PART THREE
Ronon did not pass out—of this, he was positive—but time passed in a blur. One moment the room was filled with smoke, lit by the flames filling the debris hole and reaching up to the next floor. The next minute, someone was tapping him on the shoulder. People in Atlantis uniforms filled his view, urging him to let go of Sheppard, but his arms were frozen, locked in place. He glanced down, surprised to see an oxygen mask, cervical collar, and IV already on Sheppard. A marine approached with a backboard, while a medic fitted a mask over Ronon's face.
"It's alright, sir. We've got him, now," the medic was saying. "You can let him go. We're taking you back to Atlantis now."
Ronon stared at him, hearing the words but not understanding their meaning.
"Let go, sir. We'll take it from here."
Let go. Ronon looked down as his arms were peeled back and Sheppard was strapped to a backboard. The marines then moved him to a gurney, which was slowly lifted through a hole in the ceiling. Ronon jerked, suddenly realizing Sheppard was gone. He tried to stand up, but the world swirled dizzily around him.
"Easy, sir. We'll take care of you. Did you hurt your arm?" the medic said.
Ronon stared at the medic for a moment, then looked down at his hands. One of his arms was covered in blood. It was fresh and thick, and dripped off his arm and soaked into his pants. He tried to remember what had happened to his arm, how he had hurt it, but his whole body felt numb.
Teyla.
Michael.
Explosion.
Sheppard.
"Sheppard?" He asked, his voice muffled under the oxygen mask. The medic had turned away to dig through his pack for bandages and not heard the question. Behind him, an empty gurney was being lowered through the hole in the ceiling. Two marines were standing near the edge of the debris hole, dousing the flames with fire extinguishers.
I can't feel my legs.
Ronon looked back down at his hands. The medic was tugging on him, and another marine approached pointing toward the gurney, but all he could see was Sheppard, debris, fire. Blood.
"Whoa, Ronon, easy does it."
Keller's voice floated through the haze, and he felt her small hands pressing against his shoulder. He opened his eyes and the room tilted to the side. He groaned as the pain in his head spiked, and more hands steadied him.
"Ronon, are you with me?" Keller's voice floated over his head.
"Yeah," he muttered. His voice was hoarse, like he'd been sick, and he opened his eyes in confusion. "Wha—" he started, but was cut off by an all-consuming cough that took his breath away and made his eyes water. Someone pressed a mask over his mouth. He opened his eyes again to see Keller's face swim into focus above him.
"It's okay, you're safe. You're going to be okay."
Ronon looked around, recognizing the infirmary but not remembering how he got here. Images of the collapsed building, of pushing Sheppard forward as the ground shook around them, of his friend lying in the debris unconscious, of fire, and of Sheppard being lifted out of the building in a gurney flashed through his mind. He tried to look around, but his bed was ringed with privacy curtains.
"Sheppard?" He asked and frowned at the worry that creased Keller's face.
"He's in bad shape, Ronon. I won't lie. His injuries were extensive, plus there was smoke inhalation and some bleeding. I'll talk to you more about this in the morning, but you were also hurt in the blast and you need your rest."
Ronon grabbed her wrist before she could move, and pulled the oxygen mask from his face. Another image of Sheppard, lying in the debris, flashed through his mind. I can't feel my legs. "Please, just tell me…"
"What?"
Ronon swallowed. He'd been afraid for people, worried about the fate of his friends and family and teammates, but this—this was different. This sat in his chest like a cold, hard block of ice.
"Did I make it worse? Moving Sheppard."
Keller's face softened. "Ronon, he would have died if you hadn't moved him. Dead is worse."
"That's not what I'm asking."
"I know," she said. "We did a scan earlier, and there were no broken bones in his back or obvious signs of spinal damage. There was, however, extensive bruising on his lower back. It's too early to tell what kind of damage the swelling from the bruises may have done, or if it's permanent."
"Tell me when you know." He tried to put as much force and strength and confidence into his voice as he could, but exhaustion was creeping up on him quickly and he could feel his eyelids drooping closed against his will.
"I will, Ronon. Now try to get some rest. You have a concussion so we'll have to wake you up in a few hours. You also inhaled a lot of smoke—your breathing's better now than it was when you first came in, but if you have any trouble, just let one of us now."
Ronon nodded. He wanted to say more—to know more—but Keller's voice was already fading, and he slipped off to sleep.
"How is he?"
Carter's voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but in the near silence of the infirmary, the words were clear. Ronon cracked open his eyes and noticed immediately that the lights were low. It had to be night. Carter and Keller stood a few feet away from the end of his bed.
"Doing much better. He's got a concussion, so he'll have some nasty headaches for the next few weeks, but otherwise he should be fine. He was dehydrated and suffering from smoke inhalation when he came in, but considering what he went through, he really is doing well."
"That's good to hear," Ronon croaked, causing both women to jump. He smiled at their reaction, feeling a little groggy.
"How are you feeling? Any headache?" Keller asked, all business.
"Head hurts, not too bad though."
"I've got to get back to the gate room," Carter interrupted. "Ronon, I'm glad you're alright."
Ronon nodded to her as she left. He winced slightly as Keller checked his vitals, feeling his headache turn up a notch.
"I'll get you something for that in a moment," she said.
"I thought you were going to wake me."
"We have, a few times. You were exhausted, though, so I'm not surprised you don't really remember it. Anything else I can get for you?"
Ronon looked around the infirmary, dismayed that the privacy curtains were still up. "Can I see Sheppard?"
Keller seemed to sense what was coming, and she was already raising Ronon's bed and signaling for a nurse.
"I knew you were going to ask that. You can see him for a couple of minutes, but that's it."
A nurse brought a wheelchair over, which Ronon was ready to fight her on, but Keller threatened to call off the whole deal right then and there. Ronon relented. Besides that, his head was really starting to pound. He'd rather spend his energy sitting with Sheppard than fighting Keller and the nurses.
Keller herself wheeled him over to the ICU. Sheppard was the only patient in this area, but Ronon would have spotted him immediately anyway. His dark hair was messy but clean, stark against the white sheets.
"He's okay right now—let me just say that right off the bat. His injuries were severe, though, and he's got a long recovery process ahead of him."
"How bad?" Ronon asked. Sheppard was beyond pale, with dark circles under his eyes. Tubes and wires snaked in and out from under blankets and bandages, and the silence was punctuated by the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor and the whooshing of the ventilator.
"He's got cuts and bruises like you'd expect. He was also suffering from dehydration."
"We didn't have any water," Ronon whispered.
"Water would have helped, but I'm sure that was the least of your concerns. He was suffering from smoke inhalation—like you were—and a bruised lung, which is why we've got him on a ventilator now. He can breathe on his own, but given how much trauma he's suffered, we decided to give him a little extra support."
Ronon nodded and pushed the wheelchair forward a little. "So he did break his arm?" He asked, noticing the heavy cast on the arm nearest him.
"Both of them, actually. He's got a broken right wrist, a compound fracture in his left arm, and a hairline fracture in his right leg. He cracked some ribs, but miraculously didn't break any of those. He did have a nasty gash on his right side, from his armpit down to his stomach, that bled quite a bit, but it looked worse than it actually was."
"What about his back?"
Keller sighed, pulling up a chair next to him. Ronon could feel his heart beating faster.
"That is one of his most serious injuries. I mentioned early that there was some heavy bruising on his lower back that put pressure on his spinal column. Our concerns now are how much pressure and how much of the blood supply to the nerves that cut off."
Ronon stared at Sheppard stillness as he listened to Keller and tried to follow what she was saying. "Will he walk again?" He asked. Sheppard's voice echoed in his head. Ronon, I can't feel my legs.
"It's too early to tell at this point. We need to give him a chance to heal a little more before we make any decisions like that. He also had some internal bleeding, but that seems to be resolving on its own. For the time being, all we can do is keep a close eye on him and help him along when we can."
Ronon leaned forward, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was not the answer he wanted. He heard Sheppard's broken cry as he lifted him out of the pile of debris, felt Sheppard's dead weight in his arms as he carried him. I can't move. I can't feel my legs.
"You did the right thing, Ronon," Keller said softly.
Ronon glanced up at her voice. She was looking at him, willing Ronon to meet her eyes. He saw Sheppard and himself in the building again as the walls and ground started to shake. Saw himself pushing Sheppard forward as chunks of the ceiling came down. He blinked the images away and took a deep breath.
Keller squeezed his shoulder. "Alright, you've seen him. Let's get you back to bed."
Ronon reached out and gripped Sheppard's shoulder for a moment before leaning back in the wheelchair and letting Keller push him back to his own bed. Ronon wobbled on shaky legs as he stood, surprised at how exhausted he felt after just a few minutes of being awake.
"Where's McKay? Is he okay?" Ronon asked as Keller helped him into bed and pulled the blankets over his legs.
"He's alright. They found something in the building—not sure what exactly—but McKay thinks he knows where Michael and Teyla are. He and a group of marines left a few hours ago to go after him."
Ronon, who'd been easing himself slowly back against the pillows, suddenly sat up and started pushing the blankets off his legs. "I should be there. I should be helping them," he said.
"Whoa, whoa, hold on," Keller cried.
Ronon managed to swing his legs off the bed, but the quick movement was too much for his aching head to handle and he began listing to the side as the room swiveled around him. He groaned at the dizziness and the sudden nausea churning in his stomach. Hands on his shoulders pushed him back against the bed, and then Keller was pushing something into his IV.
"Something for the pain and nausea," she said when Ronon was able to bring her face back into focus. "You're in no shape to be going off world right now. Trust McKay and the others. They'll get Teyla."
Ronon grunted. The pain in his head was fading, but so was his hold on consciousness. He knew Keller was right; there was nothing he could do to help fight Michael right now, but that didn't make it any easier to bear. He hated waiting. Keller gripped his arm as he slowly lost the battle against sleep.
TBC…
