(no subject)
Title: Flash of the Blade
Rating: PG-13
By: Jenda Vis
Spoilers: Up through Reunion
Pairing: Sheppard/Dex
Genre: Drama, WIP
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't take this too seriously.
Summary: Sheppard can't figure Ronon out. Or his motives.
Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6
Chapter 7
"What?" John wanted the universe to just stop, for a minute. Give him a second to catch up.
Fuck.
Taking a deep breath, John leaned over, halting when Ronon pulled back, eyes on him now, untrusting. Suspicious, though how much was habit, and how much was situational, John wasn't about to guess. Ronon seemed too young and too old all at once, and his eyes moved around the room like they'd done when he'd first come to Atlantis.
"It's alright," he said, showing his hands. "I just." He moved forward again, and this time, Ronon tilted his head back, still watching John's face, and let him look at his neck.
Bruises bled into the faded patches of discoloration caused by the poisoning, too much abuse in too short a time. One bruise stood out, darker than the others, mirroring the tattoo on the other side of Ronon's throat.
John looked over to Keller, needing explanation, as Ronon reached over to grab the cup of melting ice chips from the tray, tried too hard to swallow a few down.
"Okay," she began, pulling her uncombed hair back into a ponytail. "One, he's going to be fine. I don't think there will be any lasting damage, but he shouldn't try to talk for a day or two."
"Did you black out?" John asked Ronon, knowing Keller would be the one answering, but it didn't feel right leaving him out of the conversation. Ronon shook his head, tilting his head slightly at Keller.
"It was close," she sighed. "The lights were still off when I came in, and found him like this," There was something in Keller's tone that indicated some small polishing of the facts, but John let it slide, for now at least. "From what I can tell, no one saw anything, but Ryerson's pulling the security footage right now."
"Ryerson?"
"He was on duty. He and Doctor Li were hit with stunners, so I want him recovering once it's completed, but I can call security and-"
Sheppard raising his head, sharply, catching Ronon's mortified expression briefly as he tried to fucking think.
"I need my team working on this." He sighed. "I want the feeds as soon as possible."
"I'll go see how Ryerson's doing," Keller nodded. "I'll be right back."
John waited until the door was closed again. "Did you see who did this to you?"
A slow, irritated shake of his head, and Ronon pointed up towards the lights with a cutting motion. Dark.
"Our guys?" As far as the conversations they needed to have went, this shouldn't have been the first of them. Or the last, but. Never mind.
A hesitant nod tapered off into a shrug as he held up an index figure.
One assailant. He doesn't understand this, either.
"You sleeping when it happened?"
A nod, then, glancing towards the door. "Fought him off. He ran." Even whispering looked painful.
"Is there anything else you can tell me?"
Another shrug, tending towards the negative.
"Okay, well if you think of anything. Well. Are you okay now?"
Ronon moved like he was going to speak again, but the door was opening again, and Keller was bringing a laptop in. Ronon nodded his assent instead. Sure. Fine.
"Good." He looked up to Keller, taking the laptop from her. "It's all on here?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Can we move him out of here? We need to get him somewhere more secure."
Keller gave Ronon an appraising look that he clearly didn't want, but the flinch was minor. "Ah. Well? Okay. The IV needs to stay in, and he needs to be kept warm," she said, checking the drip rate. "Because between the saline-" she shook her head, cutting herself off. "He's going to need to get some more sleep, and I need to be able to check in on him in about seven hours to see about getting his line out, and discharging him properly."
If Ronon was annoyed by the conversation they were about him, he didn't let on. Probably because he wasn't paying any attention at all, just staring at the floor.
"Ronon?" Keller crouched next to his knees, inserting herself into his line of vision. "You feeling up to getting out of here?"
John couldn't be sure that he'd been heard, but after a moment, saw Ronon give a slight nod.
"And you'll have Colonel Sheppard call if something doesn't feel right?"
Yes. Another nod, more affirmative, and Keller seemed satisfied, standing again.
"Well okay, then," she looked to John, giving him the lead.
"Okay, Ronon. You okay with me staying with you for the night?"
His head shot up, surprised by the offer, before looking away in irritation. Fine. Whatever.
"Look, I'm sorry. It's for my own peace of mind. I can't just order a security team to your door." Not if I can't trust them.
---
Ronon steered the IV stand with one hand while carrying the water bottle with his other, following John out of the transporter and down a thankfully empty hallway, half-listening to him talk into his radio. Halting all gate travel and jumper access for some reason. When they reached his door, John held his hand up, before transferring the laptop from his other hand.
When he waved his hand over the door control, his sidearm moved with it.
Ronon didn't even know where his own gun was.
Dropped it, somewhere, maybe. Might still be back on Sanacra- need to go back-
And it all threatened to come crashing down. His feet, bare on the cool floor. The line that pulled at the flesh of his hand when he moved wrong. The tightness in his throat. The attack, the clear fluid chilling the veins it ran through, filling spaces that should have held only his blood.
Because you're no good at hanging onto it yourself.
It was true. If it wasn't, Sheppard wouldn't be walking into his room, ahead of him, gun drawn, aiming at corners as he turned on the lights, looking for the enemies that Ronon couldn't fight off.
But Sheppard's face, when it turned back, was a little sheepish as he gestured Ronon to follow. Ronon found himself following his example anyway, scanning the room, relearning its angles, looking for something that shouldn't be there.
He didn't find that, but he did find seven knives and his gun, holstered, lying on the table next to his bed, the sight of them more welcoming than he'd expected.
"Yeah, ah. Figured Keller wouldn't let you have them in the infirmary," Sheppard said, scratching at his ear before turning to set the laptop down on the desk. Ronon let the door close behind him and sat heavily down upon his bed, trying not to cough and jerking the IV stand back as it threatened to topple again.
"Don't have to stay," he said, wishing his voice was stronger, not wanting to look over to find that Sheppard was wishing the same. This is fucking humiliating. Shit. "I can lock th' door."
He set the bottle down on the table, knowing that John was still watching as he slid his gun from the holster, hefting the familiar weight in his hands.
"Yeah, but would you open it again?"
What're you talking about?
Reading more closely now, he could see severity of Sheppard's anger. It radiated from his shoulders, from the tightness at the corners of his eyes, the hard lines of his mouth as he began to talk. "Ronon, less than an hour ago, someone. One of our own people attacked you. I'm not." Sheppard seemed to realize how loud his voice was getting, and rubbed a hand over his face. "You think I'm gonna be able to sleep right now? I need to figure this shit out."
"Sorry." The word scraped over his throat and he loosened his grip on the IV stand. If I'd been faster. Not so out of it. If I knew why. Ronon held his breath for a minute, trying to calm down.
If I even knew where to start.
Something shifted, then, and Sheppard's shoulders eased, just a fraction of movement. Relenting. "Shit. Look. It's not your fault. Just. Be quiet, lie down, and try and get some rest, okay?"
Ronon stood, dragging the blankets down and repositioning the stand next to the bed.
"I'll still be here in the morning, and we'll talk then, if you're up for it. Okay?"
Ronon lay down, dragging the blanket over him. He would have rubbed his feet together to warm them if Sheppard hadn't been standing there, but decided against it. It was just another weakness that didn't need to be exposed.
A moment passed, and it was time to decide.
John's here. He's here to stand guard against his own people, because you're his friend. Let him.
He turned his head, away from Sheppard or maybe just the light, and closed his eyes.
"Lemme know if you need anything," Sheppard's voice was quiet now, and Ronon decided he probably wouldn't. He already had his gun in his hand. But he appreciated the offer.
---
John shut the lights off, took a deep breath, and began to play the infirmary footage.
Apart from the dim light coming from one of the monitors, the room was in total darkness. Two minutes and fourteen seconds in, light spilled in from outside the room as one person's shadow slowly entered. Unfortunately, the angle of the camera was such that there was no way to catch any useful features. A man, dressed in dark clothes, wearing a knit cap, was all Sheppard could identify. Another forty seconds or so, and the monitor was knocked over, almost immediately followed by the door opening as the assailant made his escape.
It was almost seven minutes of total darkness before the lights came on, and Ryerson wove through the door, his hand on his radio as he fell to his knees to find-
Ronon tried to pull himself back up onto the bed, his feet slipping from under him, probably not for the first time. Something was glistening on the floor, and there were stains on Ronon's shirt. Blood. He scrambled back against the wall when he realized that he wasn't alone, hands forming fists.
He was acting like he expected Ryerson to finish the job.
John looked up from the screen, casting a cautious glance over towards Ronon's bed. He doubted he was sleeping, but didn't want to wake him if, by some miracle, he was. Because if John had this much adrenaline in his system, this late at night, then Ronon, who hadn't only watched this on a screen…
Shit, he's sleeping with his gun, for cryin' out loud. Need any other clues to know how fucked that is?
John forced himself to look back at the screen. Yeah. I really fucking do, and pressed play again.
Keller walked into the room, sending Ryerson out as she moved slowly towards Ronon. Non-threatening but intent, crouching down next to him. Ronon wasn't looking at her, instead staring in the direction of the door. But he raised his hand up for her to inspect. When Keller leaned back, reaching to the side, John figured it out. The IV line had been ripped out. It was almost a relief.
But then the video ended. The last frame was Keller, leaning away, head turned towards the bed, while Ronon's hand reached out into empty space, the other covering his eyes.
---
Ronon woke with a start, the gun still in his hand. Trying to silence his breathing, he adjusted his grip carefully, using as little movement as possible. The sun was almost up, but hadn't quite risen. He tried to remember what the threat was, why he was awake so soon. Then he heard it again. Sounded like…snoring.
He turned his head first, then his shoulders, rolling onto his back to look across the room. Sheppard was still in the chair, head rocked back on his shoulders, throat bared.
As if on cue, the ache in his own throat made itself known again, and he reached over to grab the water from the table, almost toppling the IV stand in the process.
Really ought to put weighted bases on these damned things, he thought, catching it for the seventeenth time, glancing up to see that, yes, of course, Sheppard's eyes were blinking as he raised his head, trying to figure out where he was.
"Hey!" Sheppard's voice was strained as he stretched his arms back up over his head. "How're. Ah. You feeling any better?" Ronon smirked as Sheppard's arms dropped, one hand nearly striking him in the face, and apparently that was answer enough.
"Good. Ah. Alright. It's," he looked down at his watch. "Still really damned early. Another hour before you need to check in with Keller, but we should really track down Carter. Come on. You can watch her yell at me."
---
"You should have woken me up," Carter glared at Sheppard once he finished telling her the story. "There are protocols-"
"I know that, but look. I had to be sure."
"Sure of what?"
"I wanted to review the footage before I told anyone. Needed to know who I can trust, and I know it sounds bad, but right then and right there, it made sense, okay?"
Carter sighed, rolling her eyes, but she managed a sympathetic grin in Ronon's general direction, which was met with the same unrelenting stone-faced stare he had been wearing since leaving the infirmary.
"Okay. Fine. Anyway. Did the footage tell you anything?"
"Nothing useful. It was one guy, though I don't know if there were any others helping him out. I'm guessing he wasn't a scientist."
"You think he's on the security team?"
"I have no clue, hence…" Sheppard waved his hand.
"Right. Okay. You say you've seen the footage from inside the quarantine room?"
"Yes."
"Right. I want all infirmary and hallway footage pulled and examined, for starters. I want to see that, and the footage from quarantine, myself. I'll have Zelenka retrieve the security codes from the infirmary, see if he can figure out who's been in there."
"Zelenka?"
"Why not?"
"Don't take this the wrong way, and I know it's not, you know, the normal run of things. But I'd feel better if McKay handled it. It's just." Sheppard grimaced.
"Of course," Carter nodded. "Believe me, I understand. Okay. If McKay will do it."
"What do you mean, if?"
"It's just. You know how he can be when it comes to things he thinks are beneath him."
"Yeah. But this is Ronon we're talking about here. McKay suited up to go out to Sanacra, where we all thought we'd catch the plague, with no hesitation. He'll have no trouble with this."
"Okay. Good." Apparently the matter was settled. She turned to Ronon. "Now. In the meantime, we need to make sure you're. That something like this doesn't happen again. Until we've got this figured out, I don't want you going anywhere alone."
Ronon's eyes met Sheppard's for a moment, looking for backup, looking for an out, and finding none. It was the clearest reaction he'd shown to anything all morning, since one brief flash he'd let Sheppard see, back in his room. As soon as they'd stepped into the hallway, though, Ronon had shut down. He'd occasionally flex his fingers near his hip, looking for the gun he wouldn't be allowed to wear until he was officially discharged. Since standing his back against the wall in Carter's office, he'd been nodding yes or no, shrugging, but he hadn't spoken once.
Sheppard told himself it wasn't anything to worry about. That Ronon, for once, was following the doctor's orders.
Carter was still talking. "Now. As far as the investigation goes, I don't see how we're going to be able to keep this quiet, and we need to get on top of this immediately." Her hand flew to her ear, her radio coming on. "Carter here…Yes. I'll send them down now. Carter out."
Sheppard put his hands on the arms of his chair, getting ready to stand. "Keller's waiting?"
"Yes. And Ronon? I am truly sorry about what happened. It should never have happened. But we'll figure it out, and if there's anything I can do, just tell me."
Ronon nodded, but Sheppard was under no illusion that he would follow through.
---
The IV was removed, and Ronon left the infirmary with two bottles of medicine and a tired scowl on his face. He glanced up, but didn't slow his pace as Sheppard moved to follow.
Neither said anything as they stepped into the transporter, not even when Ronon touched the map, and they were walking out again, back towards his room. Ronon was stepping inside, checking the corners, when he realized that Sheppard had not followed him in.
"I can wait out here while you get changed and stuff."
Ronon would have preferred five minutes alone, in his room, without anyone looking over his shoulder. But the idea of Sheppard standing sentry outside his door was no less awkward. "Grabbing a shower so," he waved his hand, inviting him in.
He grabbed a change of clothes and went into the bathroom, locking the door behind himself and turning on the shower as warm as he could stand, because he was still so damned cold, and because showers? Showers, he'd missed, waiting on Sanacra. He let the weight of water soaking through his hair pull his head back, until the tightness in his throat was almost enough to make him cough.
Glancing down at himself, he supposed he looked more or less the way he always had since coming to Atlantis. Keller said he had lost a few pounds, but his skin wasn't stretching over starved ribs. The weird pink blotches were all but gone, and the weakness he was trying not to feel wasn't visible. Apart from the bandage on his hand that he probably wasn't supposed to get wet, he looked the same. Everything was normal.
It wasn't until he caught himself in the mirror while he was toweling off that the bruising on his neck reminded him how wrong he was.
But hell, it's not even gonna scar. He caught himself sneering in the mirror. Get over it.
---
Deciding that changing into familiar, if long-unused, clothing was one of the finest feelings he'd ever known, he opened the door to find Sheppard staring out his window. Tugging at his sleeve until it covered his gauntlets, he took a few steps into the room, and waited.
It wasn't until Sheppard turned, distant puzzlement shading his face, that Ronon knew what he was waiting for, but he didn't have the answers for any questions. Not yet.
"I need to grab a shower," Sheppard said, instead, "and we need to find out what the hell happened. Your throat feeling better?"
He knew he could have spoken, if he'd wanted to, but Ronon just quirked his mouth and dipped his head while he strapped his holster around his waist.
---
John watched the ocean outside and pretended to have a plan, even if he couldn't even pretend to be competent.
Not when my people are attacking their own.
Screw any excuses, John couldn't even imagine a reason for what happened.
But a few things were apparent, even if they didn't make enough sense.
One. The assailant shot the doctors with stunners, but strangled Ronon. Tactically, it was risky, and left too much to chance. This wasn’t their usual type of lunacy. It seemed personal.
Two. Ronon couldn't have done anything to anger anyone since his return, so whoever did this? Had been thinking about it for a while.
Three. They attacked him while he was sleeping, when he was too weak to fight back.
Four. There was at least one person in Atlantis who hated Ronon enough try and kill them with their bare hands. Enough to try again, maybe.
He heard the shower shut off, and a few minutes later, Ronon came back into the room, watching him warily, trying to hide the knives John knew he kept sheathed under his gauntlets.
"I need to grab a shower, and we need to find out what the hell happened. Your throat feeling better?"
Ronon pulled a face and gave a near-nod, wrapping his holster around his hips. Arming himself against any and all attackers. Something about the way he moved included John in those numbers.
He didn't know what he was going to say until he was already saying it.
"Ronon? Hang on a second. You know we're going to figure this out, right?"
Ronon's face became even less readable, but he sighed. "Yeah. Just wasn't sure you knew it."
"What do you mean?"
"McKay said Sanacra was the first place you were going to look, and you decided not to." It was clear that Ronon was only speaking because he'd run out of reasons not to put it off any longer. "Then someone tries to get rid of me when I get back, and…"
John was already shaking his head. "No. No, that's not it at all. First, I did not sabotage the rescue mission. I made a call based on information we believed to be correct." Which we would have had, if you hadn't ditched us. But now, we've got more important things to deal with. "It wound up being a bad call, and for that I'm sorry. "
"Okay."
"Oh. Cool. And. For second, we're not trying to get rid of you." John missed the joke, but Ronon was smiling dryly. "What?"
"Not long ago, no-one was going to let me leave."
John's breath froze, his thoughts going in a hundred directions all at once, while the accusation hung in the air.
He found some words, and hoped for the best. "If you really wanted it, I would've helped you, but I would've missed you. Missed you a lot, as it turns out, and you weren't gone a month. Any rate, I'd rather you made that choice, not some psycho coward. Which is why we need to find the bastard that attacked you, and hang his ass out to dry."
Ronon uncoiled just a little, and regarded John with a speculative look on his face. Shaking his head, he snorted. "Missed you too."
---
There was motion, up ahead in the hallway, which quickly proved to be Teyla hurrying in their direction.
"Ronon!" she spoke, drawing near. "I've just heard. Are you alright?" Her hands came up to grasp at his biceps.
"M'fine," Ronon tilted his forehead down to meet hers, but then her arms slid under his arms and they were embracing, tightly. Ronon was smiling when they parted, though, and John wished he didn't know why it was so annoying, but he got it. Ronon trusted her, without question or reservation. Considering all the shit that had gone down, it was a stupid thing to resent.
"I am glad to hear it. Very much so," Teyla said. "I would like to offer any assistance I can provide in this matter." The arch in her brow made it clear that she was referring to the infliction of pain.
"Actually, there is," John cringed, leading them to the side of the hall as three scientists passed, pretending not to be eavesdropping. "But right now, I don't want either of you going around alone. I have to go start the interrogations," he turned to Ronon, "and you can't be there. Protocol, nothing personal. So, if you two wouldn't mind each other's company for a few hours?"
"Fine by me," Ronon nodded, disappointingly relieved at the prospect.
"With pleasure," Teyla bowed her head. "We have not had the time to talk in some time."
"Okay. I'll track you down as soon as I'm done with this, we'll all go grab dinner, alright?"
"That would be wonderful," Teyla said, and Ronon pulled his hands out of his pockets. John took the gesture as implicit agreement, and started again down the hall.
He'd barely gone around the corner when he heard the footsteps behind him, and turned to find Ronon slowing his paces, tucking his arms across his chest.
"What's up?"
One shoulder raised, but Ronon took a breath. "Just wanted to. You know. Tell you thanks. For looking into it. And. Everything."
"Don't worry about it," John said, trying not to feel embarrassed. "You can thank me when it's over, alright?"
"Right," Ronon tried a quick smile, there and gone again, and headed back to where Teyla stood waiting.
---
"McKay, what do you got?"
"Here's the list of everyone who's entered the quarantine room over the past two days," McKay handed him a printout. "It's interesting. The time stamps are in the left column, and I've highlighted the ones that fall around the time of the attack," McKay explained, an unhappily understanding set to his jaw. "I've also forwarded the list to Carter."
"All right, thanks," Sheppard took the list and backed out of the lab, resolving not to look at it until he was alone at his desk. He didn't want anyone to witness his reaction.
Hurrying to his office, he shut the door, sat down, and closed his eyes for a moment, suddenly exhausted. Eying the clock, he was amazed to find that he'd only been up for three hours. Eventually, though he couldn't put it off any longer, and he began reading down the list.
Three minutes of frozen dread later, he tapped his radio on.
"Lorne, this is Sheppard. I need you in my office now."
Chapter 8
Rating: PG-13
By: Jenda Vis
Spoilers: Up through Reunion
Pairing: Sheppard/Dex
Genre: Drama, WIP
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't take this too seriously.
Summary: Sheppard can't figure Ronon out. Or his motives.
Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6
Chapter 7
"What?" John wanted the universe to just stop, for a minute. Give him a second to catch up.
Fuck.
Taking a deep breath, John leaned over, halting when Ronon pulled back, eyes on him now, untrusting. Suspicious, though how much was habit, and how much was situational, John wasn't about to guess. Ronon seemed too young and too old all at once, and his eyes moved around the room like they'd done when he'd first come to Atlantis.
"It's alright," he said, showing his hands. "I just." He moved forward again, and this time, Ronon tilted his head back, still watching John's face, and let him look at his neck.
Bruises bled into the faded patches of discoloration caused by the poisoning, too much abuse in too short a time. One bruise stood out, darker than the others, mirroring the tattoo on the other side of Ronon's throat.
John looked over to Keller, needing explanation, as Ronon reached over to grab the cup of melting ice chips from the tray, tried too hard to swallow a few down.
"Okay," she began, pulling her uncombed hair back into a ponytail. "One, he's going to be fine. I don't think there will be any lasting damage, but he shouldn't try to talk for a day or two."
"Did you black out?" John asked Ronon, knowing Keller would be the one answering, but it didn't feel right leaving him out of the conversation. Ronon shook his head, tilting his head slightly at Keller.
"It was close," she sighed. "The lights were still off when I came in, and found him like this," There was something in Keller's tone that indicated some small polishing of the facts, but John let it slide, for now at least. "From what I can tell, no one saw anything, but Ryerson's pulling the security footage right now."
"Ryerson?"
"He was on duty. He and Doctor Li were hit with stunners, so I want him recovering once it's completed, but I can call security and-"
Sheppard raising his head, sharply, catching Ronon's mortified expression briefly as he tried to fucking think.
"I need my team working on this." He sighed. "I want the feeds as soon as possible."
"I'll go see how Ryerson's doing," Keller nodded. "I'll be right back."
John waited until the door was closed again. "Did you see who did this to you?"
A slow, irritated shake of his head, and Ronon pointed up towards the lights with a cutting motion. Dark.
"Our guys?" As far as the conversations they needed to have went, this shouldn't have been the first of them. Or the last, but. Never mind.
A hesitant nod tapered off into a shrug as he held up an index figure.
One assailant. He doesn't understand this, either.
"You sleeping when it happened?"
A nod, then, glancing towards the door. "Fought him off. He ran." Even whispering looked painful.
"Is there anything else you can tell me?"
Another shrug, tending towards the negative.
"Okay, well if you think of anything. Well. Are you okay now?"
Ronon moved like he was going to speak again, but the door was opening again, and Keller was bringing a laptop in. Ronon nodded his assent instead. Sure. Fine.
"Good." He looked up to Keller, taking the laptop from her. "It's all on here?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Can we move him out of here? We need to get him somewhere more secure."
Keller gave Ronon an appraising look that he clearly didn't want, but the flinch was minor. "Ah. Well? Okay. The IV needs to stay in, and he needs to be kept warm," she said, checking the drip rate. "Because between the saline-" she shook her head, cutting herself off. "He's going to need to get some more sleep, and I need to be able to check in on him in about seven hours to see about getting his line out, and discharging him properly."
If Ronon was annoyed by the conversation they were about him, he didn't let on. Probably because he wasn't paying any attention at all, just staring at the floor.
"Ronon?" Keller crouched next to his knees, inserting herself into his line of vision. "You feeling up to getting out of here?"
John couldn't be sure that he'd been heard, but after a moment, saw Ronon give a slight nod.
"And you'll have Colonel Sheppard call if something doesn't feel right?"
Yes. Another nod, more affirmative, and Keller seemed satisfied, standing again.
"Well okay, then," she looked to John, giving him the lead.
"Okay, Ronon. You okay with me staying with you for the night?"
His head shot up, surprised by the offer, before looking away in irritation. Fine. Whatever.
"Look, I'm sorry. It's for my own peace of mind. I can't just order a security team to your door." Not if I can't trust them.
---
Ronon steered the IV stand with one hand while carrying the water bottle with his other, following John out of the transporter and down a thankfully empty hallway, half-listening to him talk into his radio. Halting all gate travel and jumper access for some reason. When they reached his door, John held his hand up, before transferring the laptop from his other hand.
When he waved his hand over the door control, his sidearm moved with it.
Ronon didn't even know where his own gun was.
Dropped it, somewhere, maybe. Might still be back on Sanacra- need to go back-
And it all threatened to come crashing down. His feet, bare on the cool floor. The line that pulled at the flesh of his hand when he moved wrong. The tightness in his throat. The attack, the clear fluid chilling the veins it ran through, filling spaces that should have held only his blood.
Because you're no good at hanging onto it yourself.
It was true. If it wasn't, Sheppard wouldn't be walking into his room, ahead of him, gun drawn, aiming at corners as he turned on the lights, looking for the enemies that Ronon couldn't fight off.
But Sheppard's face, when it turned back, was a little sheepish as he gestured Ronon to follow. Ronon found himself following his example anyway, scanning the room, relearning its angles, looking for something that shouldn't be there.
He didn't find that, but he did find seven knives and his gun, holstered, lying on the table next to his bed, the sight of them more welcoming than he'd expected.
"Yeah, ah. Figured Keller wouldn't let you have them in the infirmary," Sheppard said, scratching at his ear before turning to set the laptop down on the desk. Ronon let the door close behind him and sat heavily down upon his bed, trying not to cough and jerking the IV stand back as it threatened to topple again.
"Don't have to stay," he said, wishing his voice was stronger, not wanting to look over to find that Sheppard was wishing the same. This is fucking humiliating. Shit. "I can lock th' door."
He set the bottle down on the table, knowing that John was still watching as he slid his gun from the holster, hefting the familiar weight in his hands.
"Yeah, but would you open it again?"
What're you talking about?
Reading more closely now, he could see severity of Sheppard's anger. It radiated from his shoulders, from the tightness at the corners of his eyes, the hard lines of his mouth as he began to talk. "Ronon, less than an hour ago, someone. One of our own people attacked you. I'm not." Sheppard seemed to realize how loud his voice was getting, and rubbed a hand over his face. "You think I'm gonna be able to sleep right now? I need to figure this shit out."
"Sorry." The word scraped over his throat and he loosened his grip on the IV stand. If I'd been faster. Not so out of it. If I knew why. Ronon held his breath for a minute, trying to calm down.
If I even knew where to start.
Something shifted, then, and Sheppard's shoulders eased, just a fraction of movement. Relenting. "Shit. Look. It's not your fault. Just. Be quiet, lie down, and try and get some rest, okay?"
Ronon stood, dragging the blankets down and repositioning the stand next to the bed.
"I'll still be here in the morning, and we'll talk then, if you're up for it. Okay?"
Ronon lay down, dragging the blanket over him. He would have rubbed his feet together to warm them if Sheppard hadn't been standing there, but decided against it. It was just another weakness that didn't need to be exposed.
A moment passed, and it was time to decide.
John's here. He's here to stand guard against his own people, because you're his friend. Let him.
He turned his head, away from Sheppard or maybe just the light, and closed his eyes.
"Lemme know if you need anything," Sheppard's voice was quiet now, and Ronon decided he probably wouldn't. He already had his gun in his hand. But he appreciated the offer.
---
John shut the lights off, took a deep breath, and began to play the infirmary footage.
Apart from the dim light coming from one of the monitors, the room was in total darkness. Two minutes and fourteen seconds in, light spilled in from outside the room as one person's shadow slowly entered. Unfortunately, the angle of the camera was such that there was no way to catch any useful features. A man, dressed in dark clothes, wearing a knit cap, was all Sheppard could identify. Another forty seconds or so, and the monitor was knocked over, almost immediately followed by the door opening as the assailant made his escape.
It was almost seven minutes of total darkness before the lights came on, and Ryerson wove through the door, his hand on his radio as he fell to his knees to find-
Ronon tried to pull himself back up onto the bed, his feet slipping from under him, probably not for the first time. Something was glistening on the floor, and there were stains on Ronon's shirt. Blood. He scrambled back against the wall when he realized that he wasn't alone, hands forming fists.
He was acting like he expected Ryerson to finish the job.
John looked up from the screen, casting a cautious glance over towards Ronon's bed. He doubted he was sleeping, but didn't want to wake him if, by some miracle, he was. Because if John had this much adrenaline in his system, this late at night, then Ronon, who hadn't only watched this on a screen…
Shit, he's sleeping with his gun, for cryin' out loud. Need any other clues to know how fucked that is?
John forced himself to look back at the screen. Yeah. I really fucking do, and pressed play again.
Keller walked into the room, sending Ryerson out as she moved slowly towards Ronon. Non-threatening but intent, crouching down next to him. Ronon wasn't looking at her, instead staring in the direction of the door. But he raised his hand up for her to inspect. When Keller leaned back, reaching to the side, John figured it out. The IV line had been ripped out. It was almost a relief.
But then the video ended. The last frame was Keller, leaning away, head turned towards the bed, while Ronon's hand reached out into empty space, the other covering his eyes.
---
Ronon woke with a start, the gun still in his hand. Trying to silence his breathing, he adjusted his grip carefully, using as little movement as possible. The sun was almost up, but hadn't quite risen. He tried to remember what the threat was, why he was awake so soon. Then he heard it again. Sounded like…snoring.
He turned his head first, then his shoulders, rolling onto his back to look across the room. Sheppard was still in the chair, head rocked back on his shoulders, throat bared.
As if on cue, the ache in his own throat made itself known again, and he reached over to grab the water from the table, almost toppling the IV stand in the process.
Really ought to put weighted bases on these damned things, he thought, catching it for the seventeenth time, glancing up to see that, yes, of course, Sheppard's eyes were blinking as he raised his head, trying to figure out where he was.
"Hey!" Sheppard's voice was strained as he stretched his arms back up over his head. "How're. Ah. You feeling any better?" Ronon smirked as Sheppard's arms dropped, one hand nearly striking him in the face, and apparently that was answer enough.
"Good. Ah. Alright. It's," he looked down at his watch. "Still really damned early. Another hour before you need to check in with Keller, but we should really track down Carter. Come on. You can watch her yell at me."
---
"You should have woken me up," Carter glared at Sheppard once he finished telling her the story. "There are protocols-"
"I know that, but look. I had to be sure."
"Sure of what?"
"I wanted to review the footage before I told anyone. Needed to know who I can trust, and I know it sounds bad, but right then and right there, it made sense, okay?"
Carter sighed, rolling her eyes, but she managed a sympathetic grin in Ronon's general direction, which was met with the same unrelenting stone-faced stare he had been wearing since leaving the infirmary.
"Okay. Fine. Anyway. Did the footage tell you anything?"
"Nothing useful. It was one guy, though I don't know if there were any others helping him out. I'm guessing he wasn't a scientist."
"You think he's on the security team?"
"I have no clue, hence…" Sheppard waved his hand.
"Right. Okay. You say you've seen the footage from inside the quarantine room?"
"Yes."
"Right. I want all infirmary and hallway footage pulled and examined, for starters. I want to see that, and the footage from quarantine, myself. I'll have Zelenka retrieve the security codes from the infirmary, see if he can figure out who's been in there."
"Zelenka?"
"Why not?"
"Don't take this the wrong way, and I know it's not, you know, the normal run of things. But I'd feel better if McKay handled it. It's just." Sheppard grimaced.
"Of course," Carter nodded. "Believe me, I understand. Okay. If McKay will do it."
"What do you mean, if?"
"It's just. You know how he can be when it comes to things he thinks are beneath him."
"Yeah. But this is Ronon we're talking about here. McKay suited up to go out to Sanacra, where we all thought we'd catch the plague, with no hesitation. He'll have no trouble with this."
"Okay. Good." Apparently the matter was settled. She turned to Ronon. "Now. In the meantime, we need to make sure you're. That something like this doesn't happen again. Until we've got this figured out, I don't want you going anywhere alone."
Ronon's eyes met Sheppard's for a moment, looking for backup, looking for an out, and finding none. It was the clearest reaction he'd shown to anything all morning, since one brief flash he'd let Sheppard see, back in his room. As soon as they'd stepped into the hallway, though, Ronon had shut down. He'd occasionally flex his fingers near his hip, looking for the gun he wouldn't be allowed to wear until he was officially discharged. Since standing his back against the wall in Carter's office, he'd been nodding yes or no, shrugging, but he hadn't spoken once.
Sheppard told himself it wasn't anything to worry about. That Ronon, for once, was following the doctor's orders.
Carter was still talking. "Now. As far as the investigation goes, I don't see how we're going to be able to keep this quiet, and we need to get on top of this immediately." Her hand flew to her ear, her radio coming on. "Carter here…Yes. I'll send them down now. Carter out."
Sheppard put his hands on the arms of his chair, getting ready to stand. "Keller's waiting?"
"Yes. And Ronon? I am truly sorry about what happened. It should never have happened. But we'll figure it out, and if there's anything I can do, just tell me."
Ronon nodded, but Sheppard was under no illusion that he would follow through.
---
The IV was removed, and Ronon left the infirmary with two bottles of medicine and a tired scowl on his face. He glanced up, but didn't slow his pace as Sheppard moved to follow.
Neither said anything as they stepped into the transporter, not even when Ronon touched the map, and they were walking out again, back towards his room. Ronon was stepping inside, checking the corners, when he realized that Sheppard had not followed him in.
"I can wait out here while you get changed and stuff."
Ronon would have preferred five minutes alone, in his room, without anyone looking over his shoulder. But the idea of Sheppard standing sentry outside his door was no less awkward. "Grabbing a shower so," he waved his hand, inviting him in.
He grabbed a change of clothes and went into the bathroom, locking the door behind himself and turning on the shower as warm as he could stand, because he was still so damned cold, and because showers? Showers, he'd missed, waiting on Sanacra. He let the weight of water soaking through his hair pull his head back, until the tightness in his throat was almost enough to make him cough.
Glancing down at himself, he supposed he looked more or less the way he always had since coming to Atlantis. Keller said he had lost a few pounds, but his skin wasn't stretching over starved ribs. The weird pink blotches were all but gone, and the weakness he was trying not to feel wasn't visible. Apart from the bandage on his hand that he probably wasn't supposed to get wet, he looked the same. Everything was normal.
It wasn't until he caught himself in the mirror while he was toweling off that the bruising on his neck reminded him how wrong he was.
But hell, it's not even gonna scar. He caught himself sneering in the mirror. Get over it.
---
Deciding that changing into familiar, if long-unused, clothing was one of the finest feelings he'd ever known, he opened the door to find Sheppard staring out his window. Tugging at his sleeve until it covered his gauntlets, he took a few steps into the room, and waited.
It wasn't until Sheppard turned, distant puzzlement shading his face, that Ronon knew what he was waiting for, but he didn't have the answers for any questions. Not yet.
"I need to grab a shower," Sheppard said, instead, "and we need to find out what the hell happened. Your throat feeling better?"
He knew he could have spoken, if he'd wanted to, but Ronon just quirked his mouth and dipped his head while he strapped his holster around his waist.
---
John watched the ocean outside and pretended to have a plan, even if he couldn't even pretend to be competent.
Not when my people are attacking their own.
Screw any excuses, John couldn't even imagine a reason for what happened.
But a few things were apparent, even if they didn't make enough sense.
One. The assailant shot the doctors with stunners, but strangled Ronon. Tactically, it was risky, and left too much to chance. This wasn’t their usual type of lunacy. It seemed personal.
Two. Ronon couldn't have done anything to anger anyone since his return, so whoever did this? Had been thinking about it for a while.
Three. They attacked him while he was sleeping, when he was too weak to fight back.
Four. There was at least one person in Atlantis who hated Ronon enough try and kill them with their bare hands. Enough to try again, maybe.
He heard the shower shut off, and a few minutes later, Ronon came back into the room, watching him warily, trying to hide the knives John knew he kept sheathed under his gauntlets.
"I need to grab a shower, and we need to find out what the hell happened. Your throat feeling better?"
Ronon pulled a face and gave a near-nod, wrapping his holster around his hips. Arming himself against any and all attackers. Something about the way he moved included John in those numbers.
He didn't know what he was going to say until he was already saying it.
"Ronon? Hang on a second. You know we're going to figure this out, right?"
Ronon's face became even less readable, but he sighed. "Yeah. Just wasn't sure you knew it."
"What do you mean?"
"McKay said Sanacra was the first place you were going to look, and you decided not to." It was clear that Ronon was only speaking because he'd run out of reasons not to put it off any longer. "Then someone tries to get rid of me when I get back, and…"
John was already shaking his head. "No. No, that's not it at all. First, I did not sabotage the rescue mission. I made a call based on information we believed to be correct." Which we would have had, if you hadn't ditched us. But now, we've got more important things to deal with. "It wound up being a bad call, and for that I'm sorry. "
"Okay."
"Oh. Cool. And. For second, we're not trying to get rid of you." John missed the joke, but Ronon was smiling dryly. "What?"
"Not long ago, no-one was going to let me leave."
John's breath froze, his thoughts going in a hundred directions all at once, while the accusation hung in the air.
He found some words, and hoped for the best. "If you really wanted it, I would've helped you, but I would've missed you. Missed you a lot, as it turns out, and you weren't gone a month. Any rate, I'd rather you made that choice, not some psycho coward. Which is why we need to find the bastard that attacked you, and hang his ass out to dry."
Ronon uncoiled just a little, and regarded John with a speculative look on his face. Shaking his head, he snorted. "Missed you too."
---
There was motion, up ahead in the hallway, which quickly proved to be Teyla hurrying in their direction.
"Ronon!" she spoke, drawing near. "I've just heard. Are you alright?" Her hands came up to grasp at his biceps.
"M'fine," Ronon tilted his forehead down to meet hers, but then her arms slid under his arms and they were embracing, tightly. Ronon was smiling when they parted, though, and John wished he didn't know why it was so annoying, but he got it. Ronon trusted her, without question or reservation. Considering all the shit that had gone down, it was a stupid thing to resent.
"I am glad to hear it. Very much so," Teyla said. "I would like to offer any assistance I can provide in this matter." The arch in her brow made it clear that she was referring to the infliction of pain.
"Actually, there is," John cringed, leading them to the side of the hall as three scientists passed, pretending not to be eavesdropping. "But right now, I don't want either of you going around alone. I have to go start the interrogations," he turned to Ronon, "and you can't be there. Protocol, nothing personal. So, if you two wouldn't mind each other's company for a few hours?"
"Fine by me," Ronon nodded, disappointingly relieved at the prospect.
"With pleasure," Teyla bowed her head. "We have not had the time to talk in some time."
"Okay. I'll track you down as soon as I'm done with this, we'll all go grab dinner, alright?"
"That would be wonderful," Teyla said, and Ronon pulled his hands out of his pockets. John took the gesture as implicit agreement, and started again down the hall.
He'd barely gone around the corner when he heard the footsteps behind him, and turned to find Ronon slowing his paces, tucking his arms across his chest.
"What's up?"
One shoulder raised, but Ronon took a breath. "Just wanted to. You know. Tell you thanks. For looking into it. And. Everything."
"Don't worry about it," John said, trying not to feel embarrassed. "You can thank me when it's over, alright?"
"Right," Ronon tried a quick smile, there and gone again, and headed back to where Teyla stood waiting.
---
"McKay, what do you got?"
"Here's the list of everyone who's entered the quarantine room over the past two days," McKay handed him a printout. "It's interesting. The time stamps are in the left column, and I've highlighted the ones that fall around the time of the attack," McKay explained, an unhappily understanding set to his jaw. "I've also forwarded the list to Carter."
"All right, thanks," Sheppard took the list and backed out of the lab, resolving not to look at it until he was alone at his desk. He didn't want anyone to witness his reaction.
Hurrying to his office, he shut the door, sat down, and closed his eyes for a moment, suddenly exhausted. Eying the clock, he was amazed to find that he'd only been up for three hours. Eventually, though he couldn't put it off any longer, and he began reading down the list.
Three minutes of frozen dread later, he tapped his radio on.
"Lorne, this is Sheppard. I need you in my office now."
Chapter 8