Beta: J.A.B.
Spoilers: SG-1 Enemy Mine, everything from Atlantis Season 1 and everything up to Michael are fair game.
A/N: If any of my medical stuff is even remotely correct—it's by accident. I swear. Make that double for military stuff.
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Ronon and Lorne were almost to the stargate when the downy bundle of joy found one of Ronon's knives that he hid in his hair for emergencies. Her hissing stopped as she stared, fascinated by the shiny object and she bounced on the big man's shoulder.
She tested the edge, having seen her mother do the same with the tribe's bone knives and purred excitedly when a line of blood appeared quickly on her finger, oozing from the slice.
The female was merrily chopping up Ronon's leather coat when he caught her around the ankles, one still in a metal shackle, and hung her upside down. A firm shake made her drop the slim knife to the ground where Lorne scooped it up and put it in a vest pocket.
"What did I tell you?" grunted Ronon at the little female. "Behave or slavers."
Even upside down, the little one folded her arms in defiance and raised a lip to show her small fangs. No male would tell her what to do and how to act, not even one who had just saved her from slavers. "Mother says that I'm perfectly behaved for a Tri-tri-tribble Hunter. So there."
Lorne had expected her to stick out her rough little tongue at the Satedan when he stepped in to prevent bloodshed on both sides. "How about we play the 'How quiet can the Tribe Hunter be' game? Mmmm?"
She ignored Lorne to stare viciously at Ronon, so Lorne gave a sharp whistle to catch her attention.
She whipped her furry head around, her single Wraith hair braid swinging with her Naming Beads, and started at Lorne with upside down large eyes. She looked stunned for a moment and then her face contorted into a pout. "Again!" she demanded.
Major Lorne sighed. Having had friends with small children, he knew the 'Again!' game, where you had to do the same thing repeatedly for a child until you felt like screaming.
Instead of screaming, he pasted on a smile and whistled for her again.
And again . . .
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"Dex, come on. Where's Mitch? He . . . he owes me a twenty . . . and I need it tonight," slurred Sheppard as McKay worriedly mixed up another batch of the fever medicine.
Sheppard's fever was still high and he was still hallucinating and unsure of where he was. It concerned Rodney, afraid if the fever stayed too high for too long, that it might do some damage.
"He's out, Shep," replied McKay, tired of telling John that he wasn't Dex and they weren't in Afghanistan, or on Earth for that matter. "Said something about seeing someone about a dog."
"A dog? A dog? I . . . bet," replied John in a weak voice. "A dog." He tried to snort, but coughed instead, twisting his body in an attempt to ease his lungs.
"Just stay still," soothed McKay. "Here, drink this."
"Ohhh, not . . . that cat piss . . . again, Dex. You need a . . . a better supplier."
Rodney rolled his eyes at the old Ungue who just grinned right back at him. "This is, uh . . . the best I could get on such short notice. Now, drinky-drinky," sing-songed McKay in a high voice, holding the cup out to the sick pilot.
Sheppard needed help sitting up, took the cup in shaky hands, and sipped with a moue of distaste. When the cup was empty, he flopped back onto the leather robe and licked his teeth, trying to get rid of the bad taste.
McKay reached out with a nervous sweat dampened hand to feel the Colonel's forehead again. The temperature seemed cooler, but Sheppard was still sweating and confused about what was happening around him.
John raised a hand to push at McKay's hand and, instead, pinched the bridge of his nose, and tried to curl up again on the robe.
"What? What's wrong?" asked McKay quickly, his hand going to Sheppard's shoulder, trying to see what was happening.
"Head-headache, like a . . . hot nail," whispered the pilot, his eyes closed against the wrenching pain in his head.
McKay turned a panicked look to the old Ungue, who was frowning at the human on the leather robe.
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Teyla could hear whistling before she could hear footsteps. She was bemused when Ronon and Lorne came into sight with a small furry version of an Ungue sitting on Ronon's right shoulder as it stared intently at the whistling Lorne.
She shifted on her seat on a toppled tree trunk to get a better look when the little female suddenly sniffed and grabbed Ronon with a sharp grip.
"Slavers!" warned Ronon as he tried to pry the girl from his neck.
"No! Females! Not of my family! I'll kill them!" snarled the female, her little, needle sharp claws digging into his flesh.
"Sheppard is going to owe me until he's an old man," rumbled Ronon to Lorne as he grabbed the fur ball by her leg and tugged her away, leaving a trail of thin, bloody cuts.
At least the local Ungue females kept to the trees trying not to agitate the little one any more than she was.
When they reached Teyla with her bad leg, Lorne stopped in a slightly bent over position, and breathed in deeply, trying to get his breath back after his marathon of whistling. "Teyla, any word on the Colonel or the Doc?"
"None, Major. All has been quiet since the Wraith attack. I see you completed your mission for the Tribe Hunter." Teyla smiled, her eyes twinkling as she watched the child crawl out of Ronon's grip and claw her way back up to his head to pull on his rolled hair.
"Female!" she screeched when she noticed Teyla watching her.
Lorne wrung his ear with a finger at the high noise and ducked away. "Hopefully, Mom will take her back. You call for Reichmann in the Jumper and contact Atlantis while we go find out."
Teyla inclined her head. "I will, and I will talk to Dr. Beckett about the incoming dead and wounded." She also winced at the high squealing of the child. "It would be more . . . pleasant to be in the infirmary at the moment."
"I'll kill you! Mine!" wailed the little female as she clutched Ronon's dreadlocks.
Ronon gave the Major a miserable look and Lorne turned away quickly before the little one could grab him as well.
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The Tribe Hunter's camp was quiet as Ronon and the Major carefully approached. They were trying for quiet, but the little one recognized the territory and was getting more and more vocal as she called for her mother.
Swift as the wind, the Tribe Hunter swung down from a tree and swept the little one away from Ronon with a growl. The bigger female put her body between the foreign males and her daughter, as she looked the little one over for injuries.
"Humans took me! I tried to kill them—"
"Did you make them bleed, my daughter?" asked the Tribe Hunter, pleased to find no wounds on the child, but not liking the circle of metal on her ankle. It reminded the Tribe Hunter too much of their past.
The little one looked happy and grinned, showing her tiny fangs. "Yes. They bled a lot."
"Good, you will make a great Tribe Hunter some day."
Ronon and Lorne moved into the camp and McKay looked up in relief. "It's about time you two showed up. Sheppard here needs to get back to Atlantis." He motioned to the ill man on the leather robe.
They both looked to the Atlantis military CO to see Sheppard had a tight grip on his head with both of his hands and was slightly rocking his body.
The little one got away from her mother and closer to McKay and Sheppard and then made a face of abhorrence. "Male is sick. Should kill it. Better for your tribe."
McKay spluttered, making the girl's eyes grow wide at the funny noise. Lorne stepped in before they had to play another game of 'Again!' and looked at the brown female. "Do we have a deal? Your child for him?" he asked the Tribe Hunter.
The big female made a grab for her daughter and licked her head, getting the smell of Ronon off the child's fur. "We have a deal. Take the sick male and leave now."
"Dex!" called out Sheppard suddenly from the ground, his voice stressed.
Ronon started forward, confused, until McKay put out a hand. "Not you, he's been talking to his dead friends from Earth." He crawled closer, pulled out the cup and the powder for another dose of medicine. "I'm here, Shep."
"Head's . . . on fire," John whispered softly. "Hurts."
"Okay, how about another drink? That should help you. How do you feel other than your head?"
Sheppard's fingers dug into his skin on his forehead, hitting the cut and making it bleed again. "Like my head is going to explode!" He writhed on the leather robe, his cut up black t-shirt riding up to show his bloody scrapes and wounds from the male Ungue during the questioning.
McKay quickly poured the water and was about to open the power when the old Ungue covered his hands to stop the procedure. "This is not helping. It's his mind, not his body that ails."
"What? What do you mean? He has a fever from all the cuts. Right? Oh, god, I haven't poisoned him, have I?"
The old one shook his grizzled head. "No, his mind is wrong from the Tribe Hunter's and her male's probes. The powder will help the fever in body, but not the cause of his pain. I have seen this happen before, a long time ago. The mind goes and sometimes stays away."
Major Lorne knelt down by his CO and frowned at the old one. "His mind? What is the treatment for that?" he asked, knowing he wasn't going to like the answer.
"The Tribe Hunter must repair the damage done."
"Oh, no, there is no way she is getting near him after what she did!" snapped McKay, still holding the water and the powder in his shaking hands.
"Dex! The pain . . ." moaned Sheppard from the ground.
"The male will do it," snarled the female Ungue, pointing to the dark male as she retreated with her daughter. The Tribe Hunter handed the child a small bone doll made of Wraith finger bones. The doll rattled with dry tones as the daughter hugged it close and scratched at the bones with her small claws.
The old one shook his head and stood. "You are stronger, being female. This needs to be done quickly; he is worsening from the damage done by your probes."
"Is that why he knew me when we got here?" asked McKay, still hovering protectively over his friend and frowning at the female. "He's getting worse as time goes on?"
"Yes. It must be done now, before he goes further away."
The female growled in sudden fury. "We will not be slaves again! Or do their bidding again."
McKay was still looking stubborn about the prescribed procedure, but he was starting to get angry as well. "It wasn't us who took the kid! If anyone is in the wrong here, it's you!"
"I was searching for my daughter!"
"You killed twelve innocent people! People he feels responsible for," said McKay angrily as he pointed to Sheppard. "Just like you feel responsible for your kid. I don't like the idea of you anywhere near him, but the medicine is not working and he's still in pain."
"We should get Doc Beckett," said Lorne quietly. "Teyla has to have called him by now." His hand moved to hover near his radio.
"Beak-ette?" asked the old Ungue.
"He's our doctor—knows medicines and remedies," replied Lorne, struggling to make the old Ungue understand what Beckett was.
"No, medicines and remedies—no good now," said the old one with finality that shook everyone from Atlantis. "He needs the Curing Touch from a female."
"Fine! If it will get the humans out of here," hissed the female, causing her daughter to copy her, hissing as well.
The Tribe Hunter stalked forward, making her beads clack, to touch Sheppard. Rodney, still hesitated, moved away at the urging of the old Ungue. Just as the female pressed her hand to John's face, his eyes snapped open. "Get out of my . . . head!" Even weak and confused, Sheppard's mind tried to fight off the female Ungue's invasion, his back arching off the ground.
Blood began to drip from his nose as the female followed Sheppard's movements and kept the contact between them.
Changing his mind at his friend's obvious discomfort, McKay tried to step forward, to stop the struggle, but the old one grabbed his arm in a surprisingly strong grip. "It needs to be done."
When the Curing Touch was over, John was unconscious and the female pushed him roughly away.
Ronon strode forward, his energy weapon out and pointed at the Tribe Hunter. "Back away from him. Now."
Lorne was on the radio, calling Reichmann and the Jumper to come pick them up.
Ronon bent down, covering Sheppard from attack and was ready when the older female Ungue lunged at him with her claws unsheathed. Her male was not far behind her.
Until the daughter wailed, "No! He's mine!"
The mother stopped her attack in surprise, causing her male to stumble, and they both watched as her daughter darted across the camp to clutch at Ronon's neck. "But . . . he is human!" said the mother in disgust. "Look at how ugly they are."
"Mine," growled the little one. "Pet, nice pet."
The mother relaxed slightly. "No human as a pet. They stink and they eat too much."
"Mine!" repeated the child, her teeth sinking into Ronon's tightly rolled hair and holding on for dear life.
TBC . . .
There! One more chapter to go—John angst and Ronon finally finds what he's been looking for from the fridge. . .