A/N: This is a post-Sateda fic, set just after the episode events. Ronon-centric with Beckett and Team friendship.

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Heavy.

Everything felt heavy.

He couldn't lift his head, he couldn't open his eyes. He couldn't even remember lying down.

He was tempted to surrender to the tiredness in his mind and sleep, but a faint sense of unease told him he couldn't. Ronon tried again to force his eyes to open. It could have been a second later or an hour, but they finally responded and drifted awake.

A light, blindingly bright, was above him.

The sun.

It all came back to him in one sudden, terrible moment. The sun. His breath caught in his throat as he realized he was out in the open. If he could see the sun, the Wraith would be able to see him. He cursed himself for being so careless. His instincts took over immediately as he lifted his head as much as he could, ignoring the dull pain. He could evaluate his stupidity later.

As he began to sit up, he encountered resistance. Wires, tubes stuck into his arms. Odd. He pulled them off easily as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Bed? He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept in a bed.

He scanned the area quickly, but his blurred vision couldn't make sense of what he was seeing. He was inside, not outside. In a room, but that couldn't be. He never would have stopped within a settlement.

Something wasn't right. But, he couldn't focus long enough to figure out what it was.

Despite his confusion, he was sure of one thing. He needed to keep moving. Wherever he was, he needed to be someplace else. He needed to find the Gate.

He set his bare feet on the floor and tried to stand. Not only was his mind unsteady, but his legs seemed to be as well. He realized he was standing when he began to fall. Holding onto the edge of the bed, he waited for the room to stop spinning. He stumbled forward, bracing himself against anything that could hold him up.

Slowly, he negotiated his way his way to the far side of the room, where he thought he saw a door. With any luck, it would lead to the outside. He was vaguely aware of voices nearby, but he didn't pay them any more attention than was required to avoid them. He couldn't risk anyone else's life. There could still be time to save the people that had harbored him.

"You can tell Dr. McKay he can leave at any time," Beckett said as he signed off on the appropriate chart and handed it back to the assisting nurse.

He thought he heard a sigh of relief escape her lips. He couldn't help but smile to himself. The return trip on the Daedalus was far from eventful. And, with no life-threatening catastrophe looming over his head, McKay had found a certain amount of enjoyment in assessing the efficiency of the medical staff, which in his estimation was woefully lacking in sixteen different areas. Things would no doubt become significantly calmer with Rodney officially out of the their hair.

The nurse handed him the last chart of the shift and returned to her duties. Beckett continued on down the corridor as he scanned the top page.

Dex, Ronon.

Considering the situation, he would have expected Ronon to be in far worse shape. Most didn't survive contact with Wraith, let alone repeated interactions. But, Ronon wasn't like most people.

He knew the fact Ronon was still alive was more a testament to his will to survive rather than any medical skill Beckett brought to the equation. The surgery to repair the damage the tracking device did and the shrapnel wound in his leg was relatively minor. Shock, exhaustion, dehydration. Those were all manageable. It would take time, but Beckett was confident there would be no lasting physical effects.

He couldn't speak for any residual emotional effects, however. It wasn't his area of expertise.

Even though he knew Ronon as well as he could, he couldn't pretend to imagine what might be going through his mind after an ordeal like that. He'd made it a point to know the people he treated, but Ronon had been a challenge bordering on the impossible. The man rarely spoke. When he did, it was often one-word replies. He offered little information about himself. And, what few details Beckett had managed to learn came from second-hand sources and asking the right question every now and then.

The first few months Ronon had been with them were uneasy for him, that much Beckett could tell. Initially, Ronon had trusted them not to kill him in his sleep or turn him over to the Wraith, but little beyond that. It was the same cautiousness that allowed Beckett to operate on him the first time, but not without a gun pointed at Teyla.

It took time before he was satisfied they were worthy of trust. It took weeks before he began to smile faintly at Beckett's attempts at humor or exchanged looks with Teyla and Sheppard over Rodney's latest litany of complaints. Months before he understood that Beckett would have helped him remove the transmitter regardless of the circumstances. He had adapted to the situation as he had done countless times before. He'd let himself trust the people of Atlantis and that had helped him to survive once again.

Arriving at his destination, Beckett checked his watch as he turned the corner into the room. He'd just be able to catch the end of dinner at the mess if he was lucky. Considering he hadn't had a proper meal since the day before, it would be a nice to change to have something hot that wasn't served in a coffee cup.

He stopped short as he lifted his eyes. Ronon's bed was empty and he was nowhere in sight.

"Ronon?" Beckett called out as he set the chart aside.

His absence wasn't entirely surprising. He had a habit of leaving the infirmary whenever he felt he was sufficiently recovered. Of course, his idea of 'recovered' usually involved being able to walk and little more, case in point.

Beckett could only hope one of the medical staff had seen which way he went. He scanned the room once more and was about to start the search, when he caught sight of a familiar shade of surgical blue in the far corner of the room. He took a step sideways to get a better look. Sure enough, he could just make out a figure dressed in scrubs, partially obscured by a supply cart. That was a relief. He wasn't exactly looking forward to tracking down a man that the Wraith had trouble keeping tabs on.

Beckett rounded the side of the bed and made his way over. Ronon was sitting on the floor, leaning heavily against the wall. It looked as though he had been trying for the door, but hadn't made it quite that far. Still, Beckett had to admire the attempt. If it were anyone else, he might have been more concerned, but Ronon could look after himself better than most.

"What are you doing over here?" Beckett asked good-naturedly as he crouched down in front of Ronon. "Surely the floor can't be all that comfortable."

No response. Maybe he hadn't heard him.

Beckett looked him over once to make sure he was all right. It didn't seem as though he'd disturbed any of the stitches in his leg, which was a small miracle in his estimation.

His eyes were only half-open and he didn't seem to be focusing on anything in particular. It could have been a lingering effect of the sedatives he had been given, exhaustion, shock, or a combination thereof. Sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead. Fever, perhaps, or simply overexertion.

"Ronon?" Beckett tried again.

Ronon didn't lift his head. "Go away," he managed between uneven breaths.

"I'm sorry, but I can't do that," Beckett said. He appreciated the man's sense of independence, but this was ridiculous. "Wherever you were planning on going, it'll have to wait. You need to rest. You shouldn't even be walking."

Ronon didn't respond, which was as good as agreement in Beckett's book. It was rare to get more than a word out of him anyway, so he figured two words already filled the quota for the day.

He put a hand under Ronon's arm to help guide him to his feet. "Come on, then. Let's get you back-"

"Get away," Ronon practically growled, pushing Beckett's arm away with a considerable amount of force.

Beckett staggered back slightly and swallowed hard. He hadn't expected that.

"Alright, no harm done," Beckett said with forced composure, lifting his hands up in a placating gesture as he moved backward slowly. He had no idea what caused Ronon to lash out like that, but he certainly didn't want to test him again. "Easy, now. I won't come any closer," he assured him.

Ronon sank back against the wall, his eyes drifting closed for only a moment before he forced them open again. He looked beyond exhausted. Unsteady, though every muscle was tensed as if he was expecting disaster at any moment. Beckett watched him closely, reevaluating the situation as best he could from a distance. He'd thought that Ronon was simply disoriented, but there was clearly something more to it.

"Ronon," Beckett ventured carefully, "do you know where you are?"

Ronon met his eyes for only a moment before his erratic gaze moved on.

It wasn't the answer he was looking for, but it told him enough. Beckett glanced to the door, hoping he could catch someone's attention. He had a feeling he wouldn't be able to handle this on his own.

"I'm a danger to you," Ronon said finally.

"No, son. I can assure you, you're not," Beckett said. There was no familiarity in Ronon's expression, no indication he knew who he was talking to. There was more than a trace of desperation. Fear, if he could guess what fear looked like on Ronon's face. He'd never seen it before.

There were no windows. He couldn't see outside. He had no idea if he was below or above ground or how far he would have to go to reach the Gate. The realization made him all the more desperate.

Everything was a haze. His eyes were moving, but he couldn't focus on what he was seeing. It seemed familiar, but it couldn't have been. Stopping in the same place twice was a risk. A mistake. Ronon had been running too long to make stupid mistakes.

There was a nuisance of a man near him. Talking. He had warned him to go, that he was in danger. Or had he? He couldn't remember.

"I'm a danger to you," Ronon repeated to the man. Usually, that was enough to get people moving in the opposite direction. They assumed he carried a plague and had nothing more to do with him.

This man didn't move.

Ronon reached to where his gun should have been. If the threat of plague didn't convince someone to leave him alone, a gun in the face usually did the trick.

It wasn't there.

Did he lose it? He brought a hand to his eyes and tried to rub the cloudiness from them. He couldn't remember.

The man was still holding his hands up in a calming gesture, still talking. Still blocking his way. Nuisance. This man had a death wish.

Maybe he was on a planet full of idiots.

"Wraith," Ronon said out of pure frustration, knowing no matter how stupid the man was, he would understand that. "I bring the Wraith."

Beckett was taken aback by the sudden fierceness in his voice.

Ronon was trying to warn him.

The fear, the desperation, it was starting to make sense. Ronon believed he was still running, that the Wraith were still chasing him. He thought he was still in danger and a danger to others around him. His mind wouldn't let him stop, even though the battle was over.

"Alright," Beckett said evenly, hoping some of the calm in his voice would have an effect. "I understand-"

"The Gate," Ronon said. "Where is it?"

"I can't tell you that," Beckett answered after a moment's hesitation. If Ronon ever found his way to the gate and got through, they'd have one hell of a time trying to find him again. And, as much as he was concerned for Ronon's welfare, he knew others would be at risk. If it was true Ronon was suffering from some sort of delusion, it was impossible to determine how far it extended, or if he would attack someone he mistook as an enemy. He was volatile enough when he had all his wits about him.

He knew he had to act quickly. Beckett lifted a hand to touch his comm. link. He didn't know if it was the sudden movement or some danger Ronon's mind had fabricated, but something caused Ronon to retreat further into the corner. When he met the wall, he seemed to realize there was nowhere else to go and pushed himself to his feet.

"Ronon, no-" Beckett started, but he was ignored.

Ronon used the wall to pull himself up, to steady himself long enough for the swaying to stop. Beckett moved away, keeping a safe distance between them. Even so, Ronon remained wary of him and kept his back to the wall as he felt his way to the door.

Beckett turned away slightly as he quickly activated the comm. link.

"This is Beckett in the infirmary. Requesting security," he said quietly. "We may have a situation with Ronon." He kept his voice as light as possible, hoping Ronon didn't pick that moment to become lucid. If he already perceived Beckett as a threat, there was no telling how he would react to the idea that armed marines would shortly be on the way.

"What's the problem, doctor?" Weir's voice came back.

Beckett glanced back to Ronon, only to find him already gone. Bad to worse in an instant.

"Security team," Beckett repeated. "Now!"

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This is my first stab at Atlantis fic, I hope I'm getting it right. If you've got a minute, let me know what you thought. I'm open to all feedback and always looking to improve. Thanks for reading!