Please see first chapter for disclaimer, rating, warnings, pairings, etc.
Part 12/?
-Chapter 12-
Instinct
"Ronon!" The multi-voiced cry died into stunned silence following the big man's incredibly fast escape. John took half a step forward, but checked up when Elizabeth turned to him, threw her arms around him, and bowed her head against his shoulder.
Beckett blinked in astonishment, and said, "Now, what did the lad go and do that for?"
McKay, who'd been leaning heavily on the abandoned gurney, snapped his head up to glare at him. "Oh, I don't know, Carson," he snarled. "Maybe because you just told him Teyla is dead?" His voice cracked on the final word. Behind him, Zelenka took off his glasses and put the back of his hand over his eyes.
"But she isn't! Dead, I mean. Aye, she coded a couple of times, and the lass is still very, very critical, but—"
"Teyla's alive?" John looked from the rattled Beckett down into his wife's tear-filled but suddenly hopeful eyes. "I gotta go after him," he told her, quickly but carefully putting her out of his way. Hastily he pushed past Carson into the open part of the infirmary, eyes sweeping from left to right.
About twenty feet away, a nurse stood pressed flat against a light-inset wall, her head turned away from him as she stared to her left. Her shocked pose said clearly as words, He went thataway. She must have caught his movement out of the corner of her eye, because she suddenly turned her head to look straight at him. "Colonel," she said, her voice tight with urgency, "he's bleeding out." She pointed down.
A trail of bright red splatters stood out vividly against the pale flooring. John nodded a quick acknowledgment as he loped swiftly past her, and reached up to slap his headset on. "Tower, this is Sheppard: I'm in the infirmary, scan for a life sign moving very fast away from my position."
"Roger that, Colonel," a brisk female British voice came back. "Scanning now, sir – one fast-moving life sign is heading steadily down and eastward from your current position."
"Copy that. Let me know of any sudden changes. Sheppard out." He launched into a flat-out run, thinking, Okay, he's got a good start on me, but he's nowhere near one hundred percent. And he's losing blood. I'll catch him. But more than ten minutes of hard running with no glimpse of his Satedan teammate forced him to add, Yeah, right, I'll catch him – maybe when he stops.
The blood trail, much sparser now, led to a final set of tall doors which loomed in front of him. Beyond them, he knew, lay the eastern pier. As Sheppard swiped a hand over the controls to open them, a dreadful thought struck: an image of Ronon swimming through the dark water, away from the city; swimming toward the horizon, until even those powerful arms faltered and failed. He pushed it away as hard as he could. Oh, crap, no. No. He wouldn't do that, Ronon isn't the type to suicide, no, no, no! A fresh surge of adrenaline sent him rushing out into the vast open space.
Slowing his steps while he waited for his night vision to adjust, John called, "Ronon? Ronon!" Nothing, just a breeze blowing ocean sounds softly past his ear. "Ronon, answer me! Ronon!" He walked farther out onto the pier, able to see more details now. He scanned from side to side, anxiety a hard and growing knot inside him.
There! Against the bright swath of stars tumbling from zenith to horizon, his eyes picked up a huddled, out-of-place silhouette. Relief sweeping through him, he made his tired legs jog in its direction. He stopped a few paces away, huffing; leaned over to grasp his knees; and got right to the point. "Teyla's alive, Ronon."
He had his full night-sight now. He saw Ronon shake his head, a sharp, violent motion. "Don't lie to me, Sheppard!" Even with his voice thickened by tears, the man sounded very much like the unbelievably dangerous Runner he once had been. "Beckett said he lost her!"
Sheppard put all the force of his years of command into his next words. "You should know by now, Ronon, I don't lie to my people. I'm not lying now." Taking a chance he wouldn't get decked, John moved a couple of steps closer before hunkering down just behind Ronon's left shoulder. "Yes, it's true Beckett lost her. And also true, he was able to revive her. She's still in critical condition, but Teyla is alive."
A long minute passed; stretched into two, then three and four. By the dim light spilling out to them from the city, John watched Ronon. Just as he wondered if he'd even been heard, Ronon abruptly spoke, still without looking around, his voice barely louder than the murmurous suck and slap of the ever-moving ocean.
"At times, over the past few days, I wondered—" He interrupted himself with another fierce headshake. When he began again, the words came louder and faster, but sounded disjointed. "She was hurt so bad. . .and then the fever started. . .and it seemed nothing I did was going to be enough to save her. . . Maybe the past can't be changed. Maybe – time – will always find a way somehow to twist the future back to what should have been— Do you know what I mean, Sheppard?" His deep voice cracked.
John felt every hair on his body stand straight out. He knew all too well what his teammate was trying to say. In that other past, Teyla had died -- and so had Elizabeth. Ronon had been spared from losing Teyla a year ago -- or would it have been about now? John's mind spun as he tried to put the temporal paradox in perspective -- by the Dex who'd defied time itself to save the woman he loved. Nor had Dex's been the only sacrifice made. There'd been another Sheppard as well, who'd bought with his own life everything John now cherished. If, after all else, it were Elizabeth barely holding on to life— And if Ronon had it right, it could be, all too soon. Even with the best medical care possible, women still died in childbirth. . .didn't they?
"Yeah, I know what you mean," John admitted in a low voice. His gaze turned inward as he stared for a long moment into the face of his own personal demon. He shivered once all over before resolutely pushing it away and saying more strongly, "And I'm not buying it. Look, Ronon, life in this galaxy -- life anywhere -- is risky enough without believing some cosmic force is out to get us. I don't intend to spend the rest of my life with Elizabeth looking over my shoulder for an imaginary boogieman to come grab her away from me, when there are enough real boogiemen for me to worry about. Do you know what I mean?"
Another long moment passed while Ronon stared out over the endlessly moving water toward the dark horizon: wrestling his own demon, John guessed. And winning, as he finally released a long, shaky breath, his body subtly relaxing as the tension left it. Raising both hands, Ronon swiped the tears from his face and nodded before turning his head to look at Sheppard.
John reached out and grasped his friend's shoulder with a man's hard comfort. "C'mon, buddy," he said. "Let's get back to the infirmary."
-Atlantis-
Weir, McKay, Zelenka, and Beckett stood grouped together just outside the infirmary doors, gazing down the hallway with anxious expressions. Ronon felt a little jerk of apprehension zing through him, until a reassuring smile lit Weir's face. At the same moment he noticed the two scientists' body language relax. Beckett visibly heaved a sigh of relief, and stepped forward to meet him.
"Lad, I am so incredibly, incredibly sorry," he said before anyone else could speak.
Looking down into the doctor's tired blue eyes, Ronon found it impossible to hold a grudge. "'S okay, Doc," he replied. "I didn't wait to hear everything you had to say." He glanced diffidently down at his feet and up again. "Um – I know she isn't conscious, but— I mean, could I—"
Carson nodded. "Aye, of course, for a wee bit. I'll take you to her."
First, though, the others closed around him. McKay, inarticulate as always in such moments, clapped Ronon on his uninjured arm, giving it a little shake. Zelenka looked up with his shy, tight-lipped smile as he offered an encouraging nod. But Weir surprised him the most. Stepping right up to him, she stretched on tiptoe to brush his cheek with a gentle kiss, patting his good shoulder as she drew back again.
"We'll go now. Try to get some rest," she said. "If you need us for anything, just call."
The good kind of tears prickled behind Ronon's eyes as he looked down into hers. With simple sincerity he said, "Thanks. I will." He shifted his gaze from one to another of them, his eyes coming to rest last on Sheppard. "Thanks again – for everything."
The corners of his mouth quirking upward slightly, Sheppard returned his look with one of complete understanding. He put an arm around Weir's shoulders as they, Zelenka, and McKay turned to walk slowly away from the infirmary.
Beckett touched his elbow lightly. "This way, lad," he said. He paused briefly to take Ronon's left wrist, turning the back of the hand toward him. "Aye, and while we're about it, we'll get that hand cleaned up again. Can't be too careful, y'know."
Glancing down, Ronon saw dried blood streaking the back of his hand where he'd yanked out the IV needle, and marring the scrubs he wore. Although he wanted nothing more than to go straight back to Teyla, he curbed his impatience while Beckett swabbed his hand with alcohol. At the same time, the doctor remarked conversationally, "You did good immobilizin' that piece of conduit like that, keepin' it from wagglin' around and doin' more damage." Ronon shrugged his shoulders, not knowing what to say. He vainly tried to stifle a wince when the right one reminded him of the cracked collarbone on that side; got a flash of knowing blue eyes and a, "We'll rustle up a new sling for you before too long. But for now—" He ushered Ronon through to the intensive care part of the infirmary.
Coming from just beyond a movable screen, Ronon heard the slow, steady beep of a heart monitor punctuating a soft whooshing sound. He wasn't sure whether to be glad or sorry when Beckett voluntarily held back, letting him round the partition and take the last few steps to Teyla's bedside alone.
At first her petite form seemed lost, overwhelmed by wires, and electrodes, and tubes, and needles, and things he couldn't even name. Blinking hard, he made himself focus only on her. Though still very pale, cheeks and eyes sunken by her ordeal, her face no longer had that ashen undertone. Gone, too, was the haggard stamp of constant pain. He bent so he could rest his right forearm carefully along the top of her pillow. With his left hand, he brushed back with shaking fingers an errant strand of hair caught on the breathing tube protruding from her mouth. Tracing the delicate lines of jaw and chin and throat, he trailed his fingertips along her left collarbone, across her bare shoulder, down her arm to close his large hand gently on her small one. Very carefully, he raised it to his lips and held it there.
Ronon had no idea how long it was before he sensed Beckett come up beside him. Pressing a final kiss on each slender, unresponsive finger, he tenderly laid Teyla's hand at her side again. He reluctantly straightened. "I know, I have to go," he mumbled without looking around at the doctor. "But – I don't want to."
Beckett's hand closed on his shoulder with a grip gentler than Sheppard's, but no less comforting. "I know, lad," he said kindly. "That's why I've had a wee place fixed up for you just around the corner here." He led the way past another of the privacy screens and pointed to the made-up gurney behind it. A fresh set of scrubs lay folded on top of the light green blanket, along with the promised sling.
Unaccountably, Ronon felt his throat tighten up again. Or maybe, if he were honest, he could account for it: even after all this time, he still wasn't used to the sheer goodheartedness of these people. "Doc," he said, "you're amazing. Thank you."
"Aye, well, we'll be checkin' on Teyla through the night. Don't be surprised if someone gives you a look-in as well." With a final weary smile and nod, Beckett left.
Ronon changed out of his bloodied scrubs, then eased his arm into the sling. He couldn't resist taking one more look at Teyla around the edge of the screen, as if it were somehow necessary to imprint an image of her fragile beauty on his mind. At last he turned away, going to the gurney and stretching out gratefully on it. He closed his eyes, holding the mental picture of his betrothed at the front of his mind. Listening to the soft but reassuringly steady beeping of the heart monitor, he slipped gradually into a shallow doze.
Periodically, soft footsteps and rustlings next door roused him to just enough awareness to let him catalog them as normal and expected. One time he heard a hushed female voice ask a question from a distance; another, equally hushed but much closer replied in a lilting accent, "Dead to the world, the poor sweet man, an' no more than he should be after all he's been through. . ."
A quiver of amusement went through him as the voice faded beyond the dividing screen. Actually, not so much, but close enough. Shifting onto his left side, he let himself drift again. . .
. . .Came fully awake, eyes snapping open as his heart went into high gear.
Something was wrong.
Even as he got silently up from the gurney, Ronon searched his mind, seeking for a memory of whatever had roused him so suddenly. Footsteps, soft footsteps approaching, halting, but no other sounds: just – footsteps. On bare feet, he crossed to the privacy screen and eased an eye around the edge.
A man stood on the far side of Teyla's bed, gazing down at her.
Every protective instinct at full, hair-triggered alert, Ronon rose to his full, intimidating height as he stepped into the man's view. "Can I help you with something?" he growled.
The stranger looked up quickly, took two hasty steps back in obvious shock. "Specialist – Dex! You – you startled me."
Ronon belatedly registered the white coat the man was wearing. Immediately he relaxed his threatening stance. "Uh, sorry, Doctor," he said, feeling sheepish. "I, uh, was just sleeping back there." He waved a vague hand.
Sounding slightly breathless, the doctor said, "Evidently we gave each other a scare. I apologize for waking you." He shoved both hands into his coat pockets and started to turn away.
Ronon flicked a glance from him to Teyla, and back again. "But don't you need to finish what you came to do, Doctor—?"
"Payne." The man gave him a thin smile. "I came on the Daedalus. Thank you, but I only came to check on Ms. Emmagan's O-two levels. They are quite good. So sorry to have disturbed you. Good night." With that, he was gone.
Slightly unsettled, Ronon padded a few steps after him, irrationally tempted to follow. A muffled burst of laughter from the nurse's station down the hall dissuaded him. He moved to look down at Teyla, still resting deeply and peacefully in drug-induced sleep. Very carefully, because she still looked so frail, he stroked her hair, her face, her slender arms. Her smooth skin felt much cooler and less dry than it had when her fever had gotten so high. Sternly resisting the urge to gather her into the shelter of his arms, he brushed his lips from the corner of her mouth opposite the breathing tube, across her cheek to her ear, then down her neck to her shoulder.
Reluctantly, he forced himself to go lie down again on the gurney. But sleep eluded him for the rest of the night. He stayed wide awake, wondering why the hair on the back of his neck still wanted to prickle.
-To Be Continued-
