Title: Survival
Author: Rexy48

Spoilers: Small one for Runner. Set late season 2.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, no money was made, yada yada yada.

Description: We do what we must in order to survive. (Song Fic)

The man slumped down, gasping for breath. Despite the cool air he was sweating and shaking both from the exertion of the run and the adrenaline that still pumped through his veins. A small bag was clutched in his hands, all but useless, and yet he wouldn't even think of letting go. How had it come to this?

It was a routine 3-day training exercise, one crafted by the Colonel in order to give all scientists and medical staff some basic survival skills and off-world experience. The planet was deserted, and with its thick forest and surrounding hills it made an excellent environment for the training. His group had been in their final day when the intruders came through the gate. Some type of wandering mercenaries, they had come for shelter and rest. Several were wounded, and his first instinct was to offer aid. Yet the soldiers assigned to guard them forbade it until a threat level had been established. He had tried to argue but they remained stubborn – which saved a lot of lives. Almost immediately after being hailed from a distance the mercenaries attacked, their projectile weapons similar to if not stolen from those the Genii used.

"What are you doing, get up!" He jumped, the bag almost falling from his hands as he looked up to see the face of Sgt. Paredes. Stationed in Atlantis several months back, the marine was one of those ordered to insure the safety of the group. It was a duty most soldiers looked forward to, a relaxing three days of simply watching over the civilians to ensure no one was hurt. No fights, no enemies … until now. "We have to keep moving." Taking in the sorry sight before him the harshness of the marine's voice lessened as he added, "I'm sorry Doctor, but you can't stop now."

"Aye, I understand." Dr. Beckett forced himself to his feet, feeling the protest in his legs. At least he had managed to catch his breath. "Any word on the others?"

"Allison and Harding managed to get their guys to the hills, so they're relatively safe for now. We can't stay here though. We need to meet up with Ronon and his group at the lake. A jumper will be meeting us there shortly. Let's go."

With a light prod the physician was soon moving at a fast walk and then a steady run, the sergeant keeping a careful watch both on his charge and their surroundings. Several minutes passed before Sgt. Paredes pulled him to a stop.

"What?" Beckett wheezed between breaths. The soldier didn't answer, instead slowly turning about, eyes scanning the area. Before he could ask again the solider shoved him aside and to the ground, weapon firing. Although his sight was limited, Beckett could hear the enemy's weapons firing back. The sergeant had already moved, taking a position behind one of the large trees.

"Doctor, you have to get out of here," the solider called out. "We're almost to the lake, you have to go now!"

"But you're hurt." He could see the red stains forming on the man's uniform, could see the pained expression on his face.

"It's nothing serious, now go!" Carson didn't move, his hands clutching the small medical bag he had managed to hold onto. His mind told him staying was foolish, that he wasn't a soldier and would only be a hindrance, and yet his heart as a doctor wouldn't let him leave a wounded comrade. The solider could see the conflict in his eyes. With a grunt pushed himself away from the tree and toward him.

"Stubborn fool!" The man grabbed his arm and dragged him up and away and they were once again running. The sergeant stumbled several times, obviously in pain, yet each time the soldier forced himself up.

"Let me look at your shoulder," Carson insisted. "I need to bind that, you're losing too much blood."

"Not now Doctor!"

"Who's the bloody fool? You'll die unless I stop the bleeding."

"We'll both die if we stop, so move!" Beckett couldn't understand how the man kept on going, how after every stumble he managed to stand. He knew stubborn, having patched up the Colonel and his team more than enough times, but still this seemed beyond what he had seen before. He barely even knew the sergeant, yet the man was sacrificing himself just to protect him.

The next time the sergeant fell the man remained on the ground, panting and groaning despite his best efforts not to. Beckett quickly moved to him with his medical bag, tearing it open and applying a compress as best he could.

"Keep going," the soldier told him through clenched teeth. "Just a little more."

"You know bloody well I'm not about to leave you," came the reply. The doctor's fingers moved quickly, securing the massive shoulder wound before moving on toward another wound in the upper leg. "Crazy fool, every one of you."

"Part of the job," came the soft chuckle, perhaps finally realizing he was going to be treated no matter what he said. After a few moments of silence he added, "Thanks."

"I think we may have lost them," Carson said as he injected a dose of morphine. "I don't hear anything."

"That's good, but I don't expect it to last. Help me up." Carson wanted to protest, but as the solider began to struggle he conceded, helping the man sit up. He had used all the bandages in the kit, and the one wrapping the shoulder was already turning red, but at least it would slow the flow. But unless they could get to Atlantis soon …

"Here, take this." Sgt. Paredes held up his spare sidearm.

"But I'd rather not…"

"Take it, that's an order."

As the gun was placed in his hand Carson grumbled, "I'm not a soldier."

"Right now, you are. This is survival, doctor, us versus them."

"I've only used a gun in practice. I don't think I could…"

"You can, and you will, if it becomes necessary." The soldier's gaze met and held his. "Now is not the time for regrets, doctor. We do what we must in order to survive." Seeing the hurt in his eyes the solider added, "It doesn't make us evil. It's just a different way of saving lives."

"Aye, much different." Carson still didn't know if he could do it, but the soldier's words made sense. Acting out in defense was not evil; it was simply instinct.

"Help me up, we're almost there." Once on their feet they began to move again at a slower but steady walk. "Morphine is a godsend," the solider quietly commented.

"Just cause you can't feel it doesn't mean it's not serious," Carson scolded him. "Soon as we get back to Atlantis you're going right into the infirmary."

"I promise, Doctor," came the answer, a smile on his face. They reached the edge of the forest and saw the lake before them. Several scientists and physicians were near the water's edge, waiting as a jumper approached from the distance. Ronon and two other soldiers were also there, and on seeing them approach Ronon started to head toward them.

"We made it," Carson said, relief in his voice. He only managed to take a single step before two loud shots rang out, followed by a cry of pain. He turned, watching in horror as Sgt. Paredes crumpled to the ground. Standing about twenty feet back were two of the mercenaries, their uniforms cut and blood covered, each with a weapon pointed at him. It appeared they had been wounded just as badly as the sergeant, and by the crazed look in their eyes he knew one thing for sure – he was going to die.

Another shot echoed out and one of the men dropped to the ground. Lying on his side on the hard and cold earth, Sgt. Paredes struggled to aim his gun at the other mercenary, trying to push himself just a little further. They were so close to escaping; he couldn't let the doctor get hurt now. It was his job to protect the physician, and he was going to do it, no matter the sacrifice. Only a little further. The other mercenary cursed loudly in a foreign language before turning his gun on the downed solider.

Four loud shots filled the air … and the enemy went down, unmoving, clearly dead. Beckett stared from the body on the ground, to the gun in his hand, and back to the body. His heart was racing and he felt sick, yet his own health wasn't his top concern. The gun fell from his hands as he quickly moved to the soldier's side.

He barely was aware of Ronon's arrival, concentrating only on the man before him. The sergeant had taken a fatal hit on that last shot – one that appeared to have been intended for him. The soldier had once again sacrificed himself to protect him, and now there was nothing he could do. The sergeant opened an eye, looking right up into his eyes. He managed to mouth one word before his body went limp.

"Bloody hell." They had come so close, only a few more minutes and they'd have been in the jumper on their way back to Atlantis. Now it no longer mattered.

"Doc, we have to go."

"It's too late."

"Doc!" The angry growl snapped him out of his stupor, causing him to look up. "Now is not the time. They need you." Carson looked over the ridge to where the others had gathered. Even from a distance he could tell there were several with injuries. "I've got him," Ronon said, indicating the fallen solider. "You take care of them."

Numbly he nodded and stood, forcing his legs to move. He was a physician and there were patients to take care of. A quick glance behind showed Ronon lifting the corpse of the sergeant. There would be a time for tears, but now was not the time. The solider had lost his life protecting him, and he wasn't about to let that go to waste. By the time he reached the lake he was in full doctor mode, concentrating on doing what he could for the injured.

It was hours later when Carson slowly made his way to his quarters, exhausted both physically and emotionally. He had done his best to push back his thoughts about what had happened, had dived headfirst into his work. Yet now everyone's injuries were attended to and there were no more patients to see; his staff had all but thrown him out of the infirmary with orders to get some rest. In the quiet of the night his thoughts began to emerge, the sickness of his actions making him feel ill. He had prescribed himself a strong sleeping aid, and in the morning he would talk to Heightmeyer.

As he turned the corner he paused. Ronon was leaning up against the side of the doorway to his room. The man offered a slight nod as he approached.

"Ronon? Are you okay? Did you not tell me of an injury?"

"I'm fine, doc," Ronon said, straightening up. The doctor looked bad, really bad - the disheveled hair and tired eyes, the tightness around the face… He recognized the signs. He had seen it long ago, back when he used to train new soldiers on Sateda. It was the remorse after the first kill. "You did good back there," he told him.

"I took a life today," Carson said, his voice shaky. "I save lives, not take them."

"You did what you had to," Ronon said. He put a hand on the physician's shoulder, looking right into his eyes. He could see how terrified the man was. He also knew the man's compassionate heart – it was by the doctor's hand he had been freed from running. The doctor had given him his life back, and now he would return the deed. "Sometimes we must do things we don't want to. You're a doctor, but at that time you were a solider. You did what needed to be done."

"I killed a man but still couldn't save the sergeant. Where's the meaning in that?"

"He sacrificed himself to save you. It was his duty, and he died knowing you were safe. Don't take that from him." He paused before asking, "What did he say to you?"

"He said … he said, 'Survive.'" At the questioning look Ronon gave him Carson clarified, "We were talking earlier. I didn't want to take his gun, but he said we do what we must in order to survive."

"And you did."

"But…"

"You did what you did to survive, nothing else. In a battle you either rise or you fall. You rose, doc, you did good."

Carson looked at the former runner with grateful eyes. He hadn't spent much time with the man, never really knew him to be much of a talker, but when he spoke he spoke with wisdom. He was like the Colonel in that way. Both had a tough outward appearance that masked the intelligence and compassion underneath.

"Thank you, Ronon." The man nodded, and with a final pat on his shoulder turned and headed away.

Once alone in his room, Carson slowly headed toward the small window. The stars shone brightly in the cloudless sky, constellations so different from back home and yet still comforting. Sgt. Parades was right, Ronon was right. He had done what was needed to survive. The life he took wasn't done with evil intentions; he was simply a soldier defending the life of a comrade and friend. He'd still see Heightmeyer in the morning - this wasn't something he could just forget about - yet at least for now the guilt was lifted. As Carson headed for bed he placed the sleeping aids on his nightstand. He wouldn't need them tonight.

A/N: This short piece was inspired by the opening from: Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex, 2nd Gig. (I highly recommend finding the actual music/video for this song). I've wanted to write something based on it for a while, and though I was going to write it with Ronon it just kinda migrated toward Beckett. The good doctor becomes stronger and more courageous; maybe something like this helped to toughen him up a little.

Rise:

I'm a soldier, meaning that I'm
Both the defendant and the judge
I'm standing on both sides of the fire
Going around turns, overtaking death and life
I'm running to fight with the shadow of a lie

No matter how many threads deception would weave
Truth will show its face of light

Save your tears
For the day
When our pain is far behind
On your feet
Come with me
We are soldiers stand or die

Save your fears
Take your place
Save them for the judgment day
Fast and free
Follow me
Time to make the sacrifice
We rise or fall