“Red Sands” (14/15)
Jul. 6th, 2010 08:35 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kristen999Title: “Red Sands” (14/15)
Author:Kristen999
Word Count: 125,000~
Rating: PG-15
Genre: Gen, Drama, Action, H/C
Characters: Sheppard, Ronon, OCs
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Violence and coarse language
Summary: Stranded on a harsh, desolate world, John and Ronon learn that merely surviving is only half the fight.
Notes: This is not a WIP. A chapter will be posted every other day until complete.
I wanted to thank![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
d_odyssey for her amazing support and advice during the writing of this. I also wanted to thank my awesome betas wildcat88 and everybetty for their time, patience, and bucket-loads of red ink. It was their honesty and willingness to tear this story apart that allowed it to finally come together.
“Previous Chapters”
Feedback is always appreciated.
------
Fresh air and clear skies welcomed their stumbled steps and Ronon released a choked sigh. “We're here.” His ryoko was complete, but the journey was far from over. “John?”
Ronon's arm was the only thing between Sheppard and gravity. Ronon cried out when he took the next step and clumsily lowered his friend to the ground, hopping toward the DHD. “We're almost there.”
Staring at controls, he realized he didn't have a way to send his IDC and he growled in frustration. The he remembered an emergency back-up box hidden under one of the nearby boulders. Malvick wasn't the only one with secret supplies. Hobbling on his busted leg, he screamed, forcing his body toward the familiar formation. Using nothing but adrenaline, he shoved the giant rock aside and started digging. Panting, fingers rubbed raw, he located the metal box and entered the numeric code he'd been forced to memorize.
Pulling out the radio, he squeezed the talk button. “Atlantis, this Ronon.”
Silence.
Punching the button again, he screamed, “Answer, damn it! Atlantis, This Ronon Dex!”
Was the city there? Had it been attacked?
Anxiety squeezed his heart; a war cry built up in the pit of his belly.
“This is Atlantis. You're using an emergency radio on channel Delta, Charlie. Please repeat your identification.”
“This is Ronon Dex. I have Sheppard with me. Lower the shield!”
There was the sound of commotion and other voices and Ronon resisted the urge to smash the radio. “Look. Have a security team on stand-by. Bring every Marine to the gate room. I don't care, but we're coming home, so you better lower the damn shield.”
There was a burst of static. “We're lowering the shield.”
Battling security protocols and threatening a bodiless voice was a last gasp. Ronon forced weight onto his leg one final time, crying out as fire engulfed the limb. Grabbing Sheppard by his robe, Ronon draped his friend's limp arm across his shoulder and dragged them home.
Artificial light scraped his eyeballs, blaring alarms assaulted his ears and he clung to the dead weight of his friend, staring defiantly at the dozen P-90s aimed his way. Ronon was breaking, his leg folding under him and still he hung on to Sheppard as he fell onto his ass. It was a swirl of noise, loud and chaotic when he'd been used to silence. The sharp tones slowly faded, and the rush became a single sound.
“Ronon, it's Jennifer. I'm walking toward you.”
The security detail fanned out as Jennifer approached him with a bright smile, a med kit slung over the shoulder of a freshly laundered uniform. She smelled of powder and chemicals, her face a healthy glow with a hint of makeup.
Bright eyes widened, then falsely calmed at his appearance. “Hey.”
Ronon was on the verge of passing out. “Tired.”
His words soothed that tightly controlled expression. “I bet you are.” She glanced behind her shoulder. “Your ride's waiting. Is that okay?”
He simply nodded.
She looked anxiously over at Sheppard. “My team should really take care of him.”
Ronon didn't budge as a pair of gurneys were rolled closer, medical personnel waiting to touch them with smooth skin and too clean hands. Jennifer tentatively reached for his arm, squeezing gently, fingers sliding down to study his pulse. Still he didn't move, as Jennifer used slow, purposeful movements, like he would bite her, and pressed her fingers against Sheppard's neck.
Her frown shook him out of his daze. Panicked at wasting precious time, Ronon practically shoved Sheppard into her arms. “He's really hurt.”
Medical personnel lifted Sheppard onto a gurney, and more helped Ronon onto his own, lifting his legs up. Squeaky wheels, shuffling feet, whispered commands. The bustle of an entire city closed in, rushing panels and rows of lights making him dizzy, and he squeezed his eyes shut.
“Where are the others?”
Jennifer dipped down to his ear. “What?”
“Teyla. McKay.”
“They're off-world. Looking for you guys. They're due back anytime.”
His brain flipped off with her words and the slight rocking of the gurney lulled him into a quiet place in the back of his mind.
He never fell asleep, but teetered on the edge of blackness and the light filtering between his lids. A nurse cut away his clothes, stripping them off his dust-crusted body. Ronon didn't growl, grateful for being freed of his robe, squinting against the too-bright overhead light.
Hands touched and ghosted his skin; there was a prick in his arm from an IV, and a sting in the other as blood was drawn into two large vials. A nurse caught his gaze, giving him a pretty smile with lips of pale pink and he shivered when she pressed the cold metal stethoscope to his chest.
“Sorry,” she said, blowing on the bell before pressing down again.
He didn't say anything when the BP cuff squeezed around his arm or when a penlight caused his head to pound. Faces blurred into one another as too many bodies became a wall surrounding him. Two sets of hands became four, and when a pair touched his legs, Ronon balled his fists and snarled.
“Hey, I'll take over, Lindsey,” Jennifer said, and the rest of the medical staff disappeared. “How are you doing?”
Ronon didn't say anything, had no idea how to respond. Jennifer scanned the monitors around him, tapped at her PDA, then studied his leg. “We're going to run some imaging scans on you in a few minutes.” She placed a hand on his shoulder with nails free of dirt. “Ronon?”
“What?” His voice cracked.
“You're going to be okay.”
Ronon's dreads scraped both cheeks; they needed to be cut, his beard trimmed, but it'd take days to rid all the sand from his pores. “I want a shower.”
Jennifer's smile was for real this time. “We'll clean you after we run your tests. Are you injured anywhere else besides your leg?”
Did it matter? The pain had been an overpowering force, the taskmaster of his ryoko. He'd known nothing else.
The infirmary swarmed with people yelling for tests and instruments, voices competing with beeping machines. A half dozen swarmed Sheppard, and Ronon was glad his friend wasn't awake during the mayhem.
Jennifer stepped in front of Ronon, shielding Sheppard from view while a nurse bustled over, wielding a PDA like it was on fire. “Here are Dex's lab results.”
“Great, go ahead and give him 3 milligrams of morphine on an IV push, okay?”
Words and sounds bombarded Ronon and he felt a tug in his arm, a rush of heat following.
Another nurse hurried by and handed Jennifer another data pad, her eyebrows forming a V in confusion. “Ronon, there's an unknown substance in Colonel Sheppard's labs. It doesn't appear in your blood work. Do you have any idea what it is?'
Not really, Ronon thought.
“Ronon, the colonel might need surgery. If he's been given anything, it could cause complications with the anesthesia.”
A third nurse joined the second. Ronon couldn’t keep up with them as they buzzed around him. “There's blood in the colonel's Foley.”
“Get him under the scanner, stat. Page Doctors Graham and Sato,” Jennifer ordered, then turned to Ronon. “If you could tell me what happened, it might---”
“It was pain medicine,” he blurted. “He was in pain. He took it.”
“How long ago?”
Ronon laughed at the question. Jennifer misunderstood and squeezed his shoulder in an act of comfort. “It wasn't enough. It stopped working,” he said. She seemed relieved at the answer, but it was a biting truth. “They jumped him... I...I wasn't--”
“Oh, my God, it's true!”
Feet clattered over, followed by the rank smell of stagnant water. Rodney stood by the gurney, twitchy blue eyes in a dirt-streaked face. “How the hell did you get back?”
“Rodney,” Teyla warned. “We are very glad you're home,” she said, leaning toward him.
Ronon accepted her grease-streaked forehead, her tears staining his cheeks as he wrapped a hand around her shoulder. “You smell like a swamp,” he chuckled, unable to hide the quiver in his voice.
“It was a marsh.” Rodney fluttered nearby, eyes bulging. “Oh, my God. What the hell happened to you? When did you eat last?”
Jennifer pushed McKay away. “We need to take care of him, Rodney.”
“What about Sheppard?” Ronon asked.
Teyla wiped at her eyes and cast a sideways glance at Jennifer. “We have not seen him. We were not permitted.”
“We felt it best.” Jennifer pulled up the rails of the gurney and more staff swooped in, rolling the equipment beside them.
Rodney and Teyla looked to him for answers and Ronon bit his lip, leaving them with nothing as he was wheeled away.
A sheet covered John's lower half, thin cotton teasing comfort. The iciness of the wormhole had seeped into his bones, sucked away the last of his soul, and spat him out the other side. Where he'd died. Or he thought he had. But there was no mistaking his pain's furious appetite, chewing on him like a piece of rawhide. Or the frisson of air conditioning on his skin, the vibration of the city through the metal and fabric of the gurney.
“Colonel? Can you hear me?”
John's eyes fluttered, a heavy leathery warmth combating the chill in his veins.
“You're being wheeled into pre-op for surgery. We've given you something to help you relax, okay?”
All he saw were yellow lights, not the constant shine of white hot, or the never-ending twilight. Then there was pinch in his arm and everything dimmed out before he questioned why.
“Colonel?”
“Colonel Sheppard? Could you please open you eyes?”
“W't?” John moaned. Didn't he just fall asleep?
“There you go. Try to keep them open for me.”
His reactions were a few seconds behind, the room slowly morphing into a blob of soft gray. Smacking raw lips, he was surprised to find a straw hovering nearby.
“You can take a couple small sips.”
Cold water slid down his throat; ice cubes rattled the bottom of the cup. He smiled around the straw, mmmming in happiness.
“I bet you didn't see any ice water where you were.”
His eyes rolled open, awareness creeping in tiny increments and the female voice became Jennifer Keller. “No,” he rasped and swallowed around the awful dryness of his throat. “How did you...”
“Educated guess based on the sunburns and your dehydration. I know you're tired, but I need to monitor your reaction to the anesthesia.” And she pulled out a penlight. “You gave your anesthesiologist a tough time.”
John rolled his neck, head sinking in the pillow. “Sor'ry.”
“That's alright,” she replied. “Ready? I'm going to check your pupil reaction.”
A stabbing flash of light bore into his left eye, and he was surprised at the blur in his right.
“The swelling in your other eye has gone down enough for the lid to open. I have an ice pack waiting with your name on it. There doesn't appear to be any damage to the cornea, but I'll do a more thorough eye examination in a few days.”
The light triggered fireworks in his head and John hissed, shifting to get away from the obtrusive beam. Keller’s apology filtered through the layer of fog the pain had laid over his brain. Thinking was swimming in an abyss.
“How's Ronon?” Not having him in his line of sight was unnerving.
“We're still working on him.” Seeing his alarm, she quickly added, “He's going to be fine. He'll be facing a long recovery. The first break of his tibia never fully healed properly causing a second stress fracture. He's getting a cast while we speak. Both of you are going to be off your feet for a long while.”
John was gone with he's going to be fine, not really caring about anything else.
“Colonel?”
John heard his name again and ignoring it didn't make the voice go away. He'd been content in a new in between place, but the voice was insistent, a hand on his shoulder adding to the disruption.
Acknowledging it might silence the damn thing and Keller’s smiling face fuzzed into view. “Hey there.”
“Hey.”
“You checked out on me earlier.”
“Hmmmm.”
“I really need you to stay with me a little longer this time.”
John had other ideas.
He'd stayed awake during his next bout of awareness, answering stupid questions about his name and rank, laughing when she asked the date. There were a few more trips to the surface and John coasted the real world a few minutes each time before sinking back down.
His head ached this time around, a dull throb under the haze of narcotics, forcing him awake. Keller had returned, fussing with his IV in what John recognized as a classic stalling technique. Rolling his head he studied his hand cemented by plaster, propped up onto a stack of pillows, his first three fingers cocooned in braces.
Since he was alive, he might as well tally up the damage. “How am I doin'?”
Keller smiled with her friendly physician's expression. “You have a laundry list of problems, but they'll all heal in time. We had to go in and repair a small tear in your left kidney that was a source of a slow bleed, and a hematoma in your spleen.” Pausing to see if he was still with her, John gave her a nod and she continued. “You have three broken ribs and there are various contusions on your torso, back and face. But the swelling should go down in time.”
Keller's ability to keep a light optimistic tone faded as her eyes drifted across him in sadness. John despised the pity. “And my hand?”
“Doctor Graham is an orthopedic specialist and he didn't think you required any additional surgery. He'll be examining you later, but X-rays showed carpal fractures in your hand and four metacarpal breaks in your fingers, but all the bones have been aligned and splinted.”
“Guess you have me on the good stuff, huh?” His hand felt like a block of wood. “What about...”
“There's a possibility of loss of motion from nerve damage or arthritis after they heal. I'm sorry; we won't know for sure.”
“Thanks for not sugarcoating things.” Keller was giving him that mother hen vibe. “I'm sure you have other patients.”
She was smiling, fumbling for an excuse to stick around. “None that need my attention right now. I could arrange for--”
“Look, Doc, I just want to sleep,” John said.
“Oh. Okay.” Keller pulled a strand of hair behind her ear. “If you need anything, the call button is on your left side.”
“Got it.”
She made a hasty retreat and John blinked up at a high ceiling of white squares. Buzzing equipment and soft padded soles of people moving outside his curtain was an odd kind of loud from what he'd been used to. A blanket, soft and warm, was draped over his sheet.
It was cozy.
Strange.
Tracing the stubble of his cheeks he considered asking for a shave and a pang of apprehension shot through him. Maybe later. The pharmacy filtering through his system was a good distraction and he allowed himself to go where it wanted to take him.
“Hey? You awake?”
“No,” John grumbled.
“Answering are you awake with no is a contradiction.”
“Okay, I don't want to be awake.”
“It's polite to open your eyes when having a conversation.”
“I'm not having a conversation.”
“I spent the last eleven weeks searching for you and Ronon. Losing precious sleep. Allowing experiments to fail and the city to go down the tubes. Oh, and Teyla and I spent a whole week trapped with a bunch of people who rode gigantic frogs and spent every waking moment drunk on kufuku flowers.”
“Did you drink any of it?”
“What? No, of course not.”
John forced his eyes open, taking in Rodney's huffy expression. “You should have.”
“Well, I'm sorry if I don't share your adventurous taste in exotic alcohol.”
Rodney broke off direct eye contact, his gaze sweeping the tiny space between privacy curtains. Unable to look at anything continuously for more than three seconds, he kept stealing glances, eyes straying wide.
“Stop staring.”
“But you look like...you look like...”
“Like I've been marooned in the desert.”
“Before or after your heavyweight title bout with the Terminator? And has Jennifer given you food yet? I mean, have you seen yourself in the mirror?” John bit his bottom lip, tasting blood.
Rodney didn't notice and the pacing and hand gestures began in full force. “We had no idea where the Saurin stashed you. They cut off all ties with us and we searched all their surrounding planets, but there were no life signs. Do you know how long by jumper we had to go on each trip? Nine, twelve, even eighteen hours. Each way.” Rodney took a breath. “There's only a space gate near the Saurin secret base.”
“I know.”
“Of course you do.” Rodney paced in a tiny path making John dizzy. “How did you escape?”
“Gate on the planet.”
“That's it? What took you so long? Was it guarded?”
“Kind of.”
“What do you mean kind of? Was it broken?”
“Yeah.”
“Which was it? And what's with the one word answers? Did you and Ronon exchange personalities or something?'
“Rodney.”
“What?”
“I'm going to sleep.”
“But...I have a surprise.” There was rustling as Rodney fumbled with something and he pulled out a laptop like a rabbit from a magic hat. “I downloaded all the seasons of Buffy. V the original miniseries. I found Buck Rogers, Knight Rider, and even the A-Team because I think you and Murdock were separated at birth.”
Rodney looked at John expectantly, and damn it. He wanted to say yes, wanted to lose himself in campy TV Land, but John couldn't. It was too much, too soon.
“Maybe later,” John offered.
“Oh.” Rodney's shoulders slumped. “I'll just, you know. Put it on the table beside you. If you change your mind, your music collection is there, too.”
“Thank you,” John whispered.
Rodney's presence loomed like a shadow despite closing his eyes. John couldn't shift onto his side, or pull the blanket over his head. There was a moment of panic that his friend would pull up a chair and actually stay, but a heavy sigh and shuffling of feet signaled Rodney's exit.
And John was alone again.
Solitude was a pipe-dream. Vital checks. Medication rounds. Screechy equipment carts, talking, the damn ventilation system. His body was disconnected from his mind, mimicking his thoughts.
“I have soup for lunch today, Colonel,” a smiling nurse chirped.
A bowl of broth was placed on his tray and Nurse Happy took a spoonful and held it up.
“Just leave it.”
“I know you're right-handed--”
“I'm good.”
“But...”
“I can eat on my own!”
Nurse Happy flinched, but quietly put the utensil down, voice all sweet. “Okay, Colonel. But if you need any help just hit the call button and I'll be over.”
John felt like a jackass, almost pushing his lunch aside, but even broth had him salivating. Fighting the growing hunger he made himself grab the spoon, not just bring the bowl to his lips to down in one go. It wasn't a complete catastrophe, only a little dribbled on his gown, yet strangely enough, his belly was full before he was done eating. He stared dumbly at the bowl, knowing what lengths he would have gone to for a little tasty soup in that hellhole.
“Knock, knock.”
John glanced up at Keller. “Hey, Doc.”
“Colonel,” Keller addressed with a practiced smile. She did the usual check of the machines before her eyes settled on his meal. “That's not bad. I'd really like it if you ate a little more.”
“Kinda full.”
“I'm sure you are. When you go from a regular diet of meals to a much smaller intake your stomach shrinks. I'll get you up to speed over the next few weeks with higher calorie meals.”
“Does this mean I'll be mainlining desserts?”
“Afraid not. But I hear foods rich with protein, vitamins and minerals are very gourmet.” Her attempt at being upbeat was a dud so Keller did what she could to barrel past it. “You've been deprived of proper nutrition for a long time. Your electrolytes are also all over the place, most of which I can balance in your IV solution, but you'll be drinking plenty of Ensure for the next month at least.”
“Guess a rib-eye and potatoes will have to wait.”
“I think I could arrange that in a few days. Mashed potatoes and applesauce first, then the good stuff. I don't want to shock your body too much, but in time we'll get you healthy again.” And she patted his arm.
Her smile was plastic and John's walls went up full force. “Sounds good. Um, look. I need a favor.”
“Depends what it is,” she said with a twinkle.
“You have my clothes. There's a substance in the pocket. A plant.” Little forget-me needles. “Do you think you could run a few tests on it?”
Obviously his request was confusing. “Um, sure. I can do that.”
Then she launched into stuff about his hand and more scans. A regimen for replacing the pounds he'd lost. In one ear and out the other.
“Colonel?”
“Sorry. What was that last part?”
“You have a visitor,” Keller announced.
Richard Woolsey approached with a stiff smile and a warm greeting. “Colonel Sheppard, it is good you see.” He glanced at Keller. “Is the colonel up to a conversation?”
“He's lucid, yes,” Keller replied almost protectively.
He gestured for privacy. “Very well, if you don't mind.”
“Try to keep it brief. He needs plenty of rest and is due for another dose of pain medication.” Keller hovered, leaving only after Woolsey cleared his throat.
Woolsey's mask was firmly in place, perfect and at ease. “Colonel, I know you have had a very...a very rough ordeal. One I could not even imagine. I know your report will be detailed, but I must ask for a preliminary update on the events leading to your and Ronon's imprisonment.”
John explained about the labs, the cloning chambers, the Saurin desire for Atlantis' Wraith research and genetics. How his and Ronon's memories would have been wiped.
“Given the threat of having all intel concerning their genetics program taken from your mind, you decided to destroy their computer database because--”
“Dumma told us all their research was centrally stored in one area. It presented the best target to set them back.”
“In other words, you attacked without orders and destroyed a sovereign government's classified facility.”
“Yes.”
“Even if such an attack would be considered an act of war?”
“Yes.”
Woolsey's expression gave no hint of his reaction. “This was based on your assessment of a military threat to Atlantis despite any hostile or violent acts.”
“It was a first strike decision.”
Woolsey waited for more, but John wasn't offering anything. “The Saurin contacted us three days after we were removed from their base and informed us that you and Ronon had been convicted of an act of terrorism, and severed all ties. We tried many times to re-establish contact to negotiate for a release.”
John lay there, propped at an angle, grinding his jaw.
“On the planet, were you able to gather any additional details on the Saurin from the other prisoners?”
“There was this one prisoner.” And John stumbled over the word. What was Malvick? Prisoner? Criminal? Mass murderer? “We gathered information about the Saurin, but it was vague, outdated stuff about their abandoned outpost there.”
“And the others?”
“What others?”
“The ones you were incarcerated with. Were you able to--?”
“We were pretty much on our own.”
Even the keenest diplomat was unable to hide a flicker of disappointment.
“Are we....” John thought of the woman they'd left outside the gate and his eyes went wide. “The data chips! Ask Rodney to go over the data chips I had with me. They were in a pocket.” John's heart pounded in his chest. “Don't recall which one, but--”
Woolsey laid a hand on John's shoulder, his eyes nervously eying one of the urgently beeping machines. “We collected everything from your clothes. Dr. McKay is already studying them as we speak.”
“If it has any intel. If you can find out the gate address to the planet. Are there an preliminary plans to investigate---”
“I'm afraid any operations relating to the Saurin are on a need-to-know basis. I'm sorry.”
That pissed John off, but he couldn't muster the energy after his mini adrenaline rush. Obviously he'd been shoved aside again. Woolsey didn't make a move to leave, awkwardly remaining, so John gave him an escape. “Did you need anything else?”
“Maybe later,” Woolsey replied. “Get some rest, Colonel. We'll talk more when you're feeling better.
Ronon's leg lay wrapped from ankle to knee and anytime he tried getting out of bed, tubes pulled and pinched his skin. But there was no walking, no standing. Staff fluttered in and out, aware of his foul mood, talking less anytime they completed a task. He hated the drugs they fed him, preferring the pain and alertness than this spaced-out feeling.
A nurse swept by, cleaning away his empty tray and placing a second helping of red Jell-O and chocolate pudding on the bedtable. He gave her a smile, shoveling into the closest cup, slurping down the cherry goodness, loving every second of pure, sweet bliss on his tongue. The spoon rattled against his front teeth and he quickly put it aside at Jennifer's amused expression.
“Guess you really enjoy Jell-O, huh?”
“Tastes good.”
“I'll keep that in mind.”
“Wouldn't mind steak.”
“I'll see if I can arrange that for you tomorrow.”
“Meatloaf's good, too. Pizza, muffins, those Athosian pastry things...”
“Well, your appetite hasn't diminished. I'll try fitting those in with healthy things, but since your new diet is going up to six small meals a day, it shouldn't be a problem.”
“When can I start that?” he grinned. He really, really missed eating. Four years on Atlantis and he'd grown to love stuff with rich tomato sauce, anything stuffed with cheese, or drenched in gravy. Days and nights in the cave he used to dream of cake layered in chocolate and whipped cream.
“Baby steps. I don't want anything to upset your stomach. Let's get your salt levels and electrolytes in order and then we'll talk.”
“Okay.”
She chuckled. “I wish all my patients were as receptive as you.”
Ronon froze reaching for the pudding. “Sheppard?”
Jennifer averted her eyes and he knew she wasn't supposed to talk about those in her care. It was a stupid rule.
“I should check on him.”
“You see him a few times a day.”
“He's always asleep.”
“He's recovering from major surgery on top of his other injuries.”
Ronon fidgeted, balling the ends of his blanket.
Jennifer took his hand. “He's only thirty meters away.”
That didn't quiet the need to see with his own eyes. Just to be sure. Bad things happened when he wasn't looking.
“You know if you wanted to talk about things, I have a good ear,” she offered.
He intertwined his fingers with hers, savoring the gentle warmth before slipping his hand away. “Thanks.” Which was his nice way of saying no.
Jennifer rested her hand on the rail. “Colonel Sheppard should only have a few more days in critical care. I was thinking of transferring him over here. I really think he--”
The soft tread of leather on tile signaled a visitor, and Woolsey tentatively walked over. “I'm sorry for the interruption, but the rest of my day is filled with meetings and I wanted a word with you if I could, Dr Keller?”
Jennifer instantly walked toward him. “Of course.”
Turning his attention to the bed, Woolsey offered a polite smile. “I was hoping I could speak with you as well, Ronon. Perhaps tomorrow morning?”
“Sure.” Woolsey had dropped by yesterday when Ronon was more heavily medicated. No doubt wanting some report or another.
Jennifer pulled aside the curtain and both stepped away. Ronon peeled the foil lid off the pudding cup and devoured it. Lunch done, he was stuck again with nothing to do except the DS game McKay had left him. Picking it up to play the shooting game, he tried ignoring the hushed voices of people who thought they wouldn't be overheard.
“How are they really doing?”
Ronon rolled his eyes at Woolsey's question.
“You have my full report--”
“What's not in the report?”
Ronon suppressed the urge to crawl out of bed and demand they talk about him in front of his face.
“Ronon's tough; don't let the leg and weight loss fool you.” Jennifer paused. “But I think he should talk with someone. When two people go through a great trauma together, depending on one another for a long time...well...we've learned very few details of their ordeal other than it was horrific based on their conditions.”
“Hopefully, we'll gather those soon. Colonel Sheppard had some type of data chip with him that Dr. McKay is going to brief me on. I'll send you copies of that and their reports when they're turned in. And of course psych evaluations are standard protocol under these circumstances.”
Smashing the plastic container, Ronon grabbed the metal spoon, aiming over the curtain, hand shaking. But he didn't want to hit Jennifer so instead he bent the utensil, snapping it in two.
“I am worried about Colonel Sheppard,” Jennifer whispered.
“Agreed. He didn't even challenge me during our conversation.”
“I'm not a trained psychologist, but he exhibits classic signs of depression.”
“Let's walk; I'm expecting a data burst from Stargate Command.”
Ronon shoved the rolling table aside, chucked his sheets, and glared at the monstrosity of his leg. Growling, he shoved the guardrails down, pressed down on his hands in an attempt to move. Both arms trembled and the room started to spin.
“Hey? What are you doing?”
Someone touched his shoulder and Ronon swung, catching air.
“Take it easy, it's Lorne!”
“Get off me!”
“Okay, okay, but enough with the jail break. You'll make a mess.”
Breathing hard, Ronon slumped down, totally spent, the IV line tangled up and his bedding all over the floor. “What do you want?”
“Nothing. Just thought I'd visit a friend.” Lorne wore the haggard expression of command under too much crushing weight and was all kitted out for a mission; the only thing missing was his P-90. “I just returned from off-world. This is the first time the two of you have been awake when I've been around. Thought after my post-check up, I'd say hello.”
Ronon stared at the pile of linen that had fallen away.
Lorne took the opening and picked up the sheets. “Here,” he said dumping a pile on Ronon's lap.
Ronon gathered up the fabric; his eyes drifted over his body barely concealed by the ridiculous gown, muscle tone eaten away, leaving a useless being in his place. “Not in the mood to talk.”
Sighing, Lorne shook his head. “Yeah, that's what the colonel said. Except in fewer words.”
“What kind of mission were you on?” Ronon asked, not looking up.
“Rendezvous with another shady contact.”
“Who?”
“A guy who had information concerning the Saurin.”
Ronon's head jerked up. “About what?”
Lorne tensed, risking a look around. “I can't share the details with you.”
“Not asking to share.” Ronon glared and Lorne glared back. “If you were in this bed, I'd tell you.”
“You've been terrorizing my nurses,” Jennifer announced with a sigh, pulling aside the curtain.
Ronon glanced up from where he had the DS scattered in pieces. “I want out of this bed.”
“You suffered a stress fracture after your old break, not that it mattered much. The second one was caused by all your walking on the first when your tibia became too unstable.” Jennifer crossed her arms. “Getting up and walking around—”
“Don't want to walk around. Just get me a wheelchair.”
“And I want you to regain your strength. You have more than just a broken leg. You've suffered long-term malnutrition and an infection. If you overdo it and fall, you could break another bone. You've lost fifty pounds and--”
“That can't stop me from sitting in a chair.”
“I'll make you a deal.” She pulled out a data pad. “Stop snapping at my staff. You don't have to talk to them, but no more growling and intimidation.”
“You said this was part of a deal?”
“I'll set up an overhead trapeze for you to do upper body exercises.”
“Cool.”
Jennifer grinned, walking behind the privacy divide and bringing out a wheelchair. “I thought you might want to visit Colonel Sheppard since he's more awake now, but only if you let two of my staff help you into it.”
“And?” Ronon knew she was holding back.
“Doctor Flores is scheduled to have a chat with you later today. Please don't stonewall him.”
“You mean the head shrink?” Jennifer gave him a look and Ronon shrugged. “It's what McKay calls them. Fine. Talked to him before.” After his withdrawal from the enzyme last year, he hadn't had a choice.
He started to roll down his sheets. “Can I go now?”
“I'm warning you. Colonel Sheppard's been....he's had his ups and downs. Mostly downs,” Jennifer explained, obviously frustrated at being unable to help.
Ronon eyed his metallic ride out of bed. “Don't worry, I'm used to it.”
Jennifer pushed Ronon personally through the infirmary, his IV hooked to the back of the chair, but she wisely allowed him to take the last of the journey on his own.
Sheppard was inclined in a sitting position with his eyes closed, a laptop resting on the table next to him. No one had shaved him yet; dark purple bruises with yellow blotches peeked out from his beard. Even resting, he was tense - corded neck muscles, rigid shoulders.
“You're not sleeping,” Ronon stated.
“Thought you were one of the staff,” Sheppard replied. He pushed himself up the best he could with a grunt. “Been meaning to see you for a change, but they've been real picky about me moving around.”
Ronon purposely didn't reply, staring into all the new lines the sun had burned into his friend's face.
Sheppard's weary expression hardened. “What?”
“Heard you took the blame for attacking the Saurin.”
“Who told you that?'
Ronon purposefully crossed his arms; he wasn't ratting out Lorne. “Why'd you do it?”
“Because I'm the team leader.”
“But it was my idea.”
“I made the final decision.”
Sheppard said nothing and Ronon furiously wheeled himself closer. “Damn it! Stop being a stubborn ass! We did it together. Taking all the blame doesn't prove anything.”
“You done? Because I've got a roaring headache and it doesn’t care for people yelling at me.”
Sheppard's complexion was pale and Ronon felt slightly contrite. “Did you mention it to Jennifer?”
Sheppard rubbed his temple one-handed, adjusting his head among the pillows. “She thinks it's the pain meds. Or something. I don't remember.”
“You tell her about--”
“I haven't mentioned a lot of things,” Sheppard snapped. “Not yet.” He dug the heel of his hand into his right eye. “Sorry. Been... I dunno.”
Ronon searched for the braking mechanism, engaging it and getting as comfortable as possible. “Don't wait too long.”
“I won't.” Sheppard watched Ronon settle in for the long haul and let out a breath, but he didn't chase him away.
It was the cave with long stretches of nothing. “I can't wait to beat the crap out of someone,” Ronon offered.
“As long as it's not me.”
They didn't talk about the Saurin or the desert. Not today.
John's mom had died of cancer. She'd never told him of her illness until it was too late. He'd suspected something with all the doctors’ visits and growing weakness, and that expensive wig never felt real.
When she passed away in her bedroom, he'd never accepted it.
Mitch and Dex had died when John was on another black op. Their coffins were empty because there wasn’t enough of their remains to fill them.
A man whose name he'd never been told was murdered inside a tent while John stood outside. After the screaming had ended, Akram placed the informant's head on a spike for all to see.
During one of his few medivac missions, John transported the body bags of over thirty-two men, and deep down, he wondered if there was ever anything he could have done to prevent at least one of them.
Holland's chopper crashed when John was sleeping after two back-to-back missions. Holland’s crew testified at John's hearing, but by then, John didn't care about the outcome. Apparently his long career saved him from a complete discharge; in time he'd be forced to retire.
He really did love Antarctica; no one died there. In fact, he never got to know anyone and preferred it that way.
The tally of dead earned a new name on the very first day of his new life and the hits kept on rolling month after month. Carson. Elizabeth. Every fallen Marine under his command and civilian he'd been responsible for. Seventy-two in all.
He’d relived every death in their cave. Reevaluating, fixating on what-ifs, doing all the stuff he wasn't supposed to. He’d broken the rules he'd lectured his men on when it came to losing people in battle.
He’d never expected to be alone with his thoughts for so goddamned long. All the crap he'd believed was long buried had nowhere to hide.
John sat in the chair across from his bed, shaking in pain and exhaustion from walking twenty steps with two giant orderlies. Another migraine took up residence behind his eyes, causing everything to glow with strange halos. He sat there, staring at the pain medication machine, fingers resting on the button, gazing longingly at it. Not for the buzzing tingle it did to his body, but for what it did to his brain.
“You wanted to see me, Colonel?” Keller asked. “Feeling rough from your earlier stroll?”
John grunted. “Look, I want to get rid of this thing.”
“You don't want your PCA pump?”
“No.”
“John, I already cut back your regimen of morphine. Twice. It's the reason for the pump since you're weren't happy otherwise. If the body's in pain, then it doesn't heal. You don't need the stress.”
“What I don't need is to be hooked up to a happy dispenser,” John growled.
Keller wasn't having any of it. “It's only been three days.”
“Really? That many? I couldn't tell.”
“Would you like a clock? It might help you acclimate to a normal night and day cycle?”
John really wished he wasn't talking to a sensible person. “I'd end up counting the second hand.”
Pulling up a chair, she took a seat, all the I'm the doctor, I'm in charge slipping from her expression. “Want to tell me what's really bothering you?”
“No.”
“Then the PCA machine stays, including the automatic dose it dispenses.”
John grabbed a glass of water, unable to resist swirling it around a few times, drinking it slowly, eye on the full pitcher on his table. He finished the glass even if he wasn't that thirsty and carefully poured another one. He did this all day. Drinking all the water he could stand and watching someone bring him another full pitcher only minutes later. “Did you ever examine those plant fibers I asked about? The ones in my robe?”
“I collected the dust in your pocket, enough for an initial analysis. This was the pain medication you took when you were attacked?”
John averted his eyes, studying the floor. “Pain medication. No, it was an appetite suppressant. Part of the local economy.”
Her eyebrows rose up in surprise. “And you used this before you were injured?”
There were twenty-three tiles in the floor by his feet. “The first few weeks were bad. Ronon was hurt. We had no food, no water. I took it to keep the hunger pains at bay. I still ate,” he said defensively. “If I got too weak, I wouldn't have been much use to Ronon.”
“Of course.”
He wiggled his broken fingers, riding the clash between pain and that muted heaviness.
She reached over to still them and pulled her hand back at the last second. “You shouldn't move those.”
John laid them on the armrest. “Orris. That's what they called it. It was used to---the prisoners used it to--”
“Escape?”
“To get high,” John corrected. He locked eyes with her this time. “They smoked it.”
Keller's expression was perfectly even. “And you didn't smoke it?”
“No, I chewed them.” She had that thinking face and John was pin wheeling. ”What?”
“There's a metabolic difference between orally ingesting certain chemical compounds and smoking them.”
“What does that mean?”
“In your case? I'm not sure.”
Typing with your non-dominant hand while a guy chiseled the inside of your skull with a needle was agony; realizing that three months of your life were made up of death and killing, well, John didn't go there. It was depressing whatever the conclusion. Hitting send didn't lift any great burden off his shoulders; if anything he felt worse.
“Am I disturbing you?”
“Yes,” John replied without thought.
“Why?”
“I'm sorry, Teyla.” John really was, closing the laptop and pushing it away. What was with him snapping at people all the time? “I'm not good company.”
“That's my job, not yours.” Teyla brought her own chair and put it next to the bed, sliding into it. “I have brought you some tea for your headache.”
“That obvious, huh?”
She pulled out a canteen bound in brown leather, pouring some into his water cup. “Sorry that I cannot serve you formally from a tea set, but carrying one from my room would prove a challenge.” Pausing, Teyla tilted her head. “What is wrong?”
“Nothing,” John lied, unable to tear his gaze from the worn homemade canteen.
He took the cup despite the slight tremble in his hand and drank the spicy sweet liquid.
“Hopefully it will ease your head.”
Teyla's hair was a vibrant swirl of browns and gold. When she leaned over to remove the cup, strands fell away from her face and John was struck by the sudden need to touch them. “May I?” he asked, hand hovering.
“Go ahead.”
Sliding his fingers through the strong flowing locks, he whispered. “Thank you.” But it meant so much more than those mere words. Teyla knew better than to respond, thank God, and John's hands strayed to his own recently shampooed hair and down his bearded face.
“I see they cut your hair.” She smiled. “Perhaps you would like me to bring your razor? I know you have not been allowed to get up and take a shower yet.”
“Helen gives me a sponge bath.” Helen, who was the oldest nurse on staff.
“Then I'll bring it next time,” she answered brightly.
“Don't,” John blurted more forcefully than intended.
“You do not wish to shave?”
“No, I'm saving it for later.” He gave her a smile that never reached his eyes.
Teyla responded by enveloping him with her arms, digging her face into his shoulder. “We missed you both so much, John.”
His whole body stiffened, but her warm, tight embrace would not give in to his defenses and John allowed himself to accept the moment without guilt. His wall gave in just a little.
“Do you know the difference between hunger and appetite?” Keller inquired without preamble on her next round to visit him.
It sounded insensitive, but John was too perplexed to care. “Um.”
She pulled up the vacant chair Teyla had left last night. “Appetite isn't exactly hunger, but rather an interest in eating. Hunger is a physical sensation. A growling or empty stomach and over time, headache, shakiness, decreased concentration.”
“Okay.”
“Then there's satiety, the feeling of fullness which triggers our desire to stop eating. Appetite, hunger, and satiety are governed by the digestive system and hormones. The body can sense things physically, like whether the stomach is distended or the intestines are stimulated. It's a complex feedback loop for hormones -- when one goes up, another might go down.” Keller was geared up, hoping for a reaction. John had nothing. “The orris. It triggers the hormones that control that desire for food and a false feeling of being full.”
John wasn't in a waiting mood. “And the punch line?”
“Remember when I said that drugs metabolize differently based on consumption?”
“Vaguely.”
“When orris is inhaled, it's the perfect appetite suppressant because of its effects on those particular hormones. As a solid, it inhibits the NMDA receptors in the brain.” Keller was on a roll, throwing out words and explanations in excitement. “I ran several computer simulations once I plugged in its unusual chemical makeup. It's quite complex. The effects seem to take place mainly in the hippocampal formation and in the prefrontal cortex and...”
“Doc?” John rubbed at his eyes. “Could you bottom line it for me?”
“Oh, of course. Sorry.” She blushed. “Evidence suggests the solid form of orris impedes the memory process based on the bonds it attaches itself to.” She cleared her throat. “The short version: ingested, orris causes a type of sensory overload to the brain more associated with chemical reactions seen in schizophrenia and near-death experiences.”
John's eyes widened. “I don't remember anything like that.”
“It's all theoretical, sorry. Were you...um, taking a hundred grams at a time?”
“I don't know. They were in needle form.”
“Like pine needles?”
“Something like that.”
“About fifty?”
John's forehead scrunched up. “Fifty? No, more like ten. Twenty tops.” Okay maybe more when he was in the Void.
Keller's eyes got wide and round in alarm. “Several times a day?”
“No,” John snorted, then sobered. “I'm not sure. We didn't know what a day was. I only took them when…” He clamped his mouth shut.
“Colonel?”
Blinking, it was John's turned to be embarrassed. “I can't say. I was never given more than a hundred needles at once and that seemed to last a long time.”
Checking his pulse out of some nervous tic, she asked, “Are you feeling any side effects from not consuming them?”
“No... Maybe the headaches?”
Her face relaxed in relief. “Your vitals have been stable the last couple of days. I'll run more lab tests on the orris. With this new information we'll be monitoring you more closely and if the need arises, begin a detox program.”
But the not knowing for sure would eat away at him. “Do you think you could do a more detailed analysis. To be sure?”
“Sure. It'll take a few days. But I'll let you know. And I'll need to inform Doctor Flores.” As if sensing his feelings about that, she quickly added. “Of course since you're seeing him later today, you can tell him yourself. Addiction comes in two forms. Physical and...”
“Psychological,” John finished.
Like his brain wasn't conflicted enough.
Staring up at the overhead trapeze Jennifer had installed, Ronon considered what number of exercises to do as his fingers traced his favorite set of blades Teyla had brought him. Jennifer did everything in her power to give him the freedom he desired despite his impeded mobility. Frequent strolls in his wheelchair around the infirmary and the surrounding halls. Chatting with Sheppard when he wasn't conked out on pain meds or in one his 'moods', and frequent visits with Teyla and McKay kept the caged-up feeling to a minimum.
But having his knives gave him an odd sort of touchstone. He missed them, missed the intimacy of sharpening them and the strength they lent. There was security at wielding such weapons, the bond at having forged them by hand or earned them in battle. They were markers in history; each one told hundreds of stories. Some people collected blades as war trophies, but a weapon should be used in combat, not displayed.
“Planning a raid?” McKay stood outside the curtain, hands clasped behind his back, bobbing from his toes to the balls of his feet. “Because unless your wheelchair is motorized, after you kill, lemme see, one, two...ah, all eight poor defenseless nurses, you'll be out of weapons, thus a sitting duck.”
Ronon didn't even smile, tossing a knife from one hand to the other. “Don't need a raid if I have a hostage.”
McKay acting indignant used to annoy Ronon, but he’d missed that huffy face. Even if he'd never admit it to the man.
“Ha, ha, I'm your slave labor for today,” he grumbled, shifting behind the privacy curtain and returning with a wheelchair. “You're supposed to wait for the Jolly Green Giant and his pal to help you.”
Ronon did wait for the help, surprising the both of them, but no way was he admitting the difficulty of shuffling from the bed to the chair without the aid. “Where are we going?”
“Woolsey wants to have a meeting, and since Colonel Grouchy has more restrictions for moving than you, I was told to fetch you.” McKay clapped his hands together, bouncing on his feet. “I swear it's hard to get good help these days.”
Ronon wrapped his blades up in a swatch of purple cloth, setting them aside on his table with the books he never read and the spare laptop Zelenka had dropped off.
“Finally.” McKay scrambled aside as a male and female nurse came over, removing the IV first. “I'm an unpaid chauffeur, not manual labor.”
The rest of any rants was lost in the painful, tedious process of transferring to the chair, and by the time Ronon was settled, leg aching, face broken out in sweat, he was too busy being pissed to ask what the meeting was about.
Lorne and Teyla were sitting in chairs around Sheppard with Woolsey at the foot of the bed. “Oh good, we're all here now.”
“I've got it,” Ronon grouched, taking over the duty of wheeling himself around and parking next to the IV stand.
Sheppard was sitting up, hands in his lap, eyes darting about for the hidden dagger. Paranoia was contagious and Ronon was fully on alert, fingers denting the leather handles.
“The reason for this meeting is to discuss the military strike against M1P-346,” Woolsey began.
“Where?” Ronon asked.
“That is the designation of the planet on which you and Colonel Sheppard were imprisoned.”
Sheppard’s face went from confusion to shock. “You got information from the data chip?”
“After three non-stop nights of analysis all we managed was the gate address,” Rodney sighed, dark bags under his eyes a testament to the long hours. “We're still working our way through the rest, but most of the information is encoded and we don't have a key.”
“But we're attacking it?” Sheppard questioned, impatiently waiting for an answer.
“Two of our people were held captive by a government that severed all diplomatic ties. Stargate Command and the IOA didn't want to take chances with a society with the technological level of the Saurin. In the last three months we began intelligence gathering operations on the possible threat.” Woolsey looked to the group, none of them surprised at the announcement. “I'll allow Major Lorne to take it from here.”
Lorne turned his chair around and straddled it. “Over the last twelve weeks, using our allies and various contacts, we met with three different sources whose intel corroborated one another's.”
McKay rolled his hand in a hurry up gesture. “The Saurin are like the Travelers except without ships. Well, they have ships, but they don't live in them.”
“As I was saying,” Lorne growled as he shot McKay an irritated look, “it seems the Saurin go around the galaxy gathering technology and research to enhance their society. Very few worlds have much to offer, but there are enough abandoned Ancient facilities lying around to pique their interest.”
“If they're so powerful, why don't they attack?” Ronon asked.
“We've determined that the Saurin have several small bases throughout the galaxy. For whatever reason, we're not sure. Maybe they split from one another or it could be a way to safeguard their limited numbers,” Lorne answered.
“We were told there weren't a lot of them around,” Ronon offered.
“They're a dying race,” Teyla spoke up. “They're very old and cannot keep their population going. Part of their quest is to advance their numbers.”
“Because they're tainted.” Sheppard spoke up. Everyone looked to him and he shrugged. “Makes sense. They've been experimenting on themselves, cloning over and over again; bet the gene pool is pretty messed up.”
“Then why don't they take what they want? Use their military to conquer worlds that get in their way. They have space ships.” Ronon scanned those gathered.
McKay smirked. “Because they're an insane hippy cult with a limited population. They're all about enhancing their race. Becoming godlike, hear that before? But they won't stoop low enough to actually kill anyone. It'd taint their search for the perfect being they've sought to become.”
Rolling his eyes at Lorne's stern look, he continued. “They're master con artists. When they target a city or world, they profile them and present themselves as the perfect ally. Great healers, environmentalists, the most agriculturally whatever. They parade their advancements in the field in exchange for what they want. When we were on their base, they dazzled me with Ancient tech and I'm sure gave you,” he stared at Sheppard, “the speech on how all their knowledge would improve our military.”
Sheppard's eyes went hooded. “Yeah, that was the pitch at first.”
“They worship the Wraith,” Ronon growled.
“Not worship. Admire. As in the Wraith are the perfect lab rats to base what they want to recreate in themselves, minus the killing.”
“And we're striking the prison planet because?” Sheppard prompted.
“To free the political prisoners imprisoned there,” Woolsey answered.
Ronon had almost forgotten he was in the room. Sheppard had a vacant expression as he reached for cup of water. “Political prisoners?”
“Yes, sir,” Lorne replied. “The Saurin made several alliances with worlds, but not everyone in power shared the enthusiasm as the rest of the government. The Saurin arranged for voices of dissent to disappear, including several in the military. The contact I spoke to said his brother and uncle were vocal in their distrust of sharing Ancient texts they had stored on their planet. The next day during a meeting with a Saurin envoy, they never returned.”
“I've heard the same stories,” Teyla spoke. “People in ruling councils disappearing.”
Sheppard shook his head. “But the people there, they were...they were all criminals.”
“You and Ronon weren't criminals,” McKay pointed out.
They had been, Ronon thought.
“Perhaps the Saurin have criminals? People who do not share their common belief? Or even violent members in their society,” Teyla suggested.
“Or they bring criminals in from their trading partners,” Woolsey theorized. “If they have a planet to dump them on, it'd save their allies resources.”
Sheppard sipped his water. “And the military op is to free them?”
“This is a massive intelligence operation,” Woolsey explained. “According to your and Ronon's reports, many of the prisoners have conformed to the rough aspect of their confinement. I believe granting them a way home and providing them with supplies would give us ample sources of knowledge.”
“What about the Shan'ka?” Sheppard sat up even straighter. “They have access to a lot of unknown technology.”
“We're going to avoid them for now,” Lorne answered. “Based on your intel, they're centralized in one area. We'll focus on the civilian population surrounding their compound.”
“How many squadrons?” Sheppard asked, his face hard.
“Five squads of Marines,” Lorne answered.
Sheppard shook his head. “Not enough to control the population and any supplies you'll bring.”
Lorne nodded. “The Daedalus is arriving tomorrow morning. We'll funnel people to a temporary alpha site. Captain Vasquez's squad is setting up a small tent city to house and feed them while we conduct interviews. We're hoping to compile a list of Saurin allied planets, base locations, and any intel on their defensive capabilities.”
“And the prisoners? If their own government kicked them out, where do they go?” Ronon caught Sheppard's gaze; they both wanted to know the same thing.
“We have found different towns and villages willing to take them until their situations change,” Teyla replied confidently.
“A lot of them are thugs and killers.” Ronon leaned forward, elbows on his armrests. “Just gonna cut them loose?”
Sheppard's jaw tightened and Ronon realized what he had just said.
Woolsey held his chin up high. “It's a good question. We have no way of determining who is a real criminal and who is a legitimate political dissident. We don't have the resources to keep long-term prisoners and there is no centralized police force or penal system in which to place them. But, we're willing to take the chance to obtain intel that could have an impact on the rest of the galaxy.”
“What about the next round?” Sheppard stared at the surrounding perplexed faces. “We rescue the current ones. What about the next set the Saurin dump?”
“Let's worry about those who are there now,” Woolsey replied.
Ronon listened without further comment to the rest of the mission details, impressed that they were amassing this type of intelligence operation. Hopefully he'd be fully healed by the time any military ops were scheduled after studying the findings.
The meeting went on about possible scenarios and outcomes and finally finished, but only Woolsey excused himself.
“You guys have been busy,” Sheppard commented dryly.
“We never stopped looking for either if you,” Teyla reassured them, her face creased from months of stress. “When we exhausted all attempts to negotiate with the Saurin, Mr. Woolsey and Major Lorne drafted a recon operation.”
Lorne looked straight at his CO. “We didn't want to be caught with our pants down with the Saurin. While digging for intel on them, we were searching for any information on your whereabouts.”
“That's how we stumbled upon one of Teyla's contacts who knew a person who knew a person. When we finally had a meet, we learned about the disappearances of vital people in ruling tribes or whatever.” Rodney flapped his hand.
“And you waited to tell us ‘til now?”
Sheppard's question hung heavily in the air.
McKay shuffled his feet and Lorne stiffened to attention, but it was Teyla who answered. “We were under orders not to.”
Ronon might have growled; Sheppard sank into his bed.
“Woolsey wanted your reports before being debriefed. He was afraid your account might be influenced,” Lorne defended, but he hadn't been for it. Ronon could tell.
“Jennifer wanted both of you to have a chance to recover before being thrown into planning another mission.” Teyla walked toward Ronon, placing herself between him and Sheppard. “None of us wanted to keep things from you.”
“You did what you had to.” Sheppard's voice was tired. “I understand.”
It didn't matter what anyone else said after that; Sheppard had shut his ears to the outside world, huddling deep into his own.
“Chapter Fifteen”
Author:Kristen999
Word Count: 125,000~
Rating: PG-15
Genre: Gen, Drama, Action, H/C
Characters: Sheppard, Ronon, OCs
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Violence and coarse language
Summary: Stranded on a harsh, desolate world, John and Ronon learn that merely surviving is only half the fight.
Notes: This is not a WIP. A chapter will be posted every other day until complete.
I wanted to thank
d_odyssey for her amazing support and advice during the writing of this. I also wanted to thank my awesome betas wildcat88 and everybetty for their time, patience, and bucket-loads of red ink. It was their honesty and willingness to tear this story apart that allowed it to finally come together. “Previous Chapters”
Feedback is always appreciated.
------
Fresh air and clear skies welcomed their stumbled steps and Ronon released a choked sigh. “We're here.” His ryoko was complete, but the journey was far from over. “John?”
Ronon's arm was the only thing between Sheppard and gravity. Ronon cried out when he took the next step and clumsily lowered his friend to the ground, hopping toward the DHD. “We're almost there.”
Staring at controls, he realized he didn't have a way to send his IDC and he growled in frustration. The he remembered an emergency back-up box hidden under one of the nearby boulders. Malvick wasn't the only one with secret supplies. Hobbling on his busted leg, he screamed, forcing his body toward the familiar formation. Using nothing but adrenaline, he shoved the giant rock aside and started digging. Panting, fingers rubbed raw, he located the metal box and entered the numeric code he'd been forced to memorize.
Pulling out the radio, he squeezed the talk button. “Atlantis, this Ronon.”
Silence.
Punching the button again, he screamed, “Answer, damn it! Atlantis, This Ronon Dex!”
Was the city there? Had it been attacked?
Anxiety squeezed his heart; a war cry built up in the pit of his belly.
“This is Atlantis. You're using an emergency radio on channel Delta, Charlie. Please repeat your identification.”
“This is Ronon Dex. I have Sheppard with me. Lower the shield!”
There was the sound of commotion and other voices and Ronon resisted the urge to smash the radio. “Look. Have a security team on stand-by. Bring every Marine to the gate room. I don't care, but we're coming home, so you better lower the damn shield.”
There was a burst of static. “We're lowering the shield.”
Battling security protocols and threatening a bodiless voice was a last gasp. Ronon forced weight onto his leg one final time, crying out as fire engulfed the limb. Grabbing Sheppard by his robe, Ronon draped his friend's limp arm across his shoulder and dragged them home.
Artificial light scraped his eyeballs, blaring alarms assaulted his ears and he clung to the dead weight of his friend, staring defiantly at the dozen P-90s aimed his way. Ronon was breaking, his leg folding under him and still he hung on to Sheppard as he fell onto his ass. It was a swirl of noise, loud and chaotic when he'd been used to silence. The sharp tones slowly faded, and the rush became a single sound.
“Ronon, it's Jennifer. I'm walking toward you.”
The security detail fanned out as Jennifer approached him with a bright smile, a med kit slung over the shoulder of a freshly laundered uniform. She smelled of powder and chemicals, her face a healthy glow with a hint of makeup.
Bright eyes widened, then falsely calmed at his appearance. “Hey.”
Ronon was on the verge of passing out. “Tired.”
His words soothed that tightly controlled expression. “I bet you are.” She glanced behind her shoulder. “Your ride's waiting. Is that okay?”
He simply nodded.
She looked anxiously over at Sheppard. “My team should really take care of him.”
Ronon didn't budge as a pair of gurneys were rolled closer, medical personnel waiting to touch them with smooth skin and too clean hands. Jennifer tentatively reached for his arm, squeezing gently, fingers sliding down to study his pulse. Still he didn't move, as Jennifer used slow, purposeful movements, like he would bite her, and pressed her fingers against Sheppard's neck.
Her frown shook him out of his daze. Panicked at wasting precious time, Ronon practically shoved Sheppard into her arms. “He's really hurt.”
Medical personnel lifted Sheppard onto a gurney, and more helped Ronon onto his own, lifting his legs up. Squeaky wheels, shuffling feet, whispered commands. The bustle of an entire city closed in, rushing panels and rows of lights making him dizzy, and he squeezed his eyes shut.
“Where are the others?”
Jennifer dipped down to his ear. “What?”
“Teyla. McKay.”
“They're off-world. Looking for you guys. They're due back anytime.”
His brain flipped off with her words and the slight rocking of the gurney lulled him into a quiet place in the back of his mind.
He never fell asleep, but teetered on the edge of blackness and the light filtering between his lids. A nurse cut away his clothes, stripping them off his dust-crusted body. Ronon didn't growl, grateful for being freed of his robe, squinting against the too-bright overhead light.
Hands touched and ghosted his skin; there was a prick in his arm from an IV, and a sting in the other as blood was drawn into two large vials. A nurse caught his gaze, giving him a pretty smile with lips of pale pink and he shivered when she pressed the cold metal stethoscope to his chest.
“Sorry,” she said, blowing on the bell before pressing down again.
He didn't say anything when the BP cuff squeezed around his arm or when a penlight caused his head to pound. Faces blurred into one another as too many bodies became a wall surrounding him. Two sets of hands became four, and when a pair touched his legs, Ronon balled his fists and snarled.
“Hey, I'll take over, Lindsey,” Jennifer said, and the rest of the medical staff disappeared. “How are you doing?”
Ronon didn't say anything, had no idea how to respond. Jennifer scanned the monitors around him, tapped at her PDA, then studied his leg. “We're going to run some imaging scans on you in a few minutes.” She placed a hand on his shoulder with nails free of dirt. “Ronon?”
“What?” His voice cracked.
“You're going to be okay.”
Ronon's dreads scraped both cheeks; they needed to be cut, his beard trimmed, but it'd take days to rid all the sand from his pores. “I want a shower.”
Jennifer's smile was for real this time. “We'll clean you after we run your tests. Are you injured anywhere else besides your leg?”
Did it matter? The pain had been an overpowering force, the taskmaster of his ryoko. He'd known nothing else.
The infirmary swarmed with people yelling for tests and instruments, voices competing with beeping machines. A half dozen swarmed Sheppard, and Ronon was glad his friend wasn't awake during the mayhem.
Jennifer stepped in front of Ronon, shielding Sheppard from view while a nurse bustled over, wielding a PDA like it was on fire. “Here are Dex's lab results.”
“Great, go ahead and give him 3 milligrams of morphine on an IV push, okay?”
Words and sounds bombarded Ronon and he felt a tug in his arm, a rush of heat following.
Another nurse hurried by and handed Jennifer another data pad, her eyebrows forming a V in confusion. “Ronon, there's an unknown substance in Colonel Sheppard's labs. It doesn't appear in your blood work. Do you have any idea what it is?'
Not really, Ronon thought.
“Ronon, the colonel might need surgery. If he's been given anything, it could cause complications with the anesthesia.”
A third nurse joined the second. Ronon couldn’t keep up with them as they buzzed around him. “There's blood in the colonel's Foley.”
“Get him under the scanner, stat. Page Doctors Graham and Sato,” Jennifer ordered, then turned to Ronon. “If you could tell me what happened, it might---”
“It was pain medicine,” he blurted. “He was in pain. He took it.”
“How long ago?”
Ronon laughed at the question. Jennifer misunderstood and squeezed his shoulder in an act of comfort. “It wasn't enough. It stopped working,” he said. She seemed relieved at the answer, but it was a biting truth. “They jumped him... I...I wasn't--”
“Oh, my God, it's true!”
Feet clattered over, followed by the rank smell of stagnant water. Rodney stood by the gurney, twitchy blue eyes in a dirt-streaked face. “How the hell did you get back?”
“Rodney,” Teyla warned. “We are very glad you're home,” she said, leaning toward him.
Ronon accepted her grease-streaked forehead, her tears staining his cheeks as he wrapped a hand around her shoulder. “You smell like a swamp,” he chuckled, unable to hide the quiver in his voice.
“It was a marsh.” Rodney fluttered nearby, eyes bulging. “Oh, my God. What the hell happened to you? When did you eat last?”
Jennifer pushed McKay away. “We need to take care of him, Rodney.”
“What about Sheppard?” Ronon asked.
Teyla wiped at her eyes and cast a sideways glance at Jennifer. “We have not seen him. We were not permitted.”
“We felt it best.” Jennifer pulled up the rails of the gurney and more staff swooped in, rolling the equipment beside them.
Rodney and Teyla looked to him for answers and Ronon bit his lip, leaving them with nothing as he was wheeled away.
A sheet covered John's lower half, thin cotton teasing comfort. The iciness of the wormhole had seeped into his bones, sucked away the last of his soul, and spat him out the other side. Where he'd died. Or he thought he had. But there was no mistaking his pain's furious appetite, chewing on him like a piece of rawhide. Or the frisson of air conditioning on his skin, the vibration of the city through the metal and fabric of the gurney.
“Colonel? Can you hear me?”
John's eyes fluttered, a heavy leathery warmth combating the chill in his veins.
“You're being wheeled into pre-op for surgery. We've given you something to help you relax, okay?”
All he saw were yellow lights, not the constant shine of white hot, or the never-ending twilight. Then there was pinch in his arm and everything dimmed out before he questioned why.
“Colonel?”
“Colonel Sheppard? Could you please open you eyes?”
“W't?” John moaned. Didn't he just fall asleep?
“There you go. Try to keep them open for me.”
His reactions were a few seconds behind, the room slowly morphing into a blob of soft gray. Smacking raw lips, he was surprised to find a straw hovering nearby.
“You can take a couple small sips.”
Cold water slid down his throat; ice cubes rattled the bottom of the cup. He smiled around the straw, mmmming in happiness.
“I bet you didn't see any ice water where you were.”
His eyes rolled open, awareness creeping in tiny increments and the female voice became Jennifer Keller. “No,” he rasped and swallowed around the awful dryness of his throat. “How did you...”
“Educated guess based on the sunburns and your dehydration. I know you're tired, but I need to monitor your reaction to the anesthesia.” And she pulled out a penlight. “You gave your anesthesiologist a tough time.”
John rolled his neck, head sinking in the pillow. “Sor'ry.”
“That's alright,” she replied. “Ready? I'm going to check your pupil reaction.”
A stabbing flash of light bore into his left eye, and he was surprised at the blur in his right.
“The swelling in your other eye has gone down enough for the lid to open. I have an ice pack waiting with your name on it. There doesn't appear to be any damage to the cornea, but I'll do a more thorough eye examination in a few days.”
The light triggered fireworks in his head and John hissed, shifting to get away from the obtrusive beam. Keller’s apology filtered through the layer of fog the pain had laid over his brain. Thinking was swimming in an abyss.
“How's Ronon?” Not having him in his line of sight was unnerving.
“We're still working on him.” Seeing his alarm, she quickly added, “He's going to be fine. He'll be facing a long recovery. The first break of his tibia never fully healed properly causing a second stress fracture. He's getting a cast while we speak. Both of you are going to be off your feet for a long while.”
John was gone with he's going to be fine, not really caring about anything else.
“Colonel?”
John heard his name again and ignoring it didn't make the voice go away. He'd been content in a new in between place, but the voice was insistent, a hand on his shoulder adding to the disruption.
Acknowledging it might silence the damn thing and Keller’s smiling face fuzzed into view. “Hey there.”
“Hey.”
“You checked out on me earlier.”
“Hmmmm.”
“I really need you to stay with me a little longer this time.”
John had other ideas.
He'd stayed awake during his next bout of awareness, answering stupid questions about his name and rank, laughing when she asked the date. There were a few more trips to the surface and John coasted the real world a few minutes each time before sinking back down.
His head ached this time around, a dull throb under the haze of narcotics, forcing him awake. Keller had returned, fussing with his IV in what John recognized as a classic stalling technique. Rolling his head he studied his hand cemented by plaster, propped up onto a stack of pillows, his first three fingers cocooned in braces.
Since he was alive, he might as well tally up the damage. “How am I doin'?”
Keller smiled with her friendly physician's expression. “You have a laundry list of problems, but they'll all heal in time. We had to go in and repair a small tear in your left kidney that was a source of a slow bleed, and a hematoma in your spleen.” Pausing to see if he was still with her, John gave her a nod and she continued. “You have three broken ribs and there are various contusions on your torso, back and face. But the swelling should go down in time.”
Keller's ability to keep a light optimistic tone faded as her eyes drifted across him in sadness. John despised the pity. “And my hand?”
“Doctor Graham is an orthopedic specialist and he didn't think you required any additional surgery. He'll be examining you later, but X-rays showed carpal fractures in your hand and four metacarpal breaks in your fingers, but all the bones have been aligned and splinted.”
“Guess you have me on the good stuff, huh?” His hand felt like a block of wood. “What about...”
“There's a possibility of loss of motion from nerve damage or arthritis after they heal. I'm sorry; we won't know for sure.”
“Thanks for not sugarcoating things.” Keller was giving him that mother hen vibe. “I'm sure you have other patients.”
She was smiling, fumbling for an excuse to stick around. “None that need my attention right now. I could arrange for--”
“Look, Doc, I just want to sleep,” John said.
“Oh. Okay.” Keller pulled a strand of hair behind her ear. “If you need anything, the call button is on your left side.”
“Got it.”
She made a hasty retreat and John blinked up at a high ceiling of white squares. Buzzing equipment and soft padded soles of people moving outside his curtain was an odd kind of loud from what he'd been used to. A blanket, soft and warm, was draped over his sheet.
It was cozy.
Strange.
Tracing the stubble of his cheeks he considered asking for a shave and a pang of apprehension shot through him. Maybe later. The pharmacy filtering through his system was a good distraction and he allowed himself to go where it wanted to take him.
“Hey? You awake?”
“No,” John grumbled.
“Answering are you awake with no is a contradiction.”
“Okay, I don't want to be awake.”
“It's polite to open your eyes when having a conversation.”
“I'm not having a conversation.”
“I spent the last eleven weeks searching for you and Ronon. Losing precious sleep. Allowing experiments to fail and the city to go down the tubes. Oh, and Teyla and I spent a whole week trapped with a bunch of people who rode gigantic frogs and spent every waking moment drunk on kufuku flowers.”
“Did you drink any of it?”
“What? No, of course not.”
John forced his eyes open, taking in Rodney's huffy expression. “You should have.”
“Well, I'm sorry if I don't share your adventurous taste in exotic alcohol.”
Rodney broke off direct eye contact, his gaze sweeping the tiny space between privacy curtains. Unable to look at anything continuously for more than three seconds, he kept stealing glances, eyes straying wide.
“Stop staring.”
“But you look like...you look like...”
“Like I've been marooned in the desert.”
“Before or after your heavyweight title bout with the Terminator? And has Jennifer given you food yet? I mean, have you seen yourself in the mirror?” John bit his bottom lip, tasting blood.
Rodney didn't notice and the pacing and hand gestures began in full force. “We had no idea where the Saurin stashed you. They cut off all ties with us and we searched all their surrounding planets, but there were no life signs. Do you know how long by jumper we had to go on each trip? Nine, twelve, even eighteen hours. Each way.” Rodney took a breath. “There's only a space gate near the Saurin secret base.”
“I know.”
“Of course you do.” Rodney paced in a tiny path making John dizzy. “How did you escape?”
“Gate on the planet.”
“That's it? What took you so long? Was it guarded?”
“Kind of.”
“What do you mean kind of? Was it broken?”
“Yeah.”
“Which was it? And what's with the one word answers? Did you and Ronon exchange personalities or something?'
“Rodney.”
“What?”
“I'm going to sleep.”
“But...I have a surprise.” There was rustling as Rodney fumbled with something and he pulled out a laptop like a rabbit from a magic hat. “I downloaded all the seasons of Buffy. V the original miniseries. I found Buck Rogers, Knight Rider, and even the A-Team because I think you and Murdock were separated at birth.”
Rodney looked at John expectantly, and damn it. He wanted to say yes, wanted to lose himself in campy TV Land, but John couldn't. It was too much, too soon.
“Maybe later,” John offered.
“Oh.” Rodney's shoulders slumped. “I'll just, you know. Put it on the table beside you. If you change your mind, your music collection is there, too.”
“Thank you,” John whispered.
Rodney's presence loomed like a shadow despite closing his eyes. John couldn't shift onto his side, or pull the blanket over his head. There was a moment of panic that his friend would pull up a chair and actually stay, but a heavy sigh and shuffling of feet signaled Rodney's exit.
And John was alone again.
Solitude was a pipe-dream. Vital checks. Medication rounds. Screechy equipment carts, talking, the damn ventilation system. His body was disconnected from his mind, mimicking his thoughts.
“I have soup for lunch today, Colonel,” a smiling nurse chirped.
A bowl of broth was placed on his tray and Nurse Happy took a spoonful and held it up.
“Just leave it.”
“I know you're right-handed--”
“I'm good.”
“But...”
“I can eat on my own!”
Nurse Happy flinched, but quietly put the utensil down, voice all sweet. “Okay, Colonel. But if you need any help just hit the call button and I'll be over.”
John felt like a jackass, almost pushing his lunch aside, but even broth had him salivating. Fighting the growing hunger he made himself grab the spoon, not just bring the bowl to his lips to down in one go. It wasn't a complete catastrophe, only a little dribbled on his gown, yet strangely enough, his belly was full before he was done eating. He stared dumbly at the bowl, knowing what lengths he would have gone to for a little tasty soup in that hellhole.
“Knock, knock.”
John glanced up at Keller. “Hey, Doc.”
“Colonel,” Keller addressed with a practiced smile. She did the usual check of the machines before her eyes settled on his meal. “That's not bad. I'd really like it if you ate a little more.”
“Kinda full.”
“I'm sure you are. When you go from a regular diet of meals to a much smaller intake your stomach shrinks. I'll get you up to speed over the next few weeks with higher calorie meals.”
“Does this mean I'll be mainlining desserts?”
“Afraid not. But I hear foods rich with protein, vitamins and minerals are very gourmet.” Her attempt at being upbeat was a dud so Keller did what she could to barrel past it. “You've been deprived of proper nutrition for a long time. Your electrolytes are also all over the place, most of which I can balance in your IV solution, but you'll be drinking plenty of Ensure for the next month at least.”
“Guess a rib-eye and potatoes will have to wait.”
“I think I could arrange that in a few days. Mashed potatoes and applesauce first, then the good stuff. I don't want to shock your body too much, but in time we'll get you healthy again.” And she patted his arm.
Her smile was plastic and John's walls went up full force. “Sounds good. Um, look. I need a favor.”
“Depends what it is,” she said with a twinkle.
“You have my clothes. There's a substance in the pocket. A plant.” Little forget-me needles. “Do you think you could run a few tests on it?”
Obviously his request was confusing. “Um, sure. I can do that.”
Then she launched into stuff about his hand and more scans. A regimen for replacing the pounds he'd lost. In one ear and out the other.
“Colonel?”
“Sorry. What was that last part?”
“You have a visitor,” Keller announced.
Richard Woolsey approached with a stiff smile and a warm greeting. “Colonel Sheppard, it is good you see.” He glanced at Keller. “Is the colonel up to a conversation?”
“He's lucid, yes,” Keller replied almost protectively.
He gestured for privacy. “Very well, if you don't mind.”
“Try to keep it brief. He needs plenty of rest and is due for another dose of pain medication.” Keller hovered, leaving only after Woolsey cleared his throat.
Woolsey's mask was firmly in place, perfect and at ease. “Colonel, I know you have had a very...a very rough ordeal. One I could not even imagine. I know your report will be detailed, but I must ask for a preliminary update on the events leading to your and Ronon's imprisonment.”
John explained about the labs, the cloning chambers, the Saurin desire for Atlantis' Wraith research and genetics. How his and Ronon's memories would have been wiped.
“Given the threat of having all intel concerning their genetics program taken from your mind, you decided to destroy their computer database because--”
“Dumma told us all their research was centrally stored in one area. It presented the best target to set them back.”
“In other words, you attacked without orders and destroyed a sovereign government's classified facility.”
“Yes.”
“Even if such an attack would be considered an act of war?”
“Yes.”
Woolsey's expression gave no hint of his reaction. “This was based on your assessment of a military threat to Atlantis despite any hostile or violent acts.”
“It was a first strike decision.”
Woolsey waited for more, but John wasn't offering anything. “The Saurin contacted us three days after we were removed from their base and informed us that you and Ronon had been convicted of an act of terrorism, and severed all ties. We tried many times to re-establish contact to negotiate for a release.”
John lay there, propped at an angle, grinding his jaw.
“On the planet, were you able to gather any additional details on the Saurin from the other prisoners?”
“There was this one prisoner.” And John stumbled over the word. What was Malvick? Prisoner? Criminal? Mass murderer? “We gathered information about the Saurin, but it was vague, outdated stuff about their abandoned outpost there.”
“And the others?”
“What others?”
“The ones you were incarcerated with. Were you able to--?”
“We were pretty much on our own.”
Even the keenest diplomat was unable to hide a flicker of disappointment.
“Are we....” John thought of the woman they'd left outside the gate and his eyes went wide. “The data chips! Ask Rodney to go over the data chips I had with me. They were in a pocket.” John's heart pounded in his chest. “Don't recall which one, but--”
Woolsey laid a hand on John's shoulder, his eyes nervously eying one of the urgently beeping machines. “We collected everything from your clothes. Dr. McKay is already studying them as we speak.”
“If it has any intel. If you can find out the gate address to the planet. Are there an preliminary plans to investigate---”
“I'm afraid any operations relating to the Saurin are on a need-to-know basis. I'm sorry.”
That pissed John off, but he couldn't muster the energy after his mini adrenaline rush. Obviously he'd been shoved aside again. Woolsey didn't make a move to leave, awkwardly remaining, so John gave him an escape. “Did you need anything else?”
“Maybe later,” Woolsey replied. “Get some rest, Colonel. We'll talk more when you're feeling better.
Ronon's leg lay wrapped from ankle to knee and anytime he tried getting out of bed, tubes pulled and pinched his skin. But there was no walking, no standing. Staff fluttered in and out, aware of his foul mood, talking less anytime they completed a task. He hated the drugs they fed him, preferring the pain and alertness than this spaced-out feeling.
A nurse swept by, cleaning away his empty tray and placing a second helping of red Jell-O and chocolate pudding on the bedtable. He gave her a smile, shoveling into the closest cup, slurping down the cherry goodness, loving every second of pure, sweet bliss on his tongue. The spoon rattled against his front teeth and he quickly put it aside at Jennifer's amused expression.
“Guess you really enjoy Jell-O, huh?”
“Tastes good.”
“I'll keep that in mind.”
“Wouldn't mind steak.”
“I'll see if I can arrange that for you tomorrow.”
“Meatloaf's good, too. Pizza, muffins, those Athosian pastry things...”
“Well, your appetite hasn't diminished. I'll try fitting those in with healthy things, but since your new diet is going up to six small meals a day, it shouldn't be a problem.”
“When can I start that?” he grinned. He really, really missed eating. Four years on Atlantis and he'd grown to love stuff with rich tomato sauce, anything stuffed with cheese, or drenched in gravy. Days and nights in the cave he used to dream of cake layered in chocolate and whipped cream.
“Baby steps. I don't want anything to upset your stomach. Let's get your salt levels and electrolytes in order and then we'll talk.”
“Okay.”
She chuckled. “I wish all my patients were as receptive as you.”
Ronon froze reaching for the pudding. “Sheppard?”
Jennifer averted her eyes and he knew she wasn't supposed to talk about those in her care. It was a stupid rule.
“I should check on him.”
“You see him a few times a day.”
“He's always asleep.”
“He's recovering from major surgery on top of his other injuries.”
Ronon fidgeted, balling the ends of his blanket.
Jennifer took his hand. “He's only thirty meters away.”
That didn't quiet the need to see with his own eyes. Just to be sure. Bad things happened when he wasn't looking.
“You know if you wanted to talk about things, I have a good ear,” she offered.
He intertwined his fingers with hers, savoring the gentle warmth before slipping his hand away. “Thanks.” Which was his nice way of saying no.
Jennifer rested her hand on the rail. “Colonel Sheppard should only have a few more days in critical care. I was thinking of transferring him over here. I really think he--”
The soft tread of leather on tile signaled a visitor, and Woolsey tentatively walked over. “I'm sorry for the interruption, but the rest of my day is filled with meetings and I wanted a word with you if I could, Dr Keller?”
Jennifer instantly walked toward him. “Of course.”
Turning his attention to the bed, Woolsey offered a polite smile. “I was hoping I could speak with you as well, Ronon. Perhaps tomorrow morning?”
“Sure.” Woolsey had dropped by yesterday when Ronon was more heavily medicated. No doubt wanting some report or another.
Jennifer pulled aside the curtain and both stepped away. Ronon peeled the foil lid off the pudding cup and devoured it. Lunch done, he was stuck again with nothing to do except the DS game McKay had left him. Picking it up to play the shooting game, he tried ignoring the hushed voices of people who thought they wouldn't be overheard.
“How are they really doing?”
Ronon rolled his eyes at Woolsey's question.
“You have my full report--”
“What's not in the report?”
Ronon suppressed the urge to crawl out of bed and demand they talk about him in front of his face.
“Ronon's tough; don't let the leg and weight loss fool you.” Jennifer paused. “But I think he should talk with someone. When two people go through a great trauma together, depending on one another for a long time...well...we've learned very few details of their ordeal other than it was horrific based on their conditions.”
“Hopefully, we'll gather those soon. Colonel Sheppard had some type of data chip with him that Dr. McKay is going to brief me on. I'll send you copies of that and their reports when they're turned in. And of course psych evaluations are standard protocol under these circumstances.”
Smashing the plastic container, Ronon grabbed the metal spoon, aiming over the curtain, hand shaking. But he didn't want to hit Jennifer so instead he bent the utensil, snapping it in two.
“I am worried about Colonel Sheppard,” Jennifer whispered.
“Agreed. He didn't even challenge me during our conversation.”
“I'm not a trained psychologist, but he exhibits classic signs of depression.”
“Let's walk; I'm expecting a data burst from Stargate Command.”
Ronon shoved the rolling table aside, chucked his sheets, and glared at the monstrosity of his leg. Growling, he shoved the guardrails down, pressed down on his hands in an attempt to move. Both arms trembled and the room started to spin.
“Hey? What are you doing?”
Someone touched his shoulder and Ronon swung, catching air.
“Take it easy, it's Lorne!”
“Get off me!”
“Okay, okay, but enough with the jail break. You'll make a mess.”
Breathing hard, Ronon slumped down, totally spent, the IV line tangled up and his bedding all over the floor. “What do you want?”
“Nothing. Just thought I'd visit a friend.” Lorne wore the haggard expression of command under too much crushing weight and was all kitted out for a mission; the only thing missing was his P-90. “I just returned from off-world. This is the first time the two of you have been awake when I've been around. Thought after my post-check up, I'd say hello.”
Ronon stared at the pile of linen that had fallen away.
Lorne took the opening and picked up the sheets. “Here,” he said dumping a pile on Ronon's lap.
Ronon gathered up the fabric; his eyes drifted over his body barely concealed by the ridiculous gown, muscle tone eaten away, leaving a useless being in his place. “Not in the mood to talk.”
Sighing, Lorne shook his head. “Yeah, that's what the colonel said. Except in fewer words.”
“What kind of mission were you on?” Ronon asked, not looking up.
“Rendezvous with another shady contact.”
“Who?”
“A guy who had information concerning the Saurin.”
Ronon's head jerked up. “About what?”
Lorne tensed, risking a look around. “I can't share the details with you.”
“Not asking to share.” Ronon glared and Lorne glared back. “If you were in this bed, I'd tell you.”
“You've been terrorizing my nurses,” Jennifer announced with a sigh, pulling aside the curtain.
Ronon glanced up from where he had the DS scattered in pieces. “I want out of this bed.”
“You suffered a stress fracture after your old break, not that it mattered much. The second one was caused by all your walking on the first when your tibia became too unstable.” Jennifer crossed her arms. “Getting up and walking around—”
“Don't want to walk around. Just get me a wheelchair.”
“And I want you to regain your strength. You have more than just a broken leg. You've suffered long-term malnutrition and an infection. If you overdo it and fall, you could break another bone. You've lost fifty pounds and--”
“That can't stop me from sitting in a chair.”
“I'll make you a deal.” She pulled out a data pad. “Stop snapping at my staff. You don't have to talk to them, but no more growling and intimidation.”
“You said this was part of a deal?”
“I'll set up an overhead trapeze for you to do upper body exercises.”
“Cool.”
Jennifer grinned, walking behind the privacy divide and bringing out a wheelchair. “I thought you might want to visit Colonel Sheppard since he's more awake now, but only if you let two of my staff help you into it.”
“And?” Ronon knew she was holding back.
“Doctor Flores is scheduled to have a chat with you later today. Please don't stonewall him.”
“You mean the head shrink?” Jennifer gave him a look and Ronon shrugged. “It's what McKay calls them. Fine. Talked to him before.” After his withdrawal from the enzyme last year, he hadn't had a choice.
He started to roll down his sheets. “Can I go now?”
“I'm warning you. Colonel Sheppard's been....he's had his ups and downs. Mostly downs,” Jennifer explained, obviously frustrated at being unable to help.
Ronon eyed his metallic ride out of bed. “Don't worry, I'm used to it.”
Jennifer pushed Ronon personally through the infirmary, his IV hooked to the back of the chair, but she wisely allowed him to take the last of the journey on his own.
Sheppard was inclined in a sitting position with his eyes closed, a laptop resting on the table next to him. No one had shaved him yet; dark purple bruises with yellow blotches peeked out from his beard. Even resting, he was tense - corded neck muscles, rigid shoulders.
“You're not sleeping,” Ronon stated.
“Thought you were one of the staff,” Sheppard replied. He pushed himself up the best he could with a grunt. “Been meaning to see you for a change, but they've been real picky about me moving around.”
Ronon purposely didn't reply, staring into all the new lines the sun had burned into his friend's face.
Sheppard's weary expression hardened. “What?”
“Heard you took the blame for attacking the Saurin.”
“Who told you that?'
Ronon purposefully crossed his arms; he wasn't ratting out Lorne. “Why'd you do it?”
“Because I'm the team leader.”
“But it was my idea.”
“I made the final decision.”
Sheppard said nothing and Ronon furiously wheeled himself closer. “Damn it! Stop being a stubborn ass! We did it together. Taking all the blame doesn't prove anything.”
“You done? Because I've got a roaring headache and it doesn’t care for people yelling at me.”
Sheppard's complexion was pale and Ronon felt slightly contrite. “Did you mention it to Jennifer?”
Sheppard rubbed his temple one-handed, adjusting his head among the pillows. “She thinks it's the pain meds. Or something. I don't remember.”
“You tell her about--”
“I haven't mentioned a lot of things,” Sheppard snapped. “Not yet.” He dug the heel of his hand into his right eye. “Sorry. Been... I dunno.”
Ronon searched for the braking mechanism, engaging it and getting as comfortable as possible. “Don't wait too long.”
“I won't.” Sheppard watched Ronon settle in for the long haul and let out a breath, but he didn't chase him away.
It was the cave with long stretches of nothing. “I can't wait to beat the crap out of someone,” Ronon offered.
“As long as it's not me.”
They didn't talk about the Saurin or the desert. Not today.
John's mom had died of cancer. She'd never told him of her illness until it was too late. He'd suspected something with all the doctors’ visits and growing weakness, and that expensive wig never felt real.
When she passed away in her bedroom, he'd never accepted it.
Mitch and Dex had died when John was on another black op. Their coffins were empty because there wasn’t enough of their remains to fill them.
A man whose name he'd never been told was murdered inside a tent while John stood outside. After the screaming had ended, Akram placed the informant's head on a spike for all to see.
During one of his few medivac missions, John transported the body bags of over thirty-two men, and deep down, he wondered if there was ever anything he could have done to prevent at least one of them.
Holland's chopper crashed when John was sleeping after two back-to-back missions. Holland’s crew testified at John's hearing, but by then, John didn't care about the outcome. Apparently his long career saved him from a complete discharge; in time he'd be forced to retire.
He really did love Antarctica; no one died there. In fact, he never got to know anyone and preferred it that way.
The tally of dead earned a new name on the very first day of his new life and the hits kept on rolling month after month. Carson. Elizabeth. Every fallen Marine under his command and civilian he'd been responsible for. Seventy-two in all.
He’d relived every death in their cave. Reevaluating, fixating on what-ifs, doing all the stuff he wasn't supposed to. He’d broken the rules he'd lectured his men on when it came to losing people in battle.
He’d never expected to be alone with his thoughts for so goddamned long. All the crap he'd believed was long buried had nowhere to hide.
John sat in the chair across from his bed, shaking in pain and exhaustion from walking twenty steps with two giant orderlies. Another migraine took up residence behind his eyes, causing everything to glow with strange halos. He sat there, staring at the pain medication machine, fingers resting on the button, gazing longingly at it. Not for the buzzing tingle it did to his body, but for what it did to his brain.
“You wanted to see me, Colonel?” Keller asked. “Feeling rough from your earlier stroll?”
John grunted. “Look, I want to get rid of this thing.”
“You don't want your PCA pump?”
“No.”
“John, I already cut back your regimen of morphine. Twice. It's the reason for the pump since you're weren't happy otherwise. If the body's in pain, then it doesn't heal. You don't need the stress.”
“What I don't need is to be hooked up to a happy dispenser,” John growled.
Keller wasn't having any of it. “It's only been three days.”
“Really? That many? I couldn't tell.”
“Would you like a clock? It might help you acclimate to a normal night and day cycle?”
John really wished he wasn't talking to a sensible person. “I'd end up counting the second hand.”
Pulling up a chair, she took a seat, all the I'm the doctor, I'm in charge slipping from her expression. “Want to tell me what's really bothering you?”
“No.”
“Then the PCA machine stays, including the automatic dose it dispenses.”
John grabbed a glass of water, unable to resist swirling it around a few times, drinking it slowly, eye on the full pitcher on his table. He finished the glass even if he wasn't that thirsty and carefully poured another one. He did this all day. Drinking all the water he could stand and watching someone bring him another full pitcher only minutes later. “Did you ever examine those plant fibers I asked about? The ones in my robe?”
“I collected the dust in your pocket, enough for an initial analysis. This was the pain medication you took when you were attacked?”
John averted his eyes, studying the floor. “Pain medication. No, it was an appetite suppressant. Part of the local economy.”
Her eyebrows rose up in surprise. “And you used this before you were injured?”
There were twenty-three tiles in the floor by his feet. “The first few weeks were bad. Ronon was hurt. We had no food, no water. I took it to keep the hunger pains at bay. I still ate,” he said defensively. “If I got too weak, I wouldn't have been much use to Ronon.”
“Of course.”
He wiggled his broken fingers, riding the clash between pain and that muted heaviness.
She reached over to still them and pulled her hand back at the last second. “You shouldn't move those.”
John laid them on the armrest. “Orris. That's what they called it. It was used to---the prisoners used it to--”
“Escape?”
“To get high,” John corrected. He locked eyes with her this time. “They smoked it.”
Keller's expression was perfectly even. “And you didn't smoke it?”
“No, I chewed them.” She had that thinking face and John was pin wheeling. ”What?”
“There's a metabolic difference between orally ingesting certain chemical compounds and smoking them.”
“What does that mean?”
“In your case? I'm not sure.”
Typing with your non-dominant hand while a guy chiseled the inside of your skull with a needle was agony; realizing that three months of your life were made up of death and killing, well, John didn't go there. It was depressing whatever the conclusion. Hitting send didn't lift any great burden off his shoulders; if anything he felt worse.
“Am I disturbing you?”
“Yes,” John replied without thought.
“Why?”
“I'm sorry, Teyla.” John really was, closing the laptop and pushing it away. What was with him snapping at people all the time? “I'm not good company.”
“That's my job, not yours.” Teyla brought her own chair and put it next to the bed, sliding into it. “I have brought you some tea for your headache.”
“That obvious, huh?”
She pulled out a canteen bound in brown leather, pouring some into his water cup. “Sorry that I cannot serve you formally from a tea set, but carrying one from my room would prove a challenge.” Pausing, Teyla tilted her head. “What is wrong?”
“Nothing,” John lied, unable to tear his gaze from the worn homemade canteen.
He took the cup despite the slight tremble in his hand and drank the spicy sweet liquid.
“Hopefully it will ease your head.”
Teyla's hair was a vibrant swirl of browns and gold. When she leaned over to remove the cup, strands fell away from her face and John was struck by the sudden need to touch them. “May I?” he asked, hand hovering.
“Go ahead.”
Sliding his fingers through the strong flowing locks, he whispered. “Thank you.” But it meant so much more than those mere words. Teyla knew better than to respond, thank God, and John's hands strayed to his own recently shampooed hair and down his bearded face.
“I see they cut your hair.” She smiled. “Perhaps you would like me to bring your razor? I know you have not been allowed to get up and take a shower yet.”
“Helen gives me a sponge bath.” Helen, who was the oldest nurse on staff.
“Then I'll bring it next time,” she answered brightly.
“Don't,” John blurted more forcefully than intended.
“You do not wish to shave?”
“No, I'm saving it for later.” He gave her a smile that never reached his eyes.
Teyla responded by enveloping him with her arms, digging her face into his shoulder. “We missed you both so much, John.”
His whole body stiffened, but her warm, tight embrace would not give in to his defenses and John allowed himself to accept the moment without guilt. His wall gave in just a little.
“Do you know the difference between hunger and appetite?” Keller inquired without preamble on her next round to visit him.
It sounded insensitive, but John was too perplexed to care. “Um.”
She pulled up the vacant chair Teyla had left last night. “Appetite isn't exactly hunger, but rather an interest in eating. Hunger is a physical sensation. A growling or empty stomach and over time, headache, shakiness, decreased concentration.”
“Okay.”
“Then there's satiety, the feeling of fullness which triggers our desire to stop eating. Appetite, hunger, and satiety are governed by the digestive system and hormones. The body can sense things physically, like whether the stomach is distended or the intestines are stimulated. It's a complex feedback loop for hormones -- when one goes up, another might go down.” Keller was geared up, hoping for a reaction. John had nothing. “The orris. It triggers the hormones that control that desire for food and a false feeling of being full.”
John wasn't in a waiting mood. “And the punch line?”
“Remember when I said that drugs metabolize differently based on consumption?”
“Vaguely.”
“When orris is inhaled, it's the perfect appetite suppressant because of its effects on those particular hormones. As a solid, it inhibits the NMDA receptors in the brain.” Keller was on a roll, throwing out words and explanations in excitement. “I ran several computer simulations once I plugged in its unusual chemical makeup. It's quite complex. The effects seem to take place mainly in the hippocampal formation and in the prefrontal cortex and...”
“Doc?” John rubbed at his eyes. “Could you bottom line it for me?”
“Oh, of course. Sorry.” She blushed. “Evidence suggests the solid form of orris impedes the memory process based on the bonds it attaches itself to.” She cleared her throat. “The short version: ingested, orris causes a type of sensory overload to the brain more associated with chemical reactions seen in schizophrenia and near-death experiences.”
John's eyes widened. “I don't remember anything like that.”
“It's all theoretical, sorry. Were you...um, taking a hundred grams at a time?”
“I don't know. They were in needle form.”
“Like pine needles?”
“Something like that.”
“About fifty?”
John's forehead scrunched up. “Fifty? No, more like ten. Twenty tops.” Okay maybe more when he was in the Void.
Keller's eyes got wide and round in alarm. “Several times a day?”
“No,” John snorted, then sobered. “I'm not sure. We didn't know what a day was. I only took them when…” He clamped his mouth shut.
“Colonel?”
Blinking, it was John's turned to be embarrassed. “I can't say. I was never given more than a hundred needles at once and that seemed to last a long time.”
Checking his pulse out of some nervous tic, she asked, “Are you feeling any side effects from not consuming them?”
“No... Maybe the headaches?”
Her face relaxed in relief. “Your vitals have been stable the last couple of days. I'll run more lab tests on the orris. With this new information we'll be monitoring you more closely and if the need arises, begin a detox program.”
But the not knowing for sure would eat away at him. “Do you think you could do a more detailed analysis. To be sure?”
“Sure. It'll take a few days. But I'll let you know. And I'll need to inform Doctor Flores.” As if sensing his feelings about that, she quickly added. “Of course since you're seeing him later today, you can tell him yourself. Addiction comes in two forms. Physical and...”
“Psychological,” John finished.
Like his brain wasn't conflicted enough.
Staring up at the overhead trapeze Jennifer had installed, Ronon considered what number of exercises to do as his fingers traced his favorite set of blades Teyla had brought him. Jennifer did everything in her power to give him the freedom he desired despite his impeded mobility. Frequent strolls in his wheelchair around the infirmary and the surrounding halls. Chatting with Sheppard when he wasn't conked out on pain meds or in one his 'moods', and frequent visits with Teyla and McKay kept the caged-up feeling to a minimum.
But having his knives gave him an odd sort of touchstone. He missed them, missed the intimacy of sharpening them and the strength they lent. There was security at wielding such weapons, the bond at having forged them by hand or earned them in battle. They were markers in history; each one told hundreds of stories. Some people collected blades as war trophies, but a weapon should be used in combat, not displayed.
“Planning a raid?” McKay stood outside the curtain, hands clasped behind his back, bobbing from his toes to the balls of his feet. “Because unless your wheelchair is motorized, after you kill, lemme see, one, two...ah, all eight poor defenseless nurses, you'll be out of weapons, thus a sitting duck.”
Ronon didn't even smile, tossing a knife from one hand to the other. “Don't need a raid if I have a hostage.”
McKay acting indignant used to annoy Ronon, but he’d missed that huffy face. Even if he'd never admit it to the man.
“Ha, ha, I'm your slave labor for today,” he grumbled, shifting behind the privacy curtain and returning with a wheelchair. “You're supposed to wait for the Jolly Green Giant and his pal to help you.”
Ronon did wait for the help, surprising the both of them, but no way was he admitting the difficulty of shuffling from the bed to the chair without the aid. “Where are we going?”
“Woolsey wants to have a meeting, and since Colonel Grouchy has more restrictions for moving than you, I was told to fetch you.” McKay clapped his hands together, bouncing on his feet. “I swear it's hard to get good help these days.”
Ronon wrapped his blades up in a swatch of purple cloth, setting them aside on his table with the books he never read and the spare laptop Zelenka had dropped off.
“Finally.” McKay scrambled aside as a male and female nurse came over, removing the IV first. “I'm an unpaid chauffeur, not manual labor.”
The rest of any rants was lost in the painful, tedious process of transferring to the chair, and by the time Ronon was settled, leg aching, face broken out in sweat, he was too busy being pissed to ask what the meeting was about.
Lorne and Teyla were sitting in chairs around Sheppard with Woolsey at the foot of the bed. “Oh good, we're all here now.”
“I've got it,” Ronon grouched, taking over the duty of wheeling himself around and parking next to the IV stand.
Sheppard was sitting up, hands in his lap, eyes darting about for the hidden dagger. Paranoia was contagious and Ronon was fully on alert, fingers denting the leather handles.
“The reason for this meeting is to discuss the military strike against M1P-346,” Woolsey began.
“Where?” Ronon asked.
“That is the designation of the planet on which you and Colonel Sheppard were imprisoned.”
Sheppard’s face went from confusion to shock. “You got information from the data chip?”
“After three non-stop nights of analysis all we managed was the gate address,” Rodney sighed, dark bags under his eyes a testament to the long hours. “We're still working our way through the rest, but most of the information is encoded and we don't have a key.”
“But we're attacking it?” Sheppard questioned, impatiently waiting for an answer.
“Two of our people were held captive by a government that severed all diplomatic ties. Stargate Command and the IOA didn't want to take chances with a society with the technological level of the Saurin. In the last three months we began intelligence gathering operations on the possible threat.” Woolsey looked to the group, none of them surprised at the announcement. “I'll allow Major Lorne to take it from here.”
Lorne turned his chair around and straddled it. “Over the last twelve weeks, using our allies and various contacts, we met with three different sources whose intel corroborated one another's.”
McKay rolled his hand in a hurry up gesture. “The Saurin are like the Travelers except without ships. Well, they have ships, but they don't live in them.”
“As I was saying,” Lorne growled as he shot McKay an irritated look, “it seems the Saurin go around the galaxy gathering technology and research to enhance their society. Very few worlds have much to offer, but there are enough abandoned Ancient facilities lying around to pique their interest.”
“If they're so powerful, why don't they attack?” Ronon asked.
“We've determined that the Saurin have several small bases throughout the galaxy. For whatever reason, we're not sure. Maybe they split from one another or it could be a way to safeguard their limited numbers,” Lorne answered.
“We were told there weren't a lot of them around,” Ronon offered.
“They're a dying race,” Teyla spoke up. “They're very old and cannot keep their population going. Part of their quest is to advance their numbers.”
“Because they're tainted.” Sheppard spoke up. Everyone looked to him and he shrugged. “Makes sense. They've been experimenting on themselves, cloning over and over again; bet the gene pool is pretty messed up.”
“Then why don't they take what they want? Use their military to conquer worlds that get in their way. They have space ships.” Ronon scanned those gathered.
McKay smirked. “Because they're an insane hippy cult with a limited population. They're all about enhancing their race. Becoming godlike, hear that before? But they won't stoop low enough to actually kill anyone. It'd taint their search for the perfect being they've sought to become.”
Rolling his eyes at Lorne's stern look, he continued. “They're master con artists. When they target a city or world, they profile them and present themselves as the perfect ally. Great healers, environmentalists, the most agriculturally whatever. They parade their advancements in the field in exchange for what they want. When we were on their base, they dazzled me with Ancient tech and I'm sure gave you,” he stared at Sheppard, “the speech on how all their knowledge would improve our military.”
Sheppard's eyes went hooded. “Yeah, that was the pitch at first.”
“They worship the Wraith,” Ronon growled.
“Not worship. Admire. As in the Wraith are the perfect lab rats to base what they want to recreate in themselves, minus the killing.”
“And we're striking the prison planet because?” Sheppard prompted.
“To free the political prisoners imprisoned there,” Woolsey answered.
Ronon had almost forgotten he was in the room. Sheppard had a vacant expression as he reached for cup of water. “Political prisoners?”
“Yes, sir,” Lorne replied. “The Saurin made several alliances with worlds, but not everyone in power shared the enthusiasm as the rest of the government. The Saurin arranged for voices of dissent to disappear, including several in the military. The contact I spoke to said his brother and uncle were vocal in their distrust of sharing Ancient texts they had stored on their planet. The next day during a meeting with a Saurin envoy, they never returned.”
“I've heard the same stories,” Teyla spoke. “People in ruling councils disappearing.”
Sheppard shook his head. “But the people there, they were...they were all criminals.”
“You and Ronon weren't criminals,” McKay pointed out.
They had been, Ronon thought.
“Perhaps the Saurin have criminals? People who do not share their common belief? Or even violent members in their society,” Teyla suggested.
“Or they bring criminals in from their trading partners,” Woolsey theorized. “If they have a planet to dump them on, it'd save their allies resources.”
Sheppard sipped his water. “And the military op is to free them?”
“This is a massive intelligence operation,” Woolsey explained. “According to your and Ronon's reports, many of the prisoners have conformed to the rough aspect of their confinement. I believe granting them a way home and providing them with supplies would give us ample sources of knowledge.”
“What about the Shan'ka?” Sheppard sat up even straighter. “They have access to a lot of unknown technology.”
“We're going to avoid them for now,” Lorne answered. “Based on your intel, they're centralized in one area. We'll focus on the civilian population surrounding their compound.”
“How many squadrons?” Sheppard asked, his face hard.
“Five squads of Marines,” Lorne answered.
Sheppard shook his head. “Not enough to control the population and any supplies you'll bring.”
Lorne nodded. “The Daedalus is arriving tomorrow morning. We'll funnel people to a temporary alpha site. Captain Vasquez's squad is setting up a small tent city to house and feed them while we conduct interviews. We're hoping to compile a list of Saurin allied planets, base locations, and any intel on their defensive capabilities.”
“And the prisoners? If their own government kicked them out, where do they go?” Ronon caught Sheppard's gaze; they both wanted to know the same thing.
“We have found different towns and villages willing to take them until their situations change,” Teyla replied confidently.
“A lot of them are thugs and killers.” Ronon leaned forward, elbows on his armrests. “Just gonna cut them loose?”
Sheppard's jaw tightened and Ronon realized what he had just said.
Woolsey held his chin up high. “It's a good question. We have no way of determining who is a real criminal and who is a legitimate political dissident. We don't have the resources to keep long-term prisoners and there is no centralized police force or penal system in which to place them. But, we're willing to take the chance to obtain intel that could have an impact on the rest of the galaxy.”
“What about the next round?” Sheppard stared at the surrounding perplexed faces. “We rescue the current ones. What about the next set the Saurin dump?”
“Let's worry about those who are there now,” Woolsey replied.
Ronon listened without further comment to the rest of the mission details, impressed that they were amassing this type of intelligence operation. Hopefully he'd be fully healed by the time any military ops were scheduled after studying the findings.
The meeting went on about possible scenarios and outcomes and finally finished, but only Woolsey excused himself.
“You guys have been busy,” Sheppard commented dryly.
“We never stopped looking for either if you,” Teyla reassured them, her face creased from months of stress. “When we exhausted all attempts to negotiate with the Saurin, Mr. Woolsey and Major Lorne drafted a recon operation.”
Lorne looked straight at his CO. “We didn't want to be caught with our pants down with the Saurin. While digging for intel on them, we were searching for any information on your whereabouts.”
“That's how we stumbled upon one of Teyla's contacts who knew a person who knew a person. When we finally had a meet, we learned about the disappearances of vital people in ruling tribes or whatever.” Rodney flapped his hand.
“And you waited to tell us ‘til now?”
Sheppard's question hung heavily in the air.
McKay shuffled his feet and Lorne stiffened to attention, but it was Teyla who answered. “We were under orders not to.”
Ronon might have growled; Sheppard sank into his bed.
“Woolsey wanted your reports before being debriefed. He was afraid your account might be influenced,” Lorne defended, but he hadn't been for it. Ronon could tell.
“Jennifer wanted both of you to have a chance to recover before being thrown into planning another mission.” Teyla walked toward Ronon, placing herself between him and Sheppard. “None of us wanted to keep things from you.”
“You did what you had to.” Sheppard's voice was tired. “I understand.”
It didn't matter what anyone else said after that; Sheppard had shut his ears to the outside world, huddling deep into his own.
“Chapter Fifteen”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-07-06 11:53 pm (UTC)Being so absorbed in the tale in the dessert that was so complete and complex, it was a almost like an AU - a world unto itself. Atlantis felt so far away. That worked wonderfully well as I was really experiencing the Ronon and John's isolated circumstances. I almost could not imagine the homecoming. The thought of it coming up was almost jarring. Still, I was rooting for them to get home every step of the way. After one last moment of tension in connecting to Atlantis, You eased into it the return beautifully. Jennifer's well paced approach was just right.
You know I like the way you have with sensory details when you write. I loved the ones chosen in the chapter. They are details that might not normally be mentioned in an SGA story but from Ronon and John's POV they would have indeed been noticeable and important. I loved, for example, "The security detail fanned out as Jennifer approached him with a bright smile, a med kit slung over the shoulder of a freshly laundered uniform. She smelled of powder and chemicals, her face a healthy glow with a hint of makeup." A freshly laundered uniform would not be an especially relevant detail in most stories, but the choice of that sort of details from among many possible option was wonderful. It is the attention to those sorts of things that convey the story in an intense way.
The slow adjustment to life at home is perfect along with the ghosts of life on the planet such as needing to drink all the water in the jug. It really is quite bittersweet to see that they are finally home, but to know that everything just can't go back to the way it was. As I reader, I think I needed that adjustment period just as much as the characters.
All the pieces are falling into place now and it all makes so much sense. Political prisoners! So they all had other lives much like John and Ronon before they became a part of the social structure of that world. This has been such a great plot for the story of friendship.
no subject
Date: 2010-07-07 02:53 am (UTC)Chapters 14 and 15 were so interconnected in terms of pace and build that I went ahead and posted them both. I'm thrilled you enjoyed the nuances to this one.
As always you are awesome!
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Date: 2010-07-08 02:53 am (UTC)Sounds like the Saurin have been doing bad things for a while. I saw a tshirt yesterday that said, "Hike faster, I hear banjo music". Make me think of the Saurin to a certain degree.
no subject
Date: 2010-07-11 03:44 pm (UTC)Thank you so uch hon!
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Date: 2010-07-11 10:31 am (UTC)I like your take on Keller here; being gentle, unobtrusive and not pushing the boys. She's treading carefully and giving them space, while being honest with John about his problems. I really appreciated that approach.
I do think John would want space and would be withdrawn. I also know that Ronon would understand that.
I didn't like Woolsey when he wouldn't tell John what was happening though. That would've frustrated the heck out of our boy! I didn't like that John was excluded, but I can see Woolsey doing that if he thought it was necessary.
The Saurin? I just don't like them, but that's good. I'm not meant to. They're quite a fascinating race, but in a horrifying way!
I can't wait to read the final chapter! :)
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Date: 2010-07-11 03:50 pm (UTC)Thank you so much.
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Date: 2010-07-11 04:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-12 04:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-11 07:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-12 04:31 pm (UTC)You might see Malvick pop up in some tiny one shot, we'll see. Still pondering that. Thank you for reading!