(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 Chapter 8
Chapter 9
"Go," Ronon shoved John towards the nearest building as a second shot rang out.
Ducking around the wall, they slid to a stop John eased to his knees. "My arm," he started, wincing as he tried twisting to see the damage. "Shit. Lost my radio."
"Hang on," Ronon said, crouching next to him, already sliding the knife out of his belt. He sliced at back of John's shirt collar, tearing the damp black fabric aside to get a better look.
A gash ran down across his left shoulder and into his tricep, ending in a puncture wound that pulsed more blood every time John moved his arm. Ronon swung around, pulling the material down over John's hands, before folding it roughly and pressing it to the wound. Under his fingers, John's arm was slick with blood.
"Sheppard?"
"M'fine," he answered. "Starting to hurt like a bitch, but my head's clear. How's it look?"
"Don't move your arm," Ronon growled, tapping his radio on. "Security team, this is Ronon. Shots fired on the southwest pier, Sheppard took a hit and we're pinned down," he wheezed, trying to catch his breath. "Both shots came from above, from the northeast."
"Ronon, this is Lorne. We're on our way. Report Sheppard's status?"
"Bleeding, but awake. Grazed his shoulder and arm. Pretty sure it didn't reach the artery, but I think the round's still in there."
"Find cover and stay there, we're hitting the transporters now. We'll be out there as soon as we can."
---
Ronon let himself exhale, finally, and tried not to cough. He tilted his head until he could see John's face, needing to make sure he was still lucid. That he hadn't missed anything. Some small detail that could grow massive enough to kill.
"So," John grimaced, trying to sound unworried as he looked away, out over the water. "This sucks."
"They'll be here in a minute."
"Yeah. Thanks, by the way."
"Sure." Ronon shifted on his knees, trying to keep pressure on the wound.
John was looking out over the water, his face curiously distant, like nothing strange was going on. Like his blood wasn't starting to well up between Ronon's fingers. "Think they were aiming at you or me?"
Ronon wasn't surprised by the question, but couldn't think about it right then. Not while John was bleeding. Not while the shooter was probably trying to find a clear trajectory. "Hopefully, you. Otherwise, you've got a sniper out there with no idea what he's doing."
"That's. A fair concern, actually," John turned his head gingerly. "Aside from being shot in the first place. We’re gonna need to increase training on the firing range."
"Yeah, well." Ronon froze at the sound of a door opening across the pier, and felt his heart lurch in panic. He turned to find four men in full armor running towards them, med kit in tow.
John was already trying to rise to his feet, even before Ronon was.
---
Keller promised Ronon that she'd take care of John, but that didn't stop him from worrying.
About how a bullet can shift inside a body, work itself deeper to tear through muscle. About how a bone fragment was sharp enough to slice through an artery, even though they'd done their best to immobilize it. About what it meant to be betrayed. About the glare Amundson shot in his direction as they passed in the hall.
He was kicked out into the waiting area to find Teyla and McKay exiting the transporter. Both looked nervous and out of breath.
"We wanted to make sure you were unharmed," Teyla explained, her arm reaching up towards Ronon's, falling without contact.
"Yeah, sure. Because Sheppard being shot at wasn't enough to get us out here, even if he pulled some stupid-"
"Wasn't his fault, McKay." Ronon leaned back against the wall and tracked two more marines as they passed by, eyes not straying from the path.
"Yeah. Well. Still," McKay stated, apparently ending, and winning, his own argument.
Teyla shook her head, scornfully. "How is he?"
"He was bleeding pretty bad," was all he could think to say. Either he was caught out because of me, or one of his own turned on him. How the hell do you think he is?
---
Other than barely answering Carter's questions, sometime in the first long hour, little more was said until Keller finally stepped out through the door. She was smiling wanly, and explained in too many words that John was fine, but wiped out on painkillers. He wouldn't be cleared for full duty for at least two weeks, if not three, but he could return to his quarters as soon as he found his feet.
"How're you doing?" Ronon asked, stepping towards the bed, McKay and Teyla bringing up the rear.
"Feeling no pain, man." John grinned. "I don't even mind lying here right now. Bunch of stitches, and they did all sorts of funky stuff to the bone, but I'm getting out of here with nothing more than a sling an' some bandages."
"Sounds good."
"Yes. Considering," McKay cut in, and Ronon found himself wishing that he'd stayed in the labs.
"I am glad you are all right," Teyla insisted, shooting a cross look in McKay's direction.
John scanned their faces for clues. "Any leads yet?"
"Carter and Lorne are working on it," Ronon said.
"There's a bullet this time. Keller wouldn't let me keep it."
McKay rolled his eyes as hand went up to his radio. "Yes, what is it?" He nodded a few times, before turning back. "They found the casings. Just have to try matching it to a missing gun. No missing gun, then we have to look at the striations. We don't have a forensics lab, but between the botanists and the structural engineers, we do have the first five seasons of CSI on DVD."
"Seriously?"
Ronon figured that John wasn't supposed to laugh at that, but said nothing, sharing a wary look with Teyla.
She raised an eyebrow at Ronon, but turned away. "Rodney, would it be an imposition for me join you in the lab? I must admit, I am most curious to see your plan in action."
"Want to watch the maestro at work, do you? Of course," he said, his mouth slashing up to one side, mostly joking. "Let's go. Sheppard. Ronon." He nodded vaguely and bent to retrieve his datapad, while Teyla rolled her eyes at his back, pointedly bowing towards John.
"If you need anything, please let me know. Rest and feel better, John."
"Thanks," he said, embarrassment reading clear on his face, and with that, they were left nearly alone. The presence of guards standing outside the infirmary door was felt, more than seen, in the forced calm expressed by the medical staff.
"So," John brushed imaginary lint off the BDUs he still wore, apparently unsure if he wanted Ronon's presence there or not.
"So." Ronon echoed. He didn't know what to say either. I'm sorry I got you hurt. I'm sorry you're not able to look your men in the eye right now. I'm sorry I'm all that you've got left right now.
The silence hung for a few moments, before John rolled his head back against the pillow, peering down his nose at Ronon. "This is awkward, isn't it?"
"Yeah," he agreed, resisting the urge to stand up taller under his observation. "You need anything?"
John's eyes dipped down Ronon's arm. "If you wouldn't mind putting the knife down, I'd be much obliged."
Ronon looked down to catch the flash of the blade as it spun in his hand again. He hadn't even realized he was doing it. John's blood had dried on the edge, probably some time ago. "Sorry," he said, deliberately not wiping it clean as he slid it into the sheath on his belt.
John just nodded, and Ronon wished he knew what to do with himself. He pulled a chair up from against the wall, seating himself on the edge, arms resting on his knees as he leaned towards the bed. He spoke quietly. "Look. This is fucked up. If they were shooting at you-"
"I'm starting to suspect we've got a slight morale issue on our hands," John said, all bravado and sarcasm. "But they're on it. Don't worry about it right now."
"If my staying here means putting you at risk, Carter will have no problem letting me leave." You're too damned important. The city needs you, more than it needs me.
Sheppard slid a glance at the foot of the bed, the humor dropping from his tone. "Running out on me already? Thought we were over that."
"I mean," Ronon sighed. I can't ask you to risk yourself over this.
John just watched him for a minute, strategizing, before trying a grin. "Okay. We've been over this. You're not a prisoner here. But I'd rather you stayed and helped us figure this out, all right? 'Sides. Still don't know that they weren't aiming at me." The smile didn't leave his face, but it didn't reach his eyes, either.
"It's still a risk." Once you're gone, I doubt I'll be staying here anyway.
"If you weren't there back there, I'd be screwed. Stuck without my radio and pinned down, bleeding with no bandages. Besides. There are a hundred reasons someone would want to shoot me. Lorne threatens to all the time. We don't know that it has anything to do with what happened to you."
"You seriously believe that?"
John sat himself up, gingerly, using his good arm as leverage. "Very recently, I seriously believed I was floating three inches above my body, so who could say?"
"Sheppard."
"Ronon." John sighed, easing his feet over the side of the edge. "Seriously. This isn't your fault. Let's get out of here. You're totally harshing my mellow."
"I have no idea what that means."
"It means you need to cheer up. I'm fine."
But you're not as immortal as you think you are, Ronon thought, but he rose anyway, ready to help him stand.
---
Upright, with a destination in mind, John seemed to sober up very quickly, nodding his way impatiently through Keller's post care instructions.
"I can have security escort you," she finally offered, her lecture finally drawing to a close.
"I've already got Ronon," John said, his tone sharp and final, before relenting. "Though, for a while there, I 'm pretty sure I was supposed to be babysitting him, but it all evens out in the end, right? Anyway, we need to check in with Carter."
"All right, then, Colonel, you're free to go," she said, her head jerking back in the direction of the door as raised voices were heard.
"It's Roth, he collapsed in the mess hall," Ryerson called. "At least one broken rib- his lung-"
"Get him up on the table," Keller instructed, thrusting her datapad into Ronon's hands before hurrying over, leaving him to find somewhere to set it so it wouldn't be lost or damaged.
John stepped forward, watching as the Lieutenant was brought in on a stretcher, his shirt already opened to reveal severe bruising as they moved back around the curtain.
"What the hell?" Sheppard turned his neck carefully, catching Ronon in a sideways glance. "You seeing this?"
"Another attack?" Ronon caught up and eyed the curtain speculatively as they passed. Stepping out into the hallway, ignoring the guards watching them, he turned back to John. "How's he look?"
"Bruised to hell and back. Like he went nine rounds with you and lost." John passed by him, rolling his neck against the edge of the sling's strap.
"Huh." Ronon's gaze didn't waver from the transporter at the end of the hallway. "Wait-"
"Yeah," Sheppard said, realization already dawning on his face. "Shit. You think?"
"I'm pretty sure I got a few hits in. Wasn't nine rounds, but."
"You still got your radio?"
"Yeah."
"We get to my quarters, and call Carter. Closed channel."
---
It was almost an hour before Carter came to John's room, speaking even before the door was closed behind her. "Okay. Keller won't let anyone in to see him until morning at the earliest. Lorne found the rifle in his room, two rounds light. It's a good lead. That in mind, I need to know." She regarded Ronon seriously. "How confident are you that Roth is the one that attacked you?"
"I'm not sure," Ronon shrugged, annoyed, and pressed against the bruises on his neck until his throat itched.
"If it happened last night," John asked, "why did it take so long to show up?"
"According to Doctor Keller, he had two fractured ribs. From what I understand, he was reaching for a tray in the mess hall when he moved wrong, causing one of them to break completely. Right now, I don't know anything more than that, but I will once Jennifer finishes her assessment."
"You think he could have been running around sniping at us in that condition?"
Catrer pursed her lips. "If he made good use of the transporters, then I don't see why not."
"Okay, then the only thing that doesn't make sense is why he snapped. Lorne says Roth's the model teammate, and he's on track to make Captain in, what, six months? Never had any problems with him before."
"That would seem to be the question. I'll know more in the morning." She nodded, rubbing her hands together. "Right now, I have Lorne waiting in my office, I need to fill him in. I've also got a security team on Teyla and Rodney. John, in case Keller's instructions were not enough for you, I'm ordering that the both of you remain in your quarters until tomorrow morning."
Ronon scowled. "Why?"
"Aside from safety, to avoid the appearance of impropriety," Carter smiled apologetically at his confused look. "There are a lot of questions that could be asked, and a lot of it depends on making sure our answers are not influenced by some offhand comment, or even your presence in the room. Does that make sense?"
"Guess so," Ronon said, noncommittally.
"I'm posting security outside your quarters as well," Carter said, but John shook his head.
"Nah. He can stay here." His expression seemed deliberately unreadable, but he continued, looking towards the door. "It'll free up resources and keep me from worrying."
---
"Would you stop pacing, you're driving me nuts," John grumbled, finally setting aside his magazine.
"Sorry," Ronon cleared aside the trays Teyla had brought earlier, and sat on the table, deciding that it couldn't be put off any longer. "So what do you think happened with Roth?"
"Been trying to work that out. Don't have a clue. You?"
"No. I. Me and him never had any problems, far as I know." Ronon shrugged. "But I could be wrong. Can't always read you people."
"Right. Well," John struggled to sit up straight. "Here's what we've got. The gun was in his locker. Unless he says otherwise, it looks like his ribs were busted last night. It would have been easy for him to grab Amundson's access codes."
"He's a good shot, though. Usually matches me target for target," Ronon didn't want to finish the thought to its logical conclusion. He should have been able to kill you.
"Right. And he missed. Could have been the injury, throwing off his aim. It's not the bullets you dodge that you need to worry about. Anyway. We're Not going to know anything more until Carter talks to Roth."
"You're not going to?"
"No. Same reason you weren't in the room with Amundson when we were grilling him."
"You think they were working together?"
"Could be. They're pretty tight. Though, generally, Amundson," John yawned. "You know."
"He's an asshole."
"Right. And Roth gets along with everyone."
"You think Amundson put him up to it?"
"I have no idea." His eyes were dark, shaded, and Ronon wondered what he was supposed to say in a situation like this.
John tried and failed to choke back another yawn, wincing as his arm moved. "All right. I gotta crash out."
"Yeah," Ronon agreed, and eyed the cot set up a few feet from John's bed. "Not a bad idea." He stood up and removed the bottle of pills from his pocket, shaking one out and swallowing it dry. "Need help with anything?"
"I'm good," John mumbled, easing back down and closing his eyes. "There's extra blankets in the closet if those aren't enough."
Ronon fidgeted with the fifth knife he pulled out of his hair before setting it on the dresser, glancing up in the mirror to check on John as he pulled off his boots. He removed his holster, slid the gun under his pillow, and lay down to stare at the ceiling until his eyes began to close. It took a long while.
---
The door opened slowly, one figure moving silently through the room, there and gone again, leaving John's throat slit while Ronon slept on, oblivious.
Ronon had known he was dreaming, even before he woke, but he made himself sit up to search out the light coming through the window, the readout of the clock. Placing his bare feet on the floor, he rose and crossed the space to John's bed.
John slept on his right side with his good arm cast above his head, fingers curling slightly towards his palm. A bandage wrapped around his left arm and crept up over his shoulder to disappear beneath his sleeveless shirt. One corner of the tape, down near his elbow, was coming loose.
Ronon pressed it carefully back to John's skin, mindful of the stitches. John sighed, shifting, muscles sliding under his skin, but he did not wake, and Ronon stepped back, sitting down to consider him from the cot.
Either the painkillers, or his resolve to hide his concern, had faded. It was visible in the line between John's brows, nearly hidden behind his arm, and the tightness at the corner of his mouth.
It seemed natural to want to reach out, erase the tension with his fingertips, another old instinct reasserting itself, maybe. Or maybe just the drugs Keller had given him. So Ronon did nothing. Bandages were one thing, but Ronon had no idea how to fix this.
He lay down again, on his side, and kept watch until his eyes lost their focus on John's face.
---
The throbbing in his arm woke John two hours before he was ready to open his eyes. It wasn't until he managed to swallow down another painkiller that he realized that he hadn't noticed Ronon sleeping five feet away.
He figured he was tired enough that his brain didn't identify Ronon as something that wouldn’t normally be there. He'd just seemed like a natural part of the scenery. Like he belonged there, dead to the world in John's room, sprawled on his stomach with his hair falling over his face.
John was too tired to process that, either, so he lay back down to wait for the drugs to kick in, and tried to recall if he'd ever seen Ronon sleep unaided by medicine. He couldn't remember, though, and drifted off, thinking it was a shame.
Chapter 10
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 Chapter 8
Chapter 9
"Go," Ronon shoved John towards the nearest building as a second shot rang out.
Ducking around the wall, they slid to a stop John eased to his knees. "My arm," he started, wincing as he tried twisting to see the damage. "Shit. Lost my radio."
"Hang on," Ronon said, crouching next to him, already sliding the knife out of his belt. He sliced at back of John's shirt collar, tearing the damp black fabric aside to get a better look.
A gash ran down across his left shoulder and into his tricep, ending in a puncture wound that pulsed more blood every time John moved his arm. Ronon swung around, pulling the material down over John's hands, before folding it roughly and pressing it to the wound. Under his fingers, John's arm was slick with blood.
"Sheppard?"
"M'fine," he answered. "Starting to hurt like a bitch, but my head's clear. How's it look?"
"Don't move your arm," Ronon growled, tapping his radio on. "Security team, this is Ronon. Shots fired on the southwest pier, Sheppard took a hit and we're pinned down," he wheezed, trying to catch his breath. "Both shots came from above, from the northeast."
"Ronon, this is Lorne. We're on our way. Report Sheppard's status?"
"Bleeding, but awake. Grazed his shoulder and arm. Pretty sure it didn't reach the artery, but I think the round's still in there."
"Find cover and stay there, we're hitting the transporters now. We'll be out there as soon as we can."
---
Ronon let himself exhale, finally, and tried not to cough. He tilted his head until he could see John's face, needing to make sure he was still lucid. That he hadn't missed anything. Some small detail that could grow massive enough to kill.
"So," John grimaced, trying to sound unworried as he looked away, out over the water. "This sucks."
"They'll be here in a minute."
"Yeah. Thanks, by the way."
"Sure." Ronon shifted on his knees, trying to keep pressure on the wound.
John was looking out over the water, his face curiously distant, like nothing strange was going on. Like his blood wasn't starting to well up between Ronon's fingers. "Think they were aiming at you or me?"
Ronon wasn't surprised by the question, but couldn't think about it right then. Not while John was bleeding. Not while the shooter was probably trying to find a clear trajectory. "Hopefully, you. Otherwise, you've got a sniper out there with no idea what he's doing."
"That's. A fair concern, actually," John turned his head gingerly. "Aside from being shot in the first place. We’re gonna need to increase training on the firing range."
"Yeah, well." Ronon froze at the sound of a door opening across the pier, and felt his heart lurch in panic. He turned to find four men in full armor running towards them, med kit in tow.
John was already trying to rise to his feet, even before Ronon was.
---
Keller promised Ronon that she'd take care of John, but that didn't stop him from worrying.
About how a bullet can shift inside a body, work itself deeper to tear through muscle. About how a bone fragment was sharp enough to slice through an artery, even though they'd done their best to immobilize it. About what it meant to be betrayed. About the glare Amundson shot in his direction as they passed in the hall.
He was kicked out into the waiting area to find Teyla and McKay exiting the transporter. Both looked nervous and out of breath.
"We wanted to make sure you were unharmed," Teyla explained, her arm reaching up towards Ronon's, falling without contact.
"Yeah, sure. Because Sheppard being shot at wasn't enough to get us out here, even if he pulled some stupid-"
"Wasn't his fault, McKay." Ronon leaned back against the wall and tracked two more marines as they passed by, eyes not straying from the path.
"Yeah. Well. Still," McKay stated, apparently ending, and winning, his own argument.
Teyla shook her head, scornfully. "How is he?"
"He was bleeding pretty bad," was all he could think to say. Either he was caught out because of me, or one of his own turned on him. How the hell do you think he is?
---
Other than barely answering Carter's questions, sometime in the first long hour, little more was said until Keller finally stepped out through the door. She was smiling wanly, and explained in too many words that John was fine, but wiped out on painkillers. He wouldn't be cleared for full duty for at least two weeks, if not three, but he could return to his quarters as soon as he found his feet.
"How're you doing?" Ronon asked, stepping towards the bed, McKay and Teyla bringing up the rear.
"Feeling no pain, man." John grinned. "I don't even mind lying here right now. Bunch of stitches, and they did all sorts of funky stuff to the bone, but I'm getting out of here with nothing more than a sling an' some bandages."
"Sounds good."
"Yes. Considering," McKay cut in, and Ronon found himself wishing that he'd stayed in the labs.
"I am glad you are all right," Teyla insisted, shooting a cross look in McKay's direction.
John scanned their faces for clues. "Any leads yet?"
"Carter and Lorne are working on it," Ronon said.
"There's a bullet this time. Keller wouldn't let me keep it."
McKay rolled his eyes as hand went up to his radio. "Yes, what is it?" He nodded a few times, before turning back. "They found the casings. Just have to try matching it to a missing gun. No missing gun, then we have to look at the striations. We don't have a forensics lab, but between the botanists and the structural engineers, we do have the first five seasons of CSI on DVD."
"Seriously?"
Ronon figured that John wasn't supposed to laugh at that, but said nothing, sharing a wary look with Teyla.
She raised an eyebrow at Ronon, but turned away. "Rodney, would it be an imposition for me join you in the lab? I must admit, I am most curious to see your plan in action."
"Want to watch the maestro at work, do you? Of course," he said, his mouth slashing up to one side, mostly joking. "Let's go. Sheppard. Ronon." He nodded vaguely and bent to retrieve his datapad, while Teyla rolled her eyes at his back, pointedly bowing towards John.
"If you need anything, please let me know. Rest and feel better, John."
"Thanks," he said, embarrassment reading clear on his face, and with that, they were left nearly alone. The presence of guards standing outside the infirmary door was felt, more than seen, in the forced calm expressed by the medical staff.
"So," John brushed imaginary lint off the BDUs he still wore, apparently unsure if he wanted Ronon's presence there or not.
"So." Ronon echoed. He didn't know what to say either. I'm sorry I got you hurt. I'm sorry you're not able to look your men in the eye right now. I'm sorry I'm all that you've got left right now.
The silence hung for a few moments, before John rolled his head back against the pillow, peering down his nose at Ronon. "This is awkward, isn't it?"
"Yeah," he agreed, resisting the urge to stand up taller under his observation. "You need anything?"
John's eyes dipped down Ronon's arm. "If you wouldn't mind putting the knife down, I'd be much obliged."
Ronon looked down to catch the flash of the blade as it spun in his hand again. He hadn't even realized he was doing it. John's blood had dried on the edge, probably some time ago. "Sorry," he said, deliberately not wiping it clean as he slid it into the sheath on his belt.
John just nodded, and Ronon wished he knew what to do with himself. He pulled a chair up from against the wall, seating himself on the edge, arms resting on his knees as he leaned towards the bed. He spoke quietly. "Look. This is fucked up. If they were shooting at you-"
"I'm starting to suspect we've got a slight morale issue on our hands," John said, all bravado and sarcasm. "But they're on it. Don't worry about it right now."
"If my staying here means putting you at risk, Carter will have no problem letting me leave." You're too damned important. The city needs you, more than it needs me.
Sheppard slid a glance at the foot of the bed, the humor dropping from his tone. "Running out on me already? Thought we were over that."
"I mean," Ronon sighed. I can't ask you to risk yourself over this.
John just watched him for a minute, strategizing, before trying a grin. "Okay. We've been over this. You're not a prisoner here. But I'd rather you stayed and helped us figure this out, all right? 'Sides. Still don't know that they weren't aiming at me." The smile didn't leave his face, but it didn't reach his eyes, either.
"It's still a risk." Once you're gone, I doubt I'll be staying here anyway.
"If you weren't there back there, I'd be screwed. Stuck without my radio and pinned down, bleeding with no bandages. Besides. There are a hundred reasons someone would want to shoot me. Lorne threatens to all the time. We don't know that it has anything to do with what happened to you."
"You seriously believe that?"
John sat himself up, gingerly, using his good arm as leverage. "Very recently, I seriously believed I was floating three inches above my body, so who could say?"
"Sheppard."
"Ronon." John sighed, easing his feet over the side of the edge. "Seriously. This isn't your fault. Let's get out of here. You're totally harshing my mellow."
"I have no idea what that means."
"It means you need to cheer up. I'm fine."
But you're not as immortal as you think you are, Ronon thought, but he rose anyway, ready to help him stand.
---
Upright, with a destination in mind, John seemed to sober up very quickly, nodding his way impatiently through Keller's post care instructions.
"I can have security escort you," she finally offered, her lecture finally drawing to a close.
"I've already got Ronon," John said, his tone sharp and final, before relenting. "Though, for a while there, I 'm pretty sure I was supposed to be babysitting him, but it all evens out in the end, right? Anyway, we need to check in with Carter."
"All right, then, Colonel, you're free to go," she said, her head jerking back in the direction of the door as raised voices were heard.
"It's Roth, he collapsed in the mess hall," Ryerson called. "At least one broken rib- his lung-"
"Get him up on the table," Keller instructed, thrusting her datapad into Ronon's hands before hurrying over, leaving him to find somewhere to set it so it wouldn't be lost or damaged.
John stepped forward, watching as the Lieutenant was brought in on a stretcher, his shirt already opened to reveal severe bruising as they moved back around the curtain.
"What the hell?" Sheppard turned his neck carefully, catching Ronon in a sideways glance. "You seeing this?"
"Another attack?" Ronon caught up and eyed the curtain speculatively as they passed. Stepping out into the hallway, ignoring the guards watching them, he turned back to John. "How's he look?"
"Bruised to hell and back. Like he went nine rounds with you and lost." John passed by him, rolling his neck against the edge of the sling's strap.
"Huh." Ronon's gaze didn't waver from the transporter at the end of the hallway. "Wait-"
"Yeah," Sheppard said, realization already dawning on his face. "Shit. You think?"
"I'm pretty sure I got a few hits in. Wasn't nine rounds, but."
"You still got your radio?"
"Yeah."
"We get to my quarters, and call Carter. Closed channel."
---
It was almost an hour before Carter came to John's room, speaking even before the door was closed behind her. "Okay. Keller won't let anyone in to see him until morning at the earliest. Lorne found the rifle in his room, two rounds light. It's a good lead. That in mind, I need to know." She regarded Ronon seriously. "How confident are you that Roth is the one that attacked you?"
"I'm not sure," Ronon shrugged, annoyed, and pressed against the bruises on his neck until his throat itched.
"If it happened last night," John asked, "why did it take so long to show up?"
"According to Doctor Keller, he had two fractured ribs. From what I understand, he was reaching for a tray in the mess hall when he moved wrong, causing one of them to break completely. Right now, I don't know anything more than that, but I will once Jennifer finishes her assessment."
"You think he could have been running around sniping at us in that condition?"
Catrer pursed her lips. "If he made good use of the transporters, then I don't see why not."
"Okay, then the only thing that doesn't make sense is why he snapped. Lorne says Roth's the model teammate, and he's on track to make Captain in, what, six months? Never had any problems with him before."
"That would seem to be the question. I'll know more in the morning." She nodded, rubbing her hands together. "Right now, I have Lorne waiting in my office, I need to fill him in. I've also got a security team on Teyla and Rodney. John, in case Keller's instructions were not enough for you, I'm ordering that the both of you remain in your quarters until tomorrow morning."
Ronon scowled. "Why?"
"Aside from safety, to avoid the appearance of impropriety," Carter smiled apologetically at his confused look. "There are a lot of questions that could be asked, and a lot of it depends on making sure our answers are not influenced by some offhand comment, or even your presence in the room. Does that make sense?"
"Guess so," Ronon said, noncommittally.
"I'm posting security outside your quarters as well," Carter said, but John shook his head.
"Nah. He can stay here." His expression seemed deliberately unreadable, but he continued, looking towards the door. "It'll free up resources and keep me from worrying."
---
"Would you stop pacing, you're driving me nuts," John grumbled, finally setting aside his magazine.
"Sorry," Ronon cleared aside the trays Teyla had brought earlier, and sat on the table, deciding that it couldn't be put off any longer. "So what do you think happened with Roth?"
"Been trying to work that out. Don't have a clue. You?"
"No. I. Me and him never had any problems, far as I know." Ronon shrugged. "But I could be wrong. Can't always read you people."
"Right. Well," John struggled to sit up straight. "Here's what we've got. The gun was in his locker. Unless he says otherwise, it looks like his ribs were busted last night. It would have been easy for him to grab Amundson's access codes."
"He's a good shot, though. Usually matches me target for target," Ronon didn't want to finish the thought to its logical conclusion. He should have been able to kill you.
"Right. And he missed. Could have been the injury, throwing off his aim. It's not the bullets you dodge that you need to worry about. Anyway. We're Not going to know anything more until Carter talks to Roth."
"You're not going to?"
"No. Same reason you weren't in the room with Amundson when we were grilling him."
"You think they were working together?"
"Could be. They're pretty tight. Though, generally, Amundson," John yawned. "You know."
"He's an asshole."
"Right. And Roth gets along with everyone."
"You think Amundson put him up to it?"
"I have no idea." His eyes were dark, shaded, and Ronon wondered what he was supposed to say in a situation like this.
John tried and failed to choke back another yawn, wincing as his arm moved. "All right. I gotta crash out."
"Yeah," Ronon agreed, and eyed the cot set up a few feet from John's bed. "Not a bad idea." He stood up and removed the bottle of pills from his pocket, shaking one out and swallowing it dry. "Need help with anything?"
"I'm good," John mumbled, easing back down and closing his eyes. "There's extra blankets in the closet if those aren't enough."
Ronon fidgeted with the fifth knife he pulled out of his hair before setting it on the dresser, glancing up in the mirror to check on John as he pulled off his boots. He removed his holster, slid the gun under his pillow, and lay down to stare at the ceiling until his eyes began to close. It took a long while.
---
The door opened slowly, one figure moving silently through the room, there and gone again, leaving John's throat slit while Ronon slept on, oblivious.
Ronon had known he was dreaming, even before he woke, but he made himself sit up to search out the light coming through the window, the readout of the clock. Placing his bare feet on the floor, he rose and crossed the space to John's bed.
John slept on his right side with his good arm cast above his head, fingers curling slightly towards his palm. A bandage wrapped around his left arm and crept up over his shoulder to disappear beneath his sleeveless shirt. One corner of the tape, down near his elbow, was coming loose.
Ronon pressed it carefully back to John's skin, mindful of the stitches. John sighed, shifting, muscles sliding under his skin, but he did not wake, and Ronon stepped back, sitting down to consider him from the cot.
Either the painkillers, or his resolve to hide his concern, had faded. It was visible in the line between John's brows, nearly hidden behind his arm, and the tightness at the corner of his mouth.
It seemed natural to want to reach out, erase the tension with his fingertips, another old instinct reasserting itself, maybe. Or maybe just the drugs Keller had given him. So Ronon did nothing. Bandages were one thing, but Ronon had no idea how to fix this.
He lay down again, on his side, and kept watch until his eyes lost their focus on John's face.
---
The throbbing in his arm woke John two hours before he was ready to open his eyes. It wasn't until he managed to swallow down another painkiller that he realized that he hadn't noticed Ronon sleeping five feet away.
He figured he was tired enough that his brain didn't identify Ronon as something that wouldn’t normally be there. He'd just seemed like a natural part of the scenery. Like he belonged there, dead to the world in John's room, sprawled on his stomach with his hair falling over his face.
John was too tired to process that, either, so he lay back down to wait for the drugs to kick in, and tried to recall if he'd ever seen Ronon sleep unaided by medicine. He couldn't remember, though, and drifted off, thinking it was a shame.
Chapter 10