearing down the hall.
Sheppard cleared his throat and handed Ronon the blaster he'd been carrying in his other hand. "This is the last time I'm carrying this for you," he said in mock warning.
Ronon nodded gravely and took his weapon. Teyla handed him a large bag. "Your clothes," she said softly.
Sheppard waved at the door controls and stepped back as the door swished open. Ronon limped inside and stopped at Teyla's voice.
"You will call us," she said, "if you need anything."
He nodded again, and let the door close. He realized he'd been holding his breath, and he let it out in a sharp exhalation. He dumped everything on the bed and headed straight for the washroom. No one was there to hear him so he let himself groan as he pulled off his clothes. He stepped into the shower and stood still, letting the hot water pummel his body. He grit his teeth as the water stung his wounds, but didn't move.
A year spent on Atlantis had made him soft. He'd grown unused to pain, and accustomed to hot running water and dry clothing. He turned the water hotter and stood there as the room filled with steam. He ground soap into his hair, and scrubbed every inch of his body. He still didn't feel clean, so he did it again and again until he stung all over.
Finally deciding he'd had enough, he shut the water off and stepped out into the dense fog of steam. Grabbing a towel, he dried his face, wrapped his hair, and then wiped off the mirror with the back of his hand.
He examined first his wounds - stitches down the left side of his back where Beckett had removed the wraith tracking device. Again. Stitches down the side of his right thigh where he'd been hit with shrapnel. The area around those stitches was puffy and hot to the touch. He ignored it and turned to look at the mirror straight on.
His skin was flushed from the hot water, and the scar in the center of his chest stood out - a slash of angry, puckered skin. The wraith had fed there - eight years ago - sucking at him for only seconds before releasing him to have seven years of his life sucked away from him as a runner.
And just when he'd begun to get comfortable, to allow himself some companionship, the same wraith had come and done it all over again. Now it was dead, killed by his new friends, and Ronon was finally free.
So why didn't he feel free?
He left the tiny washroom, tendrils of steam following in his wake. He found the loosest clothes he owned and pulled them on over his still damp skin. He dry swallowed two of the capsules Anne had given him, contemplated the sedatives, and swallowed one of them too. The pain killers he tossed on the floor with the bag of clothes. Head still wrapped in the towel, he lay face down on the bed alongside his blaster, and closed his eyes.
0x0x0
The window imploded with a flash of flame, sending burning glass and fire into the room. As the inferno engulfed Melena, her face transformed into waxy pale blue, white hair sprouting from her burning head. The Melena-Wraith looked straight at him, and in a deep, gravelly voice, said "You can't run for ever, Ronon."
He screamed.
The fire chased him down the long dark corridor. Flames licked at his legs, burning his flesh, and smoke filled his nostrils, suffocating him. He reached the end of the hall and flung himself at the window. Glass shattered at the impact of his body, shards sliced his back as he tumbled through.
He fell.
Ronon sat up on the floor of his quarters. The fall from bed had landed him on his bad leg, and the pain had woken him. Gasping for breath, he pulled the towel away from his face and pushed back his hair.
He was drenched with sweat, and his leg burned, the fire felt as real as in his dream. The room was dark and still. Too still. Dim lights from the city streamed in the window, making shadows on the wall. As he stared at it the wall seemed to move toward him, closing him in.
He pushed himself to his feet, grunting as his weight pressed on his right leg. Grabbing his blaster from the bed, he strapped it around his waist. As an afterthought he scooped up the packets Anne had given him, and shoved a few pills into his mouth.
He exited his room into the still corridor. He hadn't checked the time, but he knew it was late. Only the control room and the mess hall never slept on Atlantis. And some of the labs, but he wasn't going anywhere near those. He needed air.
Moments later he found himself on one of the inland piers on the north side of the city. In the distance the ocean waves rolled, moonlight reflection lifting and falling. A cool breeze blew in, tasting of salt. Right near him was a deep pool of captured seawater, still as a mirror.
Taking deep breaths of the cool air, he sank down beside the pool. The soft pants he worked out in were loose enough to roll, and he pulled them up almost to his right hip. Some of the stitches had burst, and a thick milky liquid was oozing out between them. All around there his skin was angrily red and swollen. He cupped his hands and brought up some water from the pool gasping audibly with relief as he poured it over the wound.
He stretched out on his side, keeping the now wet wound up to the air. He looked out at the sea and watched the waves rock in the moonlight. He felt like he was floating, the moon and the water spinning around him. As he tilted his head back to look up at the spires of the city, the metal seemed to shimmer. Before his eyes it crumbled into the dusty, ruined stone of Sateda.
He cried out in anguish and buried his face in his arms.
0x0x0
Rodney McKay hobbled through the silent corridor, the tray cradled carefully in his hands. Ronon had gone straight to his quarters, without first stopping at the mess hall. At this point it had been about two days since they had first gone to the wraith culled planet, and he doubted those people, or the wraith for that matter had provided food. When Ronon woke, he was going to be starving. So he, Rodney, had fixed him a tray. Let no one say he didn't care about the big guy.
Sheppard said Carson had sent Ronon a whole bunch of drugs, so he figured he'd be out cold. He'd just slip in, leave the tray, and go. Maybe leave a note so Ronon would know who had brought the food. Yeah, good point.
He mentally overrode the lock and eased the door open. Walking as softly as he could he moved to the desk and set the tray down. He squinted in the dim light, looking about for a piece of paper. Finding none, he shrugged. He could always tell Ronon later. As he turned to go, he saw a swath of moonlight stretching across Ronon's bed. The bed was rumpled, and empty.
What the…. Rodney switched on the lights and took a closer look. The sheets were crumpled in a ball, and on the floor were a wet towel and a bunch of foil packets. He picked up the nearest one. Flipping it over he saw it was an unopened pack of Vicodin. "He gave you the good stuff, Caveman," he muttered. "Why didn't you take any?"
The other two packets were one of Levaquin with two pills missing, and an empty one of Lorazepam. Uh oh. Somewhere on Atlantis was a drugged out, wandering Ronon. And it looked like it was up to Rodney to find him. With a sigh, he trudged back out the door.
He went straight to the control room, where the Canadian technician who was always making eyes at Teyla was on duty. Rodney gave his countryman the barest nod of acknowledgement and leaned over a console, resting his left knee on the chair.
It was almost too easy. The majority of the life signs were in personnel quarters, a few in the mess hall, and one or two fellow scientists burning the midnight oil. There was one solitary life sign way out on the north pier. "Gotcha," Rodney murmured triumphantly. Then, as he realized how far the area was from the nearest transport chamber, he gave another heavy sigh.
He found Ronon lying curled on his side, dangerously close to the edge of the pool. In the dim yellow light streaming in from the door behind them, Ronon's face was extremely pale. He was drenched with sweat, and shivering. When Rodney touched his shoulder, the other man opened his eyes and stared at him, mumbling something about fire.
Rodney's eyes strayed down to Ronon's bare leg and he swallowed hard. Tapping his ear piece, he said "Medical emergency on the north pier."
0x0x0
"So how is he?" Elizabeth Weir set a cup of tea on Doctor Beckett's desk and settled herself into the chair opposite, holding her own cup. She'd woken early to a message from Rodney detailing the night's adventures. Carson on the other hand looked like he hadn't slept.
The doctor sighed. "Aside from a raging case of cellulitis and a barbiturate overdose, which fortunately his body mass can handle, he'll be fine. Once he sleeps it off. I never should have let him go off on his own."
"It's not your fault, Carson," Elizabeth said automatically. That seemed to be her current refrain these days. "How long do you think before he can return to duty?"
"I've had to reopen the wound on his leg, and he's staying put until that heals and the antibiotics finish, like it or nae. After that…" Beckett shook his head.
"What?"
"Well, if anyone else on this base had been through half of what Ronon has, I'd send them to Kate before clearing them for duty, but Ronon-"
"Will never talk to her," Elizabeth finished.
"Aye. He'll clam up tighter than a, well, a clam. Can't send him home to recover, he's got no home to go to." Beckett sighed again. "I honestly don't know how to help him."
"He's grown close to the members of his team," Elizabeth said, "You saw yourself how they were willing to fight for him. Maybe he'll talk to them."
"Rodney's decided he's his best friend all of a sudden, we should give him that assignment," Carson said, the hint of a twinkle forming in his tired eyes.
Elizabeth laughed. "You might be right, at that. I'll have a word with the team."
"Good," Carson said, "and while you're at it, see if ye can get them out of here for awhile, would ye? My nurses can't get anything done."
"And you need me to be the bad guy?" Elizabeth's lips quirked in a wry smile.
"What's a boss for?" Carson wheedled.
Elizabeth pushed herself out of the chair. "Okay, but you have to promise me you'll get some rest yourself," she admonished.
Not waiting for a promise that probably wouldn't come; she carried her tea through the infirmary to the separate observation room in the back where Carson had put Ronon. As she had suspected before the doctor had said anything, the whole team was there. She stood outside the window watching them as she sipped her drink.
Rodney had dragged in another gurney, placed it at a right angle to Ronon's bed, and was peeking over the top of his computer every few seconds, presumably to check that his teammate was still there.
John was leaning back in his chair, feet propped up on the end of the bed, shuffling a deck of cards back and forth between his hands. As Elizabeth watched, John casually flicked a card over his shoulder to land on Rodney's keyboard. Scowling, Rodney picked up the card and flung it back. One the other side of the bed, Teyla looked up with a frown from her book, and hissed something at the two men. She caught sight of Elizabeth standing in the window, and her eyes widened. She said something else and both men swiveled to look at her.
"Morning all," Elizabeth said softly, pushing open the door to the room.
"Morning," three sleepy voices whispered back. In the bed Ronon slept on, oblivious.
""You officially have," she glanced down at her watch, "thirty minutes to shower, get breakfast, and report to the conference room for debriefing."
As whispered protests began to form, she held up her hand. "I let things slide last night, but this morning there will be a proper post mission briefing. I assure you we have fine medical staff, and they have this situation entirely under control." She held the door wide, and gestured for them to precede her through it. "Please be sure you wash behind the ears."
John shot her a withering look as he walked out, followed by a more polite Teyla. Rodney continued his quiet typing. Elizabeth cleared her throat.
"What?" Rodney whispered, looking up. "I'm technically a patient."
"You participated in the mission, you get debriefed. Now please, Rodney."
"Fine." With exaggerated wincing, McKay slid off the gurney and limped heavily toward the door.
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "You got out to the north pier just fine last night, Rodney, don't even try it." His shoulders stiffened, but his limp decreased.
She watched to make sure they all actually went, and before turning to go herself, she looked down at Ronon. Skirting McKay's gurney, she moved closer to the bedside. Ronon was positioned on his side, with pillows supporting his back. His stretched out arm held a slowly dripping IV.
Ferocious looking as he could be when awake, in sleep Ronon looked as young as he was. He was breathing shallowly through a slightly open mouth, and locks of his hair were lazily falling across the turned up side of his face.
Unable to stop herself, Elizabeth reached out and brushed one of the falling locks back, running it slowly through her fingers. Another and another, and then Ronon stirred slightly and turned his cheek against her hand. "…lena," he murmured, not opening his eyes.
She jerked her hand back and spun around, face flaming, to see if anyone had seen. Carson was nowhere to be seen, just a solitary nurse counting supplies on the other side of the infirmary. "Shh," she whispered, turning back to Ronon and tucked the sheet more snugly around him. He didn't stir again.
0x0x0
Elizabeth firmly pushed her actions in the infirmary to the back of her mind as she headed to her office. After her admonishing to the team, it wouldn't do to be late herself. She gathered her tablet and papers, and with a spare couple fingers grabbed the message the gate tech waved at her as she passed by the control room. Reading it quickly, she couldn't help but chuckle out loud, prompting a puzzled glance from the Canadian.
"Perfect," she said to herself. "Just perfect." She tapped her headset. "Carson, Elizabeth. I think we've found a solution to our problem…"
She breezed into the conference room to see the others already there. John and Teyla were sitting stiffly in their usual seats, Rodney stood behind them, leaning against the wall.
"I assume you don't mind if I stand," he said, his tone petulant.
Elizabeth sank into her chair, and sighed. "Don't get me wrong," she told the three of them. "I'm very glad to see how well you all have bonded as a team. And I'm sure that Ronon appreciates your being there as well. But Carson says he needs to rest, and," she paused, "he also had a few concerns I didn't want to discuss with you at Ronon's bedside."
That got their attention. John sat up straighter, and Rodney pushed away from the wall and moved closer to the table.
"Carson said that Ronon was going to be fine," Teyla said with a frown.
"Yes, he is. Carson is concerned about the psychological effect this will have on Ronon."
"Oh." McKay moved back to the wall, while Sheppard squirmed in his seat uncomfortably.
Teyla looked thoughtful. "In similar situations, do you not send people to talk to Doctor Heightmeyer?"
"Yes, but," Elizabeth raised a gentle eyebrow in the other woman's direction. "Do you think Ronon will talk to her?"
"No," chorused the men.
Teyla shook her head reluctantly. "Ronon does not talk much."
"No," Weir agreed. "He doesn't. But of the talking he does do, I'd venture a guess the majority is to the three of you."
"I'm not sure I like where this is going," John muttered.
"Me neither," McKay muttered back to him.
Teyla silenced them both with a glare. She turned to Elizabeth. "What would you like us to do?" she asked.
"Just keep an eye on him," Elizabeth replied. "See if you can get him to talk at all about what happened on Sateda."
Teyla nodded. "Of course."
"Now, Rodney," Elizabeth spread the message the tech had given her on the table and smiled. "We've got another assignment for you."
McKay darted a nervous glance at Sheppard, who shrugged.
"Halling called us earlier today. He and some of the men in the Athosian village," she nodded at Teyla, "are attempting to clear more farmland. They want our help to divert a stream. As soon as Ronon is cleared by Carson, I'm sending the two of you."
"What?" McKay sputtered. "I'm an astrophysicist, not an engineer! Send Zelenka."
"Zelenka is on assignment with Major Lorne's team," Elizabeth said. "And as you pointed out before, you're technically a patient. You're grounded from further gate travel until your injury is fully healed, so you might as well make yourself useful." She smiled sweetly at the scowling scientist.
"Come on, McKay," Sheppard chimed in, clearly relieved to be getting off so lightly. "How hard can it be? Build a dam; try not to fall in the lake. You'll be back before you know it."
To be continued soon as my little fingers can paste...
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