Disclaimer: I don't own SGA or the characters.

A/N: Don't ask me where this little Ronon/Keller leaning fic came from. But it was a plot bunny that just wouldn't leave me be, so I wrote it down.

Hope you enjoy it and let me know what you think.

Rodney stood silently by the infirmary bed, eyes fixed straight ahead, tracing unseen patterns on the wall across the room. His ears were still buzzing from gunfire and explosions, but they could still discern the rhythmic beep, beep, beep of a heart monitor and the steady drip, drip, drip of an IV line. His hands clutched the bed railings, knuckles white, his sweaty palms making it difficult to maintain a sure grip. He wouldn't let go.

He couldn't look down. Down meant ineptitude, incompetence, failure. Down meant acknowledging that the beeping and the dripping were for someone else's benefit. Down meant facing a hideous reality – a reality veiled by neat, little sutures and a thin cotton sheet.

Rodney's stomach rebelled at the mere thought. He could taste the bile that had risen with sickening force up into his mouth, wanted to spit it out but swallowed it back instead. It burned the whole way down.

His heart burned, seethed with anger at what the vile bastard had done to her. But it wasn't just to her, was it? Her child, her son, had been ripped from her womb, from his cocoon of warmth and safety to be used, experimented, and eventually killed when Michael no longer had a use for him. Like he had done to Teyla. Discarded her like so much waste once her purpose had been fulfilled. Left her bleeding and broken, ripped open, dead.

"Oh God." The words fell from his lips, a desperate plea to a deity Rodney had never believed existed. He wanted to scream. He wanted to hit something. He wanted, most of all, to be able to think again. To form coherent thoughts, long thought processes, plans – devise some way to track Michael through light years of space and find Teyla's son. Save him like they couldn't save her.

But he was so tired, so weary and exhausted. His bones ached and his muscles screamed in agony every time he shifted. He hadn't slept properly in days, only catching short naps when the numbers racing across his screens became too hypnotic. Nobody had gotten much sleep since Sheppard had disappeared. They'd made it their mission to find him then, and they'd failed at that too.

Rodney let his head fall forwards, squeezing his eyes shut tightly as he did so. He couldn't look down, couldn't look at her. Despite the sheet covering her face, he would see her and he couldn't face her. Not even in death. Not while her son still lived. Not while they failed him too.

Jennifer walked slowly towards the infirmary bed pushed up against wall, her feet barely making a sound on the slick floors. She'd found Rodney by Teyla's bed when she'd come in. Had walked to him as quietly as she could and pulled the privacy curtain around him. He hadn't noticed. She didn't think she would have either.

She'd spent the better part of the night tending to several Athosian children who'd fallen ill with flu-like symptoms. They'd refused to come to the infirmary, had cried themselves hoarse at the mere mention of the place – of the needles, the instruments, the equipment. Not that she could blame them, not after what they'd been forced to endure.

She had gone to the wing Major Lorne had assigned for the Athosians' use. Hours had passed before she'd even been allowed to touch some of the more fearful children. Forget thermometers and scanners, she'd gone the old-fashioned route – a soft caress to the forehead to judge temperature, a wooden tongue-depressor to check for redness in the throat, and gentle prodding at the sides of the neck to detect any swollen glands. She'd left them with prescriptions of bed-rest, fluids, and the lollipops she'd carried with her all those months ago.

Now she stood in a packed infirmary, reading the chart of one of her more obstinate patients, when she heard a rustling coming from the bed against the wall.

"Oh no, no," Jennifer whispered harshly, careful not to wake any of her sleeping patients. She futilely pushed against a rock-hard shoulder. "You have a concussion, three cracked ribs, a sprained wrist, not to mention all your other bumps and bruises. You are not going anywhere. Not tonight."

Ronon stared up into the red-rimmed, brown eyes of a clearly exhausted doctor. Neither of them were fooled. If he'd wanted up and out of the bed, there would have been nothing she could have done to stop him. As it was, he figured she needed the peace more than he needed his escape.

He let himself fall back against the bed, wincing inwardly at the twinge of pain in his side, the slight tilt of the room making him dizzier than he'd admit. But it was infinitely preferable to feel pain than to feel nothing. Pain he understood. Pain he could fight. And Ronon desperately needed something to fight.

He'd promised Teyla safety. He'd promised her that he'd be there when she found Kanaan – that they were a team, always together. He'd promised, if not aloud then it had certainly been implied, to protect her and her unborn child. He'd broken that promise and most of him knew only one way to deal with that pain – fighting, violence. He wanted to get his hands on that abomination they'd created, wrap his hands around its neck, and squeeze. He wanted to watch the life drain from its eyes, feel its muscles go slack and the lifeless twitch of its death throes. He wanted Michael and he wanted him dead – slowly, painfully, and with every little indignity the bastard had suffered upon Teyla in her final days.

Soft skin and a gentle caress pulled him out of his vicious thoughts. He opened eyes he hadn't realized had drifted shut. Calmed a heart he hadn't noticed had sped up and inhaled slowly, exhaled slowly - like she'd taught him. The thought sobered and wearied him.

"I have to go." He said it softly, almost apologetically. His deep voice rougher, more hoarse, than usual from her chemically induced sleep. Jennifer lifted a cup of water from his bedside table, ignoring the tightness in her stomach at his words, and brought it to his mouth. Deep, dark eyes she'd once described as soulful captured hers, trapped her in their depths, and refused to let go.

He obliged her and drank from the cup. She set it back down on the table when he was finished and obliged him by sitting on the edge of his bed - one leg hitched up, the other planted solidly on the ground to keep her balance. Jennifer gazed back at him, a plea in her eyes. She knew what he was going to say. She didn't want him to say it.

"I have to go," he repeated, insistent this time.

She wanted to look away, wanted to run away. She wanted to pretend she'd misunderstood. Most of all, she wanted this nightmare to just end – Sheppard needed to come back and Teyla needed to be sitting in that infirmary bed with a baby in her arms. But the fact of the matter was, it was all too real. She'd never been that good at pretending anyway.

"No, you don't." Her words were almost inaudible, but he heard her and squeezed her hand tightly. Ronon tightened his grip when she weakly tried to pull it away.

"Atlantis is still your home, you know. The rest of us aren't going anywhere," Jennifer continued softly.

"Jenn." He wondered when the light had left her eyes, when her skin had gotten so pale and tired. "The IOA only tolerated me because of Sheppard. With him gone," Ronon drew in a breath, steeled himself against the rise of anger, "With him gone, I'm on a short leash. The IOA will tolerate me about as far as they can throw me."

"Carter-"

"Carter can only do what the IOA let her do," Ronon gently interrupted. "We're past niceties now. We're done with negotiations and deals, clever alliances and space battles. Michael doesn't play by the IOA's rules. The IOA won't hear it, but we have to play by his. I have to."

Jennifer determinedly wiggled her hand out of his grasp. She never broke eye contact, but at the loss of her hand he felt her move miles away.

"And what do you plan to do out there all alone? Challenge Michael to a duel at sunset," she snapped, but her voice lacked venom. "Your single gun and sword against his legions of genetically modified Wraith-hybrid soldiers?"

"It's my galaxy, Jenn." His tone was beginning to border on dangerous. "My people dead and dieing out there," he responded angrily, his voice rising slightly. "You have a world to go back to when the IOA decides Pegasus just isn't worth it anymore. One the Wraith will never find. You'll find a new job, a new home, a lover." Jennifer cast her eyes upwards, trying to stave off the tears threatening to fall. She wanted to beg him to stop, but the gentleness in his voice as he finished destroyed the words before they could reach her lips. "You'll make a new life for yourself and you'll try to forget any of this ever happened. One day, you'll succeed and all of this will have been nothing but a bad dream."

Eyes filled with tears, Jennifer furiously blinked them back before she brought her eyes back to meet with his.

"You think I could forget this?" Forget you?

"I think you should."

Her heart threatened to break, to spill into a million pieces. She held it together through sheer force of will.

Jennifer thought back to her first day on Atlantis, remembered the rush of adrenaline and of fear when she'd crossed the event horizon for the first time. She recalled her training with Dr. Becket – all the new equipment she'd been fascinated to learn about. Then had come the shock of taking command when Carson had so suddenly died, the terror of being hunted by cannibalistic barbarians through dense forests, the elation when they'd cheated death for the millionth time. She thought back to that fateful day when herself and Ronon had been forced together by a city run away from it's programming. He was asking her to forget the best year of her life. She couldn't do that.

Ronon read the defiance in her eyes, saw the strength, and understood the anger. Anger would keep her going when all hope seemed lost. Anger was good - even if it was aimed at him. At least he could do that one last thing for her.

Jennifer slowly stood and brushed the wrinkles out of her lab coat. Clearing her throat, she swiped at her eyes and stepped back from the Ronon's bed before allowing a small, sad smile to quiver onto her lips.

"You should be resting," she said softly, carefully. "I shouldn't have kept you up this long."

Ronon watched her silently as she turned away slowly, every step deliberate, every step taking her further and further away from him. That had been the entire point, hadn't it? To save her. To save Rodney. To save those left alive. He wouldn't be among them. He knew that and accepted it – had swallowed that bitter pill a long time ago.

But it hurt. It still managed to hurt, knowing what he was giving up – what he would always have to give up. He'd made a promise long ago to long-dead friends and to a long-dead wife, to never rest until every last Wraith met the blade of his sword or felt the burn of his gun. He intended to keep that promise and to mend the one's he'd broken. He'd find Michael, whatever it took. He would kill Michael, regardless of the cost. He was prepared to pay with his life. He probably would.