oOo

The radio felt clumsy and unfamiliar in his hand. This wasn't the first time he'd used it; as with most pieces of earth equipment, he'd been given rudimentary training in its function and use. Mostly he had learned from Sheppard, but there had been some input from others. In particular, there had been instruction on field medicine from Dr Beckett. Most of the practical knowledge he already knew, but the earth people had many substances - drugs, they called them, that he had never come across before. He started to consider what would be of help to McKay, when his thumb found the correct spot, and the radio crackled to life.

"Sheppard here. Go ahead, Ronon"

"It's McKay. He's sick" There; plain and simple.

The answer from Sheppard was equally quick and succinct, "I know... that's why we...", but Ronon interrupted,

"No, you don't know. I mean he's really sick. We need Beckett here... now."

There was a little pause.

"Can you get him to the gate?", crackled the radio.

"No. If it's what I think it is, we shouldn't move him."

"What do you think it is?"

Too many questions... unnecessary.

"Never mind. Just bring Beckett. Dex out."

That would have to be enough, he had no patience for words when action was required.

During his years in the militia, he'd cared for many sick and injured comrades, had watched Melena tending to patients in the city hospital. Hell, he'd tended to himself enough times. Maybe he lacked the pleasantries, the flowery phrases, but he knew enough of what really mattered.

McKay was asleep... unconscious or asleep, one of the two. At least he was no longer doubled over with pain. He lay flat out, still under the broad and shady branches of the tree. He was breathing steadily, but a little too fast to be normal. Ronon had elevated his head, added his own sleeping bag to the doctor's, and had drawn Rodney's hands out from under the covers to lay on his chest.

There was sticky blood coating the fingers of one hand, mingling with dark dirt and thin strands of grass. He considered the injuries for a moment, then hauled over his large pack, and silently set to work. He washed the torn and bloodied nails with water from his canteen. The doctor had really 'done a number on them', as Sheppard would say. After dabbing them dry with cotton, he applied some of the white cream Carson had recommended for abrasions, and wrapped the worst of the digits in small white bandages.

After laying down the hand, Ronon noticed that the sick man was mumbling to himself, his lips twisting, coming back to consciousness.

Words emerged, softly spoken and hesitant...

"I'm trying... I need... ", he began, and then the voice seemed to catch and break, and Rodney was gasping and sobbing at the same time, "...sorry... sorry!"

"McKay... look at me.", Ronon ordered, bringing his face to hover over the scientist's. Rodney's face was an unhealthy white, shining with perspiration. Ronon noticed his lips were cracked... dehydration. He'd had nothing to drink since the vomiting earlier. Two blue eyes blinked open...

"Where...?", his confusion was evident.

"Still on the planet. You were dreaming.", he reached into his pack, this time drawing out a small wooden box. The balm inside, traded for, on another world long ago, was almost gone, but Ronon opened it anyway. He lifted the index finger of Rodney's sound hand and dipped it in the open box. He then brought the finger to McKay's lips, and indicated what he should do by sketching around his own lips.

"It'll help", he said gruffly, and he watched as Rodney first hesitated, sniffing at his finger suspiciously. But then went ahead and rubbed the balm across his dry lips, with fingers that almost didn't tremble.

"Thanks..."

Then he helped McKay drink from his flask, one hand beneath the damp head and the other on the bottle. Ronon felt a hand that was uncomfortably hot, flutter against his, as he continued to hold the bottle steady.

Sounds of gulping came from the scientist's throat, and Ronon pulled away, saying, "Not too much."

Once again on his back, McKay's chin dropped, his eyes flickering around the clearing where they had made camp.

"Where are the others?"

"They went ahead to complete the mission."

"So what's wrong with me, then? I get the feeling it's nothing to do with Zelenka's evil brew..."

Ronon replied, "You're sick. It's serious"

The indignant laugh that came from Rodney took him by surprise.

"Oh... nice.. why don't you just tell me how it is Ronon? Don't hold back..."

As the man spoke through gritted teeth, he drew up his right knee again, and Ronon could see that his pain was growing. Perhaps he should consider something from the med kit... he knit his brows, frustrated with his indecision and lack of knowledge... and frustrated that McKay must continue to suffer because of it. When the others contacted Atlantis, then Beckett would call; he'd wait until then.

"Beckett's on his way. You should get some rest.", he told McKay, and lacking anything else to say or do, he rose and took his pack with him.

oOo

Rodney watched as Ronon got up and moved away.

He hadn't missed the frown of disappointment on the soldier's face as he had failed miserably to hide his pain. He couldn't help it... really, he couldn't. The pain in his side was a knife - an icy cold, burning knife, buried to the hilt... if he moved, it hurt, if he didn't move, it hurt. Because of this, somehow, he felt compelled at least to squirm.

He was trying not to think about what it could be. This was cetainly no gas pain; he had lost count of how many times he had scurried up to the infirmary, fearing appendicitis, only to have Carson hand him a pack of Rollaids. Ironic then, that what he was feeling now, was probably a certain abdominal organ building up to explode in a spectacular spray of blood and poison.

He shuddered.

He wondered how his pain rated compared to that of others; was it this bad for Sheppard when the bug was sucking life from his neck? Did Ronon go through worse than this, when Carson removed his tracking device?

Trouble was, he knew... after all, he was a coward, he had no illusions about that. He just didn't like pain, couldn't bear it like it seemed some could. He watched as the big man moving slowly around their camp. What did Ronon think of him? That he despised his weakness was a given... but did he actually despise him?

He was afraid of pain... afraid of death... afraid of... Ronon. Afraid of just about everything. Ronon Dex feared nothing... how liberating that must be... Rodney could only imagine what that felt like, having spent most of his time after coming to Atlantis in a state of controlled panic.

The truth was, that whether he liked it or not, Specialist Ronon Dex was now his protector and nurse maid, and right now he was afraid that he'd succeeded in alienating the soldier even more.

oOo

"If they take - take your clothes... then - then you can't leave... I don't want to be here! Don't leave me here, they d-d-don't know me... "

Beckett had said to inject the morphine - one dose, and to do that, Ronon needed a muscle. He had been rolling up the scientist's shirt sleeve to get to his bicep, when Rodney had exploded into frantic action, tearing ineffectually at Ronon's hands, eyes wide but unseeing.

"McKay... stop!", he held the wrists lightly, and that was all that was required to overpower the man.

"You're not thinking straight. It's the fever. You need to relax, and don't fight me.. okay?", he tried to make his voice firm but non threatening. He knew the scientist didn't trust him... he had no reason to, after all.

Just minutes ago, as McKay had dozed in a fevered stupor, the radio had come alive with a screech. It was Beckett. Ronon had told him the sick man's symptoms, told him his suspicions and he'd heard the physician go quiet. Then he had given instructions... morphine for the pain, tylenol for fever. They were about to come through the gate and they'd be at the camp in less than an hour. He'd set down the radio and popped the fever reducer pill under McKay's tongue, just before he'd begun removing the sick man's jacket.

"I don't want your clothes, McKay, I just need your arm... see?" Ronon brandished the sterile wipe, and it seemed to him that Rodney did see it, through cloudy, blinking eyes, and he calmed himself sufficiently for him to continue.

He pushed the sleeve a little farther up, then swept the pad across the hot skin of the doctor's bicep. Glancing up at McKay's face, he saw he had his eyes open and staring, fixed on the leaf canopy above them. He was trembling; his mouth pressed into a hard line, his breath coming in uneven gasps. He'd seen this look before, it was the face of someone wracked by pain and trying desperately to hold on. Something welled up in Ronon Dex and he found himself speaking in a low voice, words that would probably go unheard.

"It's okay... It's alright... Breathe, that's it..", he prepared the shot, flicking off the top as he'd been shown. All that could be heard was the unsteady breathing of the man on the ground. Ronon pressed the injector cleanly into Rodney's arm, heard and felt it activate, and then his eyes came to rest on the pinched features of the doctor.

"Give it a second...", he whispered as he withdrew the needle, and carefully pulled down the sleeve, massaging the muscle as he did so.

It was then he saw an almost magical transformation. The pinched look, the frown of pain that had been on the scientist's face, seemed to melt in front of his eyes. A sigh escaped the dry lips, the mouth became slack, relaxed... Beckett had called this drug miraculous - and it certainly was.

"Ronon?", asked a weak voice, a little breathless around the edges."..'s 'at you?"

"Mmm..hmm.."

"Thanks..."

"Anytime", and he gave Rodney's shoulder, what he hoped was a reassuring pat.

oOo

TBC and thanks for your encouragement and comments.