Damaged Goods, Chapter 20/21
Title: Damaged Goods
Fandom/Pairing: SGA, John Sheppard/Ronon Dex
Rating: R
Spoilers: Runner, Vegas
Summary: AU: Ronon's immune to the wraith. Detective John Sheppard doesn't die in the Las Vegas desert. It would probably be easier if the opposites of both were true.
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't take this too seriously.
A/N: Be sure to check out the rubygirl29's lovely cover art, while you're at it.
A/N 2: Whew! It's finally completed! A thousand apologies for the delay in getting these last two chapters posted, it's been a crazy month. Thanks for reading!
All chapters available on AO3 and Wraithbait, or start with the master post Dreamwidth or Livejournal.
He's not the only one fighting this battle. He's just the only guy in the room and this is all really happening, just not here.
In the back of his head, John knows it's not just a video game, but there's no smell of gunfire, no dust, no grit to fighting like this. His wide-angle view is too remote to catch anything more than the flashes of impact. He doesn't hear the creaking of twisting metal when the hull of the Prometheus is breached, but he knows- it's like instinct, or immediate recognition that he shouldn't have at all- when it happens.
Another volley of drones arcs unerringly towards the wraith cruiser, impacting in a perfectly timed series that makes no sound, and there's no good reason whatsoever for him to be so damned exhausted by all of this.
The display flickers. John re-focuses.
It's still not as stable as it had beeb when he'd started.
The Al'kesh that had belatedly joined the fight, sending off warning alarms all over John's head until they'd proven themselves friendly, is dead in the water now, and tactically, sweeping off the fourth and fifth waves of darts that are peppering the burning wreck isn't the best use of the drones, but they're still evacuating through the gate, and Zelenka's worried what will happen if the ship blows completely while the wormhole's still active. Twelve more drones, enough to take out the hyperdrive of a wraith cruiser if the timing's right, are spent taking out nine darts. They're barely launched before he's got to turn his attention again to the hives that are attempting to flank the Prometheus.
Its shields are holding for now, but it's still a relief when the SGC reports that the last of the survivors from the Al'kesh have made it safely through.
John's forgetting to breathe, for longer and longer spans. It catches in his throat when he remembers, and there's a questioning noise from Zelenka, who is maybe only five feet away but seems much further. John's just forming the words to reassure him that everything's fine when the galaxy above him suddenly flashes to red.
"Zelenka," He's trying in vain to find something to point a drone at, but the color shift seems universal, an alert he doesn't understand, yet. "What's going on?"
"Oh dear," Zelenka's muttering, and it's hard to tell whether he's talking to John or into the headset he's wearing. "I do not mean to distract you, Sheppard, but we've just lost communication with SGC."
It's surprisingly hard to keep the scene above him from blurring out in favor of a diagnostic scan, and the scant second spent refocusing is enough for the wraith to do some serious damage, blowing the Al'kesh to nothing at all. Thankfully, whatever's happened with communications hasn't impeded his access to the drone supply, and he manages to aim another volley directly into the dart bay of the nearest hive.
The secondary explosions are impressive; it's the best hit John's made yet, though if Zelenka notices, bent over his computer screen and muttering to himself, he's not letting on. John tells himself that the dizziness he's feeling is exaltation.
His next shot is overconfident, and goes wide. The drones have to curve through space and return to make their targets, and don't hit nearly as well as they could've- should've. And there are still more enemies floating above him than there are allies.
Turns out, though, they're not just above him. Because for all Zelenka's Czech invective, some of it's starting to break through. SGC facilities compromised. Engage beachhead protocols immediately.
The connection with the chair drops suddenly and John finds himself sitting up in a vertiginous haze before Zelenka can order him back. When Zelenka does glance back at him, he shakes his head, gestures back to the chair.
"It is not under control but shall be. Clearing the sky will make it easier, possibly reduce number coming through." Get back in the chair, he'd mean, were he the type to give orders comfortably. John obeys anyway. Leans back, feels the system winding through him again, welcoming him back.
One deep breath- the dizziness hasn't faded yet- and he's back in the fight.
---
Once the last of the gear's been stowed in the back, Ronon swings into his seat and is pulling the door shut behind him when he catches a faint yet unmistakable streak of light in the southeastern sky.
"You see that?" He wants to laugh, but not knowing the reasons behind the temporary cease fire, he's not about to make assumptions about its resuming. It does, however, go a long way towards fixing the plummeting sensation he'd been fighting as he'd helped load their essential gear back into the trucks.
If John's still firing drones, he hasn't been killed yet.
But they're still moving.
"Yeah," Stackhouse mutters, grinding the steering wheel to head out after West's vehicle, already swerving right off the gravel and onto the main road ahead. "Saunders, Markham. You got eyes on the sky over there?" He's talking into his radio again; Ronon realizes belatedly that they've changed frequencies and twists in his seat, gesturing to Schweiger to find out what channel they're using.
"...but not all the ships up there have beaming capabilities," Markham is saying when Ronon's managed to lock onto the signal an eternity later. "One of the ones that didn't took some damage, and had to gate the survivors down instead. Looks like the wraith got a lock on the connection and managed to hack it. Beachhead protocols have been initiated at the SGC, and there's no word on how many wraith made it through. Keep this channel open, I'll keep you apprised. Markham out."
"You guys hear any word on the ships?" Ronon asks the others as the road suddenly smoothes out below them.
"Still doing what they can, I guess," West says. "Markham said that Sheppard's on it."
"So what are we doing?"
"What we got sent out here to do, only somewhere else. Soon as we're back, we're joining the strike force heading out to Cheyenne Mountain. Colorado."
All Ronon knows of Colorado is the Rocky Mountains. The terrain in the pictures had looked more to his liking, but it's irrelevant now. While the rest of the soldiers may have the knowledge, Ronon's lost what little tactical advantage he can use.
Because of course the wraith wouldn't be interested in tracking down just one person in a world filled with billions.
He's a little surprised that he's got enough pride about that to feel foolish, now.
"Got a little more from the base," Markham comes back on the line, and since Ronon's not eager to spend any more time with his own thoughts than he already has, he listens intently. "Said the chair was malfunctioning. Zelenka's on it, but McKay's been re-tasked, trying to shut down the gate remotely. Hopefully the drones will take care of enough business up there that one of the ships can spare some beaming capabilities, but fair warning, Air Force advises that we might be stuck with traditional transport."
"Shit. You think highway patrol's doing much tonight?" Stackhouse's glare over the road ahead intensifies, and Ronon's pushed back against his seat as the truck gathers even more speed.
"Lookin' out for drunk driver's on the edges of town, assuring the conspiracy theorists that the lights that they're seeing are either fireworks or a meteor shower. Why?"
"Pedal to the metal, alright? Unless you want us bowlin' your ass over."
Even going as fast as they are, it takes nearly an hour to reach the base, and it's only the glinting of occasional drones streaking mutely across the sky that keep him from going out of his mind. His stunner flips from stun to kill to stun too many times to count, and it's all he can do to stop himself from opening the window and firing blindly at the sky in frustration.
He's been ready to join in for days, now, and wonders how much longer he has to wait.
---
John doesn't know anything, anymore, that doesn't involve the unending firing of drones, but gradually, with the Hammond doing most of the heavy lifting, so to speak, the last of the hive ships is destroyed.
It doesn't feel like victory, though. The alarms are still ringing in his head; he feels them like lightening along his spine and the red that's been coloring his vision is blazing painfully out into white.
The wraith are everywhere and nowhere at all, there but unreachable and he's trying to see past the ringing in his ears to find a target to fix this but it's all falling away, crashing over him.
And then John's not aware of anything at all. He doesn't even know that he's seizing.
---
Ronon finds the base in complete chaos, and he's been here before, getting swept up in the throng, dodging rushing soldiers and civilians as he tries to keep Stackhouse and Markham in sight. Keeping an ear out for a stray word that'll sound anything like orders or ideas or information, and hearing only panic.
The one bit of information that filters through, as the crowd surges into the cafeteria, is that the wraith ships have been defeated. Nobody's celebrating, though. The next crisis- the worst crisis, has only just begun.
Craning his neck, he searches the crowd for any sign of Sheppard, not because he's actually expecting to see him here, but because if the space battle's been won, then there's a chance he's milling about, somewhere in here, on the edges of the crowd.
"The Daedalus will be within beaming range in five minutes," a soldier Ronon doesn't know is standing on the table at the front of the room and doing his best to shout over the noise. "Anyone who's not intending on beaming out for the SGC needs to be clear of the cafeteria before then, and anyone who is needs to be ready for the worst." Ahead of him, Markham turns around and regards him with a grim smirk before nodding. We're going. Hang tight.
Ronon can't hang tight, though. The chair room is only a half level down and around the corner. He can make it there and back in plenty of time.
He just needs...
He's moving before he's finished the thought with anything more than John, whether it's to peer in through the doorway to find him still reclining in the chair, surrounded by scientists, or to pass him in the hallway just long enough to catch a few words of whatever John's got to be saying to whatever personnel need to be hearing it. There won't be any time to talk, though maybe he'll be able to grab his shoulder, congratulate him, fix him in his head before turning to head back up into the fight.
There seem to be twice as many people, here, more than he would've expected given the crowd in the cafeteria, and it's all he can do to stop himself from blasting his way through them just to gain a few seconds, but their noise sounds panicked. Nothing at all like the bitter acceptance and the pre-battle chaos happening upstairs.
They're talking about "heart rate" and "lost consciousness," and it's not until he hears, from startlingly close by, Dr. Keller's voice shouting- "move aside, stretcher coming through-" that he realizes that this isn't what he'd thought this was. It's something he's known much more intimately, for years.
This isn't a hospital, he reminds himself as he presses against the wall to give the doctors room, and this isn't Sateda. This corridor isn't filled with injured bodies trying to survive their last few minutes, and no explosions are going to come suddenly to rip anyone away right before his eyes. Which means he can open them.
And if he'd waited just a moment longer, he would've missed John entirely. As it is, John's the one missing him. He's lying on the stretcher, his wrist grasped in Keller's too small hand as she rushes alongside him, and his eyes are closed.
There's no explosion after they pass.
Ronon tells himself that if John were dead, Keller and the other doctors wouldn't have been rushing as fast as they'd been. Has to convince himself that following in their wake won't help anything, but takes a few steps in that direction anyway. It's not until he bumps into someone- Dr. Zelenka- who looks as dazed as he feels- that he'd even done that much.
"What happened?" Ronon asks, in case Zelenka's actually got a clue.
"I don't know. He was in the chair, and fell into unconsciousness." The shrug that comes with the explanation is harried and apologetic, enough that Ronon doesn't bother pressing for more. "Hopefully the doctors will be able to tell us more very soon."
Ronon looks towards the doors at the end of the hallway, the ones John's just been wheeled through. It had occurred to him that they actually might lose the battle, but John wasn't supposed to be one of the casualties.
He's not. He's fine.
The blaster feels heavy on his hip, like it's weighing him down to the spot, an unwelcome anchor, but there's nothing he can do here. He has to be upstairs, fast, if he wants to be somewhere where he can do anything.
---
Though tension's dropped the volume on everyone's voices, the fact that they're all standing so close together, waiting to be beamed up by the ship, makes it easy to listen to the conversations around him. Nobody knows what they're going to find; everybody's speculating.
Under the circumstances, it makes sense that nobody would be talking about what happened to John. He doubts most of them actually know, and wonders, quietly, how many of them would care if they did.
It's unfair of him, but it doesn't change anything.
"Radios on! Prepare for beaming," someone calls out over the crowd, and the room goes silent. A flash later, and it's empty.
---
Ronon's only on the ship for a few moments, long enough identify that he's standing in hangar that probably isn't always this empty and take in the smell of overheated metal, before the orders go out to ready all weapons and he's beamed again.
There's less than the space of a breath before the gunfire begins, and the outer edges of the crowd explodes out into the space they're in- some huge room that doesn't make any sense until he's moved with them, swinging up his blaster to shoot his first wraith he sees and dodge for cover alongside the edge of a large metal ramp.
A sideways glance reveals a ring, though nobody's coming through it. The injured wraith drone coming around from behind it don't see him crouching, and goes down easily.
"All right!" Stackhouse's voice comes over the radio and echoes off the walls as Ronon scans, counting the dead. Five of them, all drones, most likely there to guard the ring. The real action's still ahead of them, somewhere. "Gate room is secured! Kendall's team, make sure it stays that way, all other teams, spread out. It's not likely that the life signs detectors are going to work with all the shielded equipment floating around here, so stay on your toes. Keep in touch."
He's got no map of the SGC, and has absolutely no idea where he's supposed to be going, but that doesn't stop his feet from moving. Most of the squadron's heading up the stairs towards the most obvious connecting room, but West and Saunders are heading for the less obvious door in the corner of the room that leads into some sort of engineering corridor.
McKay, upstairs with the others, comes on the line long enough to advise them to keep an eye out for anything that looks like wraith technology, because apparently he feels like stating the obvious. There's nothing down here, though, yet.
Fighting's just broken out somewhere above them, there's a brief flash of gunfire, then nothing. Five footsteps later, Ronon hears a faint noise coming from around the corner ahead, and he slips past West, nodding at it as he prepares to go through.
There's a red haired man shaking his head, as if to clear it, as he pulls himself up to his feet at the bottom of the stairs, and his eyes go wide at the sight of Ronon.
"You all right?"
The man looks surprised, but some of the confusion leaves his face when he catches sight of West. Nodding, he rolls his neck. "You guys the cavalry?"
"Yeah," West says. "Seen anything down here?"
"The wraith were heading for the control room. I got bowled over at the top of the stairs when Dr. Lee-" He blinks, shakes his head again. "Doesn't matter. Think the wraith were more intent on moving up and out than down and nowhere."
"Good to know."
Ronon begins to make his way up the stairs while behind him, West checks in via the radio.
"Confirmed," Stackhouse replies, "keep looking."
Another voice comes on the line. "We've got a bunch of dead wraith up here on level nineteen. Looks like our guys already did a fair amount here."
Up another flight of stairs, and all Ronon's really learning is that McKay's locked onto a friendly radio signal and they're being ordered to hold tight. It doesn't stop West and Saunders from moving, either, but they're listening carefully.
There's a dead wraith lying on the next landing, and Ronon's looking hard enough that when the radio chatter picks up again, he nearly flinches.
"Hello? This is Daniel Jackson, and I really hope you guys can hear me."
"Dr. Jackson, this is Stackhouse. What's the situation, here?"
"We've got the last dozen or so wraith trapped on level seventeen, but they're working on opening up the main elevator shaft. Carter's working on resetting the base's LSD from up top, but the wraith got in a lucky hit when they attacked the control room. We're about to lose them. I don't suppose you've got enough guys with you to cover the doors on every floor?"
"I can't see why they'd head back down when they've been moving up all this time," Markham points out. "We only really need to cover ten floors or so."
"Which means we need to get into position before they do," Stackhouse says. "Move out, everyone, double time."
"Where's the elevator shaft?" Ronon murmurs to West, who frowns in thought, then nods at the door a few feet past the dead wraith. "Through there, down the hall, and to your right"
"We're only on level nineteen," Saunders points out, grabbing him by the arm. "They won't be coming back down."
"What floor is the elevator stopped on?" Ronon speaks loudly, and it's obvious from the confused silence on the line that nobody was expecting him to. He swings open the door and scans for movement, but there's nobody here.
"They defaulted to level 28 when we went into lockdown," Jackson says. "Why?"
"Means it won't be in my way," Ronon grumbles, and it looks like Stackhouse and the others have finally gotten over their radio silence, because the chatter on the line is surging madly. Several are arguing, a few are confused, and Stackhouse is furiously trying to get his men back on track.
"The orders stand, everyone. Keep moving, and Ronon?"
If the radio falls out right then, he won't be able to hear him finish. West smirks, pocketing it for him, but Saunders is shaking his head in warning.
"If they're moving up, they won't be looking down," Ronon shrugs. "Might at least buy some time for you guys to get into position." What he doesn't say is that once he's got one or two shots off, at best, there's nothing stopping them from throwing anything down the elevator shaft in hopes of taking him out.
Saunders nods reluctantly, then looks at West. "We gotta go."
"You sure you don't want any help?"
"I've got this." Moving through the door, Ronon finds himself in another corridor full of what seems to be laboratory equipment, and the open doorways reveal much more of the same. As he makes his way, blaster trained on every angle, he searches for something he can use.
He'd thought about this, often enough, locked in his cell. What he would need to get the doors open. They're electronic and locked down, no doubt, but they're still made of moving parts. He should be able to pry it open easily enough.
The first doorway on his left is a closet, filled with supplies, and he's contemplating breaking down the two-wheel cart- it looks sturdy enough, but unfortunately that means it's too sturdy to break- when he catches something better out of the corner of his eye.
There's a pry bar, sitting in a plastic bucket in the far corner with the brooms and mops.
It's startling, how well prepared these people are, but the wraith had gotten around them, so far. There's no time for amazement right now. Grabbing the bar- it's satisfyingly heavy, he hurries onward, slowing only when he reaches a corner. The elevator's right there.
Holstering his blaster, he sets to prying apart the doors.
They don't give. They're stronger than they look. Of course they are- if they weren't, the wraith would probably already be through.
He's trying again, though, the exertion taking far too much out of him when the doors suddenly slide open. If he'd been leaning wrong, he would've fallen, but the only casualty here is the dent in the wall that the pry bar makes when it's flung wide.
Ronon freezes, listening. He can hear noise echoing along the shaft but can't exactly place it. It's muffled, though, probably bleeding through doors on the upper levels.
Taking a steadying breath, he readies his blaster and risks a look up, finding nothing but darkness. The only light that's here at all is pouring in from his doorway. There's an emergency ladder a few feet to his immediate right, and nothing at all for cover. The wraith will pick him out easily enough the moment he makes a shot. The best he can hope for is to climb high enough that the light doesn't catch him.
He reaches out to the ladder, jerking the frame of it once or twice to test it's sturdiness, before adjusting his grip and swinging out onto the rungs.
There's a startling noise coming from the wall in front of him, but it's just the elevator door closing again, probably automatically.
The shaft is in complete darkness, now, and he begins to climb, trying to measure the distance he's covering by the steps up the ladder he's taking, but he doesn't know how high the ceilings are, here- the 28th level's ceiling had been far higher than that of the other levels he'd seen. Gradually, he's becoming aware of the noise, catching a very human shout of something on one of the levels, and the ever-growing banging and thumping coming from level seventeen.
Carefully, he reaches one hand out to feel for the wall in front of him. Trying to gauge the distance between the ladder and the side of the shaft. If he's going to be firing, it'll be easier if he's not expending most of his energy just to keep his balance, but there's only a handspan of space or so. He won't fit, entirely, but he can wedge most of himself in. Free up his shoulders and arm to aim and shoot.
He brings his left arm around the bar, gripping the rung from the other side, before swinging his left leg around to find purchase. From here, he can lean against the wall long enough to reverse the grip of his right hand, and awkwardly, his right foot. A few moments of shifting proves that he's got some vertical- if terribly awkward- range of motion here, should he need it, but mostly, he's as small a target as he can be, down here.
He unholsters his blaster and readies it, resting it against his knee for the time being, until the grinding of metal starts to echo off the walls. From nothing comes a slit of light, and then it's pouring into the shaft, bright enough that for a moment, he's positive he's going to be seen at first glance.
There's no first glance, though. The wraith are starting to peer into the shaft, their attention focused firmly on what's above them. He can feel the vibrations of the first one stepping onto the ladder, after a moment, and then another. He forces himself to wait- increasingly mindful of things like the strength of metal and the likelihood that they're only being held to the wall by handfuls of screws- until the fourth wraith steps out.
And he opens fire. The fourth wraith, then the third fall away from the ladder, he can feel the air move as they pass. The next wraith falls much closer, nearly catching him in the knee hard enough to dislodge him. It's the final wraith on the ladder, though, who's prepared, who starts firing back at him.
All the wraith has to do is fire straight down, but aiming while trying not to fall off a ladder is just problematic enough that it's shots go wide.
The bloods pounding in his ears and he wants to move- this was a bad idea- but he's got to wait for it.
After a moment, a drone pokes his head out, aiming carefully down. Ronon takes it and the wraith on the ladder out with two quick bursts.
He's already nearly halfway there, if Jackson's math was correct.
There's a lull, after the bodies fall past him, and he uses it to force himself to breathe again, to adjust his balance. Using the light coming through the open door, he can see hints of movement, and when the shades begin to coalesce into actual shadows, he tightens his grip on the ladder and sets his aim.
The shadows disappear entirely in the brightness an instant later, and realizing that they've just lit a flare, slits his eyes until he's mostly blind anyway. As soon as the light falls past him, he opens his eyes, finds a target, and fires.
His fingers scream out when a boot catches him as the wraith falls, startling enough that he doesn't know how to channel it into something he can use before the first shot cuts far too close. Right now, it doesn't matter that they're only using stunners. If he takes a direct hit, he's as good as dead.
With the flare below him radiating up into the shaft, even this dimly, it's hard to get a good read on the shadows from here as he readies himself for the next round, but he's not ready for the sound of an explosion reverberating so sharply through his skull.
Instinct sends him slamming against the wall fast enough that he loses his balance, even wedged in here like this. Much worse, though, is the realization that his reflexes aren't quick enough to catch the gun he's dropping, not if he doesn't want to go falling after it.
He grips the rail of the ladder as tightly as he can, scanning himself for injury as debris wafts down over and past him.
Several moments pass while he breathes through the dizziness and tries to listen through the ringing in his ears. He's not even sure when it is that he realizes that there's someone looking down at him through the opening above, and even then, it takes the space of two breaths to realize that it's not a wraith, it's Teal'c.
---
By the time he' unwinds himself and makes it up the ladder, he's exhausted, though he doubts anyone other than Teal'c, who's propping him up under the guise of leading him through the crowd, really notices. There are as many people here as there'd been in the cafeteria when they'd beamed out, maybe more, and they're all dashing back and forth with weapons, equipment, and talking into their radios.
"When it became apparent what you intended to do," Teal'c's saying, catching Ronon's drifting attention, "modifications to our plan of attack were made. A fact you would've been better prepared for had you not dropped your earpiece." His grin is knowing, however, and he leads him off to an underpopulated span of wall to get his wits about him.
There's no way of telling what this level of the facility is meant for; even before the explosion that, looking at it now, had taken out the door leading into another of their unending corridors, the rest of it seems to be storage, maybe, or a decommissioned workspace. Maybe another laboratory. More baffling is the activity all around him. On one level, he knows what it is- the first phases of cleanup following a battle, but he doesn't understand it on a practical level.
Teal'c had told him to sit, though, and wait, and for the moment, he's happy enough to do so.
---
Between the snatches of conversations he hears, the tirade he gets from Stackhouse, the doctors who, for once, are more interested in what happened during than they are in studying him, and the friendly overtures of a black-haired woman whom he's too baffled to understand, he manages to figure out the details of the invasion.
The wraith he hadn't killed in the elevator shaft had been dispatched quickly once the door had been broken down. And this was after they'd already killed off several dozen before Ronon and the rest of the reinforcements had come in.
Even if one squadron of wraith had managed to make it to the top of the complex, it's a little humbling that they'd managed so well. If Ronon feels like gloating over the fact that he'd taken out more individual wraith than the rest of his squadron combined, it can wait until his ears stop ringing and his fingers stop hurting. And it would help if he hadn't lost his gun. Again.
Besides. There's only one person he really feels like talking to, and he's not here.
---
There's morning sunlight streaming in through the cafeteria windows when Ronon's beamed down with the others, and he looks completely baffled at the sight of it. He also looks exhausted. Then again, he hadn't spent the past ten hours in a near-coma brought on by psychic overload, courtesy of a piece of over-engineered furniture.
"So," John's voice is more of a croak than he wants it to be when he stands up and meanders into Ronon's unseeing path. "I take it we're not all about to be eaten by space vampires?"
It's a stupid joke, but Ronon's laughter is bright and sudden, and he grabs John and hugs him, right there, in front of everyone. Glancing around, though, they're not the only two. Apparently fending off an alien invasion puts people in a celebratory mood.
"You're okay?" Ronon's voice turns sharply as he pulls back to examine him. "I saw you- you were being wheeled off by the doctors, and-"
Shit. It's not exactly what John's been wanting to hear.
"Yeah, I. They're still trying to work out what happened, exactly, but it's looking like the connection between the chair and my brain is a lot stronger when we're not just running drills. Keller sprung me a little while ago." Leaving out the fact that she'd done so only reluctantly seems like the wisest choice. Ronon's eyeing him skeptically enough, though, that turnaround is fair play. "What about- how're you doing?"
"Hungry. And I probably need a shower." What he needs, John thinks, is a few hours of sleep, but Ronon's not the type to admit it even when it's true.
"I can hook you up with all... two of those, if you want." Digging his keys out of his pocket, he's momentarily thrown at all this. He should be too tired to be this nervously excited. "Unless you'd rather stay here."
---
As soon as they've cleared the hill and put the facility behind them, John pulls over, trying not to smirk at Ronon's mildly annoyed confusion.
There's a lot they've got to talk about, and now's not the time, but he's had a while to figure out the important parts. "Thanks for saving my world," he says, leaning sideways in his seat and grinning when Ronon gets with the program and just kisses him, already.
Ronon's asleep, his head against the window, five minutes later, and there's still a long drive to get to the apartment, but this, John thinks, is starting to feel a lot like home.
He can pretend as much, at least, for the next twenty four hours or so.
Chapter 21
Fandom/Pairing: SGA, John Sheppard/Ronon Dex
Rating: R
Spoilers: Runner, Vegas
Summary: AU: Ronon's immune to the wraith. Detective John Sheppard doesn't die in the Las Vegas desert. It would probably be easier if the opposites of both were true.
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't take this too seriously.
A/N: Be sure to check out the rubygirl29's lovely cover art, while you're at it.
A/N 2: Whew! It's finally completed! A thousand apologies for the delay in getting these last two chapters posted, it's been a crazy month. Thanks for reading!
All chapters available on AO3 and Wraithbait, or start with the master post Dreamwidth or Livejournal.
He's not the only one fighting this battle. He's just the only guy in the room and this is all really happening, just not here.
In the back of his head, John knows it's not just a video game, but there's no smell of gunfire, no dust, no grit to fighting like this. His wide-angle view is too remote to catch anything more than the flashes of impact. He doesn't hear the creaking of twisting metal when the hull of the Prometheus is breached, but he knows- it's like instinct, or immediate recognition that he shouldn't have at all- when it happens.
Another volley of drones arcs unerringly towards the wraith cruiser, impacting in a perfectly timed series that makes no sound, and there's no good reason whatsoever for him to be so damned exhausted by all of this.
The display flickers. John re-focuses.
It's still not as stable as it had beeb when he'd started.
The Al'kesh that had belatedly joined the fight, sending off warning alarms all over John's head until they'd proven themselves friendly, is dead in the water now, and tactically, sweeping off the fourth and fifth waves of darts that are peppering the burning wreck isn't the best use of the drones, but they're still evacuating through the gate, and Zelenka's worried what will happen if the ship blows completely while the wormhole's still active. Twelve more drones, enough to take out the hyperdrive of a wraith cruiser if the timing's right, are spent taking out nine darts. They're barely launched before he's got to turn his attention again to the hives that are attempting to flank the Prometheus.
Its shields are holding for now, but it's still a relief when the SGC reports that the last of the survivors from the Al'kesh have made it safely through.
John's forgetting to breathe, for longer and longer spans. It catches in his throat when he remembers, and there's a questioning noise from Zelenka, who is maybe only five feet away but seems much further. John's just forming the words to reassure him that everything's fine when the galaxy above him suddenly flashes to red.
"Zelenka," He's trying in vain to find something to point a drone at, but the color shift seems universal, an alert he doesn't understand, yet. "What's going on?"
"Oh dear," Zelenka's muttering, and it's hard to tell whether he's talking to John or into the headset he's wearing. "I do not mean to distract you, Sheppard, but we've just lost communication with SGC."
It's surprisingly hard to keep the scene above him from blurring out in favor of a diagnostic scan, and the scant second spent refocusing is enough for the wraith to do some serious damage, blowing the Al'kesh to nothing at all. Thankfully, whatever's happened with communications hasn't impeded his access to the drone supply, and he manages to aim another volley directly into the dart bay of the nearest hive.
The secondary explosions are impressive; it's the best hit John's made yet, though if Zelenka notices, bent over his computer screen and muttering to himself, he's not letting on. John tells himself that the dizziness he's feeling is exaltation.
His next shot is overconfident, and goes wide. The drones have to curve through space and return to make their targets, and don't hit nearly as well as they could've- should've. And there are still more enemies floating above him than there are allies.
Turns out, though, they're not just above him. Because for all Zelenka's Czech invective, some of it's starting to break through. SGC facilities compromised. Engage beachhead protocols immediately.
The connection with the chair drops suddenly and John finds himself sitting up in a vertiginous haze before Zelenka can order him back. When Zelenka does glance back at him, he shakes his head, gestures back to the chair.
"It is not under control but shall be. Clearing the sky will make it easier, possibly reduce number coming through." Get back in the chair, he'd mean, were he the type to give orders comfortably. John obeys anyway. Leans back, feels the system winding through him again, welcoming him back.
One deep breath- the dizziness hasn't faded yet- and he's back in the fight.
---
Once the last of the gear's been stowed in the back, Ronon swings into his seat and is pulling the door shut behind him when he catches a faint yet unmistakable streak of light in the southeastern sky.
"You see that?" He wants to laugh, but not knowing the reasons behind the temporary cease fire, he's not about to make assumptions about its resuming. It does, however, go a long way towards fixing the plummeting sensation he'd been fighting as he'd helped load their essential gear back into the trucks.
If John's still firing drones, he hasn't been killed yet.
But they're still moving.
"Yeah," Stackhouse mutters, grinding the steering wheel to head out after West's vehicle, already swerving right off the gravel and onto the main road ahead. "Saunders, Markham. You got eyes on the sky over there?" He's talking into his radio again; Ronon realizes belatedly that they've changed frequencies and twists in his seat, gesturing to Schweiger to find out what channel they're using.
"...but not all the ships up there have beaming capabilities," Markham is saying when Ronon's managed to lock onto the signal an eternity later. "One of the ones that didn't took some damage, and had to gate the survivors down instead. Looks like the wraith got a lock on the connection and managed to hack it. Beachhead protocols have been initiated at the SGC, and there's no word on how many wraith made it through. Keep this channel open, I'll keep you apprised. Markham out."
"You guys hear any word on the ships?" Ronon asks the others as the road suddenly smoothes out below them.
"Still doing what they can, I guess," West says. "Markham said that Sheppard's on it."
"So what are we doing?"
"What we got sent out here to do, only somewhere else. Soon as we're back, we're joining the strike force heading out to Cheyenne Mountain. Colorado."
All Ronon knows of Colorado is the Rocky Mountains. The terrain in the pictures had looked more to his liking, but it's irrelevant now. While the rest of the soldiers may have the knowledge, Ronon's lost what little tactical advantage he can use.
Because of course the wraith wouldn't be interested in tracking down just one person in a world filled with billions.
He's a little surprised that he's got enough pride about that to feel foolish, now.
"Got a little more from the base," Markham comes back on the line, and since Ronon's not eager to spend any more time with his own thoughts than he already has, he listens intently. "Said the chair was malfunctioning. Zelenka's on it, but McKay's been re-tasked, trying to shut down the gate remotely. Hopefully the drones will take care of enough business up there that one of the ships can spare some beaming capabilities, but fair warning, Air Force advises that we might be stuck with traditional transport."
"Shit. You think highway patrol's doing much tonight?" Stackhouse's glare over the road ahead intensifies, and Ronon's pushed back against his seat as the truck gathers even more speed.
"Lookin' out for drunk driver's on the edges of town, assuring the conspiracy theorists that the lights that they're seeing are either fireworks or a meteor shower. Why?"
"Pedal to the metal, alright? Unless you want us bowlin' your ass over."
Even going as fast as they are, it takes nearly an hour to reach the base, and it's only the glinting of occasional drones streaking mutely across the sky that keep him from going out of his mind. His stunner flips from stun to kill to stun too many times to count, and it's all he can do to stop himself from opening the window and firing blindly at the sky in frustration.
He's been ready to join in for days, now, and wonders how much longer he has to wait.
---
John doesn't know anything, anymore, that doesn't involve the unending firing of drones, but gradually, with the Hammond doing most of the heavy lifting, so to speak, the last of the hive ships is destroyed.
It doesn't feel like victory, though. The alarms are still ringing in his head; he feels them like lightening along his spine and the red that's been coloring his vision is blazing painfully out into white.
The wraith are everywhere and nowhere at all, there but unreachable and he's trying to see past the ringing in his ears to find a target to fix this but it's all falling away, crashing over him.
And then John's not aware of anything at all. He doesn't even know that he's seizing.
---
Ronon finds the base in complete chaos, and he's been here before, getting swept up in the throng, dodging rushing soldiers and civilians as he tries to keep Stackhouse and Markham in sight. Keeping an ear out for a stray word that'll sound anything like orders or ideas or information, and hearing only panic.
The one bit of information that filters through, as the crowd surges into the cafeteria, is that the wraith ships have been defeated. Nobody's celebrating, though. The next crisis- the worst crisis, has only just begun.
Craning his neck, he searches the crowd for any sign of Sheppard, not because he's actually expecting to see him here, but because if the space battle's been won, then there's a chance he's milling about, somewhere in here, on the edges of the crowd.
"The Daedalus will be within beaming range in five minutes," a soldier Ronon doesn't know is standing on the table at the front of the room and doing his best to shout over the noise. "Anyone who's not intending on beaming out for the SGC needs to be clear of the cafeteria before then, and anyone who is needs to be ready for the worst." Ahead of him, Markham turns around and regards him with a grim smirk before nodding. We're going. Hang tight.
Ronon can't hang tight, though. The chair room is only a half level down and around the corner. He can make it there and back in plenty of time.
He just needs...
He's moving before he's finished the thought with anything more than John, whether it's to peer in through the doorway to find him still reclining in the chair, surrounded by scientists, or to pass him in the hallway just long enough to catch a few words of whatever John's got to be saying to whatever personnel need to be hearing it. There won't be any time to talk, though maybe he'll be able to grab his shoulder, congratulate him, fix him in his head before turning to head back up into the fight.
There seem to be twice as many people, here, more than he would've expected given the crowd in the cafeteria, and it's all he can do to stop himself from blasting his way through them just to gain a few seconds, but their noise sounds panicked. Nothing at all like the bitter acceptance and the pre-battle chaos happening upstairs.
They're talking about "heart rate" and "lost consciousness," and it's not until he hears, from startlingly close by, Dr. Keller's voice shouting- "move aside, stretcher coming through-" that he realizes that this isn't what he'd thought this was. It's something he's known much more intimately, for years.
This isn't a hospital, he reminds himself as he presses against the wall to give the doctors room, and this isn't Sateda. This corridor isn't filled with injured bodies trying to survive their last few minutes, and no explosions are going to come suddenly to rip anyone away right before his eyes. Which means he can open them.
And if he'd waited just a moment longer, he would've missed John entirely. As it is, John's the one missing him. He's lying on the stretcher, his wrist grasped in Keller's too small hand as she rushes alongside him, and his eyes are closed.
There's no explosion after they pass.
Ronon tells himself that if John were dead, Keller and the other doctors wouldn't have been rushing as fast as they'd been. Has to convince himself that following in their wake won't help anything, but takes a few steps in that direction anyway. It's not until he bumps into someone- Dr. Zelenka- who looks as dazed as he feels- that he'd even done that much.
"What happened?" Ronon asks, in case Zelenka's actually got a clue.
"I don't know. He was in the chair, and fell into unconsciousness." The shrug that comes with the explanation is harried and apologetic, enough that Ronon doesn't bother pressing for more. "Hopefully the doctors will be able to tell us more very soon."
Ronon looks towards the doors at the end of the hallway, the ones John's just been wheeled through. It had occurred to him that they actually might lose the battle, but John wasn't supposed to be one of the casualties.
He's not. He's fine.
The blaster feels heavy on his hip, like it's weighing him down to the spot, an unwelcome anchor, but there's nothing he can do here. He has to be upstairs, fast, if he wants to be somewhere where he can do anything.
---
Though tension's dropped the volume on everyone's voices, the fact that they're all standing so close together, waiting to be beamed up by the ship, makes it easy to listen to the conversations around him. Nobody knows what they're going to find; everybody's speculating.
Under the circumstances, it makes sense that nobody would be talking about what happened to John. He doubts most of them actually know, and wonders, quietly, how many of them would care if they did.
It's unfair of him, but it doesn't change anything.
"Radios on! Prepare for beaming," someone calls out over the crowd, and the room goes silent. A flash later, and it's empty.
---
Ronon's only on the ship for a few moments, long enough identify that he's standing in hangar that probably isn't always this empty and take in the smell of overheated metal, before the orders go out to ready all weapons and he's beamed again.
There's less than the space of a breath before the gunfire begins, and the outer edges of the crowd explodes out into the space they're in- some huge room that doesn't make any sense until he's moved with them, swinging up his blaster to shoot his first wraith he sees and dodge for cover alongside the edge of a large metal ramp.
A sideways glance reveals a ring, though nobody's coming through it. The injured wraith drone coming around from behind it don't see him crouching, and goes down easily.
"All right!" Stackhouse's voice comes over the radio and echoes off the walls as Ronon scans, counting the dead. Five of them, all drones, most likely there to guard the ring. The real action's still ahead of them, somewhere. "Gate room is secured! Kendall's team, make sure it stays that way, all other teams, spread out. It's not likely that the life signs detectors are going to work with all the shielded equipment floating around here, so stay on your toes. Keep in touch."
He's got no map of the SGC, and has absolutely no idea where he's supposed to be going, but that doesn't stop his feet from moving. Most of the squadron's heading up the stairs towards the most obvious connecting room, but West and Saunders are heading for the less obvious door in the corner of the room that leads into some sort of engineering corridor.
McKay, upstairs with the others, comes on the line long enough to advise them to keep an eye out for anything that looks like wraith technology, because apparently he feels like stating the obvious. There's nothing down here, though, yet.
Fighting's just broken out somewhere above them, there's a brief flash of gunfire, then nothing. Five footsteps later, Ronon hears a faint noise coming from around the corner ahead, and he slips past West, nodding at it as he prepares to go through.
There's a red haired man shaking his head, as if to clear it, as he pulls himself up to his feet at the bottom of the stairs, and his eyes go wide at the sight of Ronon.
"You all right?"
The man looks surprised, but some of the confusion leaves his face when he catches sight of West. Nodding, he rolls his neck. "You guys the cavalry?"
"Yeah," West says. "Seen anything down here?"
"The wraith were heading for the control room. I got bowled over at the top of the stairs when Dr. Lee-" He blinks, shakes his head again. "Doesn't matter. Think the wraith were more intent on moving up and out than down and nowhere."
"Good to know."
Ronon begins to make his way up the stairs while behind him, West checks in via the radio.
"Confirmed," Stackhouse replies, "keep looking."
Another voice comes on the line. "We've got a bunch of dead wraith up here on level nineteen. Looks like our guys already did a fair amount here."
Up another flight of stairs, and all Ronon's really learning is that McKay's locked onto a friendly radio signal and they're being ordered to hold tight. It doesn't stop West and Saunders from moving, either, but they're listening carefully.
There's a dead wraith lying on the next landing, and Ronon's looking hard enough that when the radio chatter picks up again, he nearly flinches.
"Hello? This is Daniel Jackson, and I really hope you guys can hear me."
"Dr. Jackson, this is Stackhouse. What's the situation, here?"
"We've got the last dozen or so wraith trapped on level seventeen, but they're working on opening up the main elevator shaft. Carter's working on resetting the base's LSD from up top, but the wraith got in a lucky hit when they attacked the control room. We're about to lose them. I don't suppose you've got enough guys with you to cover the doors on every floor?"
"I can't see why they'd head back down when they've been moving up all this time," Markham points out. "We only really need to cover ten floors or so."
"Which means we need to get into position before they do," Stackhouse says. "Move out, everyone, double time."
"Where's the elevator shaft?" Ronon murmurs to West, who frowns in thought, then nods at the door a few feet past the dead wraith. "Through there, down the hall, and to your right"
"We're only on level nineteen," Saunders points out, grabbing him by the arm. "They won't be coming back down."
"What floor is the elevator stopped on?" Ronon speaks loudly, and it's obvious from the confused silence on the line that nobody was expecting him to. He swings open the door and scans for movement, but there's nobody here.
"They defaulted to level 28 when we went into lockdown," Jackson says. "Why?"
"Means it won't be in my way," Ronon grumbles, and it looks like Stackhouse and the others have finally gotten over their radio silence, because the chatter on the line is surging madly. Several are arguing, a few are confused, and Stackhouse is furiously trying to get his men back on track.
"The orders stand, everyone. Keep moving, and Ronon?"
If the radio falls out right then, he won't be able to hear him finish. West smirks, pocketing it for him, but Saunders is shaking his head in warning.
"If they're moving up, they won't be looking down," Ronon shrugs. "Might at least buy some time for you guys to get into position." What he doesn't say is that once he's got one or two shots off, at best, there's nothing stopping them from throwing anything down the elevator shaft in hopes of taking him out.
Saunders nods reluctantly, then looks at West. "We gotta go."
"You sure you don't want any help?"
"I've got this." Moving through the door, Ronon finds himself in another corridor full of what seems to be laboratory equipment, and the open doorways reveal much more of the same. As he makes his way, blaster trained on every angle, he searches for something he can use.
He'd thought about this, often enough, locked in his cell. What he would need to get the doors open. They're electronic and locked down, no doubt, but they're still made of moving parts. He should be able to pry it open easily enough.
The first doorway on his left is a closet, filled with supplies, and he's contemplating breaking down the two-wheel cart- it looks sturdy enough, but unfortunately that means it's too sturdy to break- when he catches something better out of the corner of his eye.
There's a pry bar, sitting in a plastic bucket in the far corner with the brooms and mops.
It's startling, how well prepared these people are, but the wraith had gotten around them, so far. There's no time for amazement right now. Grabbing the bar- it's satisfyingly heavy, he hurries onward, slowing only when he reaches a corner. The elevator's right there.
Holstering his blaster, he sets to prying apart the doors.
They don't give. They're stronger than they look. Of course they are- if they weren't, the wraith would probably already be through.
He's trying again, though, the exertion taking far too much out of him when the doors suddenly slide open. If he'd been leaning wrong, he would've fallen, but the only casualty here is the dent in the wall that the pry bar makes when it's flung wide.
Ronon freezes, listening. He can hear noise echoing along the shaft but can't exactly place it. It's muffled, though, probably bleeding through doors on the upper levels.
Taking a steadying breath, he readies his blaster and risks a look up, finding nothing but darkness. The only light that's here at all is pouring in from his doorway. There's an emergency ladder a few feet to his immediate right, and nothing at all for cover. The wraith will pick him out easily enough the moment he makes a shot. The best he can hope for is to climb high enough that the light doesn't catch him.
He reaches out to the ladder, jerking the frame of it once or twice to test it's sturdiness, before adjusting his grip and swinging out onto the rungs.
There's a startling noise coming from the wall in front of him, but it's just the elevator door closing again, probably automatically.
The shaft is in complete darkness, now, and he begins to climb, trying to measure the distance he's covering by the steps up the ladder he's taking, but he doesn't know how high the ceilings are, here- the 28th level's ceiling had been far higher than that of the other levels he'd seen. Gradually, he's becoming aware of the noise, catching a very human shout of something on one of the levels, and the ever-growing banging and thumping coming from level seventeen.
Carefully, he reaches one hand out to feel for the wall in front of him. Trying to gauge the distance between the ladder and the side of the shaft. If he's going to be firing, it'll be easier if he's not expending most of his energy just to keep his balance, but there's only a handspan of space or so. He won't fit, entirely, but he can wedge most of himself in. Free up his shoulders and arm to aim and shoot.
He brings his left arm around the bar, gripping the rung from the other side, before swinging his left leg around to find purchase. From here, he can lean against the wall long enough to reverse the grip of his right hand, and awkwardly, his right foot. A few moments of shifting proves that he's got some vertical- if terribly awkward- range of motion here, should he need it, but mostly, he's as small a target as he can be, down here.
He unholsters his blaster and readies it, resting it against his knee for the time being, until the grinding of metal starts to echo off the walls. From nothing comes a slit of light, and then it's pouring into the shaft, bright enough that for a moment, he's positive he's going to be seen at first glance.
There's no first glance, though. The wraith are starting to peer into the shaft, their attention focused firmly on what's above them. He can feel the vibrations of the first one stepping onto the ladder, after a moment, and then another. He forces himself to wait- increasingly mindful of things like the strength of metal and the likelihood that they're only being held to the wall by handfuls of screws- until the fourth wraith steps out.
And he opens fire. The fourth wraith, then the third fall away from the ladder, he can feel the air move as they pass. The next wraith falls much closer, nearly catching him in the knee hard enough to dislodge him. It's the final wraith on the ladder, though, who's prepared, who starts firing back at him.
All the wraith has to do is fire straight down, but aiming while trying not to fall off a ladder is just problematic enough that it's shots go wide.
The bloods pounding in his ears and he wants to move- this was a bad idea- but he's got to wait for it.
After a moment, a drone pokes his head out, aiming carefully down. Ronon takes it and the wraith on the ladder out with two quick bursts.
He's already nearly halfway there, if Jackson's math was correct.
There's a lull, after the bodies fall past him, and he uses it to force himself to breathe again, to adjust his balance. Using the light coming through the open door, he can see hints of movement, and when the shades begin to coalesce into actual shadows, he tightens his grip on the ladder and sets his aim.
The shadows disappear entirely in the brightness an instant later, and realizing that they've just lit a flare, slits his eyes until he's mostly blind anyway. As soon as the light falls past him, he opens his eyes, finds a target, and fires.
His fingers scream out when a boot catches him as the wraith falls, startling enough that he doesn't know how to channel it into something he can use before the first shot cuts far too close. Right now, it doesn't matter that they're only using stunners. If he takes a direct hit, he's as good as dead.
With the flare below him radiating up into the shaft, even this dimly, it's hard to get a good read on the shadows from here as he readies himself for the next round, but he's not ready for the sound of an explosion reverberating so sharply through his skull.
Instinct sends him slamming against the wall fast enough that he loses his balance, even wedged in here like this. Much worse, though, is the realization that his reflexes aren't quick enough to catch the gun he's dropping, not if he doesn't want to go falling after it.
He grips the rail of the ladder as tightly as he can, scanning himself for injury as debris wafts down over and past him.
Several moments pass while he breathes through the dizziness and tries to listen through the ringing in his ears. He's not even sure when it is that he realizes that there's someone looking down at him through the opening above, and even then, it takes the space of two breaths to realize that it's not a wraith, it's Teal'c.
---
By the time he' unwinds himself and makes it up the ladder, he's exhausted, though he doubts anyone other than Teal'c, who's propping him up under the guise of leading him through the crowd, really notices. There are as many people here as there'd been in the cafeteria when they'd beamed out, maybe more, and they're all dashing back and forth with weapons, equipment, and talking into their radios.
"When it became apparent what you intended to do," Teal'c's saying, catching Ronon's drifting attention, "modifications to our plan of attack were made. A fact you would've been better prepared for had you not dropped your earpiece." His grin is knowing, however, and he leads him off to an underpopulated span of wall to get his wits about him.
There's no way of telling what this level of the facility is meant for; even before the explosion that, looking at it now, had taken out the door leading into another of their unending corridors, the rest of it seems to be storage, maybe, or a decommissioned workspace. Maybe another laboratory. More baffling is the activity all around him. On one level, he knows what it is- the first phases of cleanup following a battle, but he doesn't understand it on a practical level.
Teal'c had told him to sit, though, and wait, and for the moment, he's happy enough to do so.
---
Between the snatches of conversations he hears, the tirade he gets from Stackhouse, the doctors who, for once, are more interested in what happened during than they are in studying him, and the friendly overtures of a black-haired woman whom he's too baffled to understand, he manages to figure out the details of the invasion.
The wraith he hadn't killed in the elevator shaft had been dispatched quickly once the door had been broken down. And this was after they'd already killed off several dozen before Ronon and the rest of the reinforcements had come in.
Even if one squadron of wraith had managed to make it to the top of the complex, it's a little humbling that they'd managed so well. If Ronon feels like gloating over the fact that he'd taken out more individual wraith than the rest of his squadron combined, it can wait until his ears stop ringing and his fingers stop hurting. And it would help if he hadn't lost his gun. Again.
Besides. There's only one person he really feels like talking to, and he's not here.
---
There's morning sunlight streaming in through the cafeteria windows when Ronon's beamed down with the others, and he looks completely baffled at the sight of it. He also looks exhausted. Then again, he hadn't spent the past ten hours in a near-coma brought on by psychic overload, courtesy of a piece of over-engineered furniture.
"So," John's voice is more of a croak than he wants it to be when he stands up and meanders into Ronon's unseeing path. "I take it we're not all about to be eaten by space vampires?"
It's a stupid joke, but Ronon's laughter is bright and sudden, and he grabs John and hugs him, right there, in front of everyone. Glancing around, though, they're not the only two. Apparently fending off an alien invasion puts people in a celebratory mood.
"You're okay?" Ronon's voice turns sharply as he pulls back to examine him. "I saw you- you were being wheeled off by the doctors, and-"
Shit. It's not exactly what John's been wanting to hear.
"Yeah, I. They're still trying to work out what happened, exactly, but it's looking like the connection between the chair and my brain is a lot stronger when we're not just running drills. Keller sprung me a little while ago." Leaving out the fact that she'd done so only reluctantly seems like the wisest choice. Ronon's eyeing him skeptically enough, though, that turnaround is fair play. "What about- how're you doing?"
"Hungry. And I probably need a shower." What he needs, John thinks, is a few hours of sleep, but Ronon's not the type to admit it even when it's true.
"I can hook you up with all... two of those, if you want." Digging his keys out of his pocket, he's momentarily thrown at all this. He should be too tired to be this nervously excited. "Unless you'd rather stay here."
---
As soon as they've cleared the hill and put the facility behind them, John pulls over, trying not to smirk at Ronon's mildly annoyed confusion.
There's a lot they've got to talk about, and now's not the time, but he's had a while to figure out the important parts. "Thanks for saving my world," he says, leaning sideways in his seat and grinning when Ronon gets with the program and just kisses him, already.
Ronon's asleep, his head against the window, five minutes later, and there's still a long drive to get to the apartment, but this, John thinks, is starting to feel a lot like home.
He can pretend as much, at least, for the next twenty four hours or so.
Chapter 21