Finally got this chapter finished – despite my computer's best efforts to the contrary! We've drawing to a close with this story now.. but that doesn't mean the whumpage is over for poor Sheppy. Oh no, my friend. Poor old Sheppy is getting whumped but good in this chapter!
Thanks again to everyone who has reviewed – I think we're looking at just one more chapter to finish this fic... and to introduce the long-awaited "pants-cutting" scene!
Please do leave a review and let me know your thoughts – all comments and constructive criticism gratefully recieved!
P.S. Uh oh... it looks like the cliffhanger bunny is back:)
John came back to consciousness to the accompaniment of grinding, hot pain. He sucked in a ragged, moaning breath, the comfortable darkness deserting him as agony flared in his thigh, spreading outwards in a rolling wave that picked him up and tumbled him into wakefulness. He opened his eyes, squinting against the bright sunlight, to find himself laying flat on his back, looking up at the empty blue sky above. He could hear the rushing of water nearby. He felt dizzy, weak, pain ebbing and flaring angrily in his leg.
Something shifted in the periphery of his vision and he rolled his head groggily to find Ronon crouching beside him, a frown of concentration on his face as he leaned over Sheppard's leg with a damp piece of cloth in his hand. Before John could draw breath ask him what he has doing, Ronon reached out and began to dab carefully at the torn and bloody flesh. Sheppard's vision greyed out and he bit back a strangled cry, his muscles tensing involuntarily, arching his back up off the ground as Ronon's touch awoke searing pain in his leg. Liquid fire ran along his nerves, stealing the breath from his lungs, leaving him dizzy. When he could breathe anything like steadily again he opened his eyes to find the Satedan gazing down at him steadily.
"Could you.. not.. do that?" he gasped out.
Ronon's face remained impassive. "You want it to get infected?" He pressed the damp cloth to tender flesh once again, jerking his hand back in frustration as John shuddered and let out a sharp cry.
"Sheppard..."
John panted brokenly, feeling sweat breaking out on his forehead as he tried to breathe through the spiking pain. Ronon's voice was tinged with a hint of impatience as he sat back on his heels and regarded his trembling CO.
"I have to clean this – but if you keep making a noise like that, you're gonna lead those things right to us."
Specialist Ronon Dex, practical to the last. The man who had insisted on staying awake and upright whilst undergoing painful surgery without the benefit of anaesthetic. John was beginning to feel that his stoical endurance credentials were seriously not up to scratch in this situation. His head was swimming and he let it fall to one side loosely, swallowing convulsively as he fought for control.
The river splashed and frothed just a couple of meters away, rather deeper now than it had been upstream, dancing around rocks and boulders as it rushed past them. It occurred to John that he had no idea how long he'd been out for or how far downstream Ronon had carried him. The Satedan had chosen a good place to stop – a grassy verge alongside the river where the jungle vegetation curved away from the shoreline, leaving a small clearing that was easily defensible.
"Sheppard.."
John jerked involuntarily, Ronon's voice breaking into his wandering thoughts, and sluggishly twisted his head back to see the former runner regarding him with.. was that a dash of concern on the fierce warrior's face? His attention drifted and he found himself staring at the sleeveless tunic Ronon habitually wore.. the fabric was damp, a dark stain spreading down the front of the garment, and John stared at it in confusion before slowly realising that it was blood. His blood. Soaked into the fabric of Ronon's clothes as he had carried him downstream. Sheppard felt oddly woozy, his thoughts disconnected and slow. He struggled to focus on the matter at hand.
"Did we... did we lose 'em?" His voice sounded weak, almost shaky.
Ronon nodded shortly, "For now. But they'll pick up our tracks eventually – we need to keep moving."
"Any.. any word from... Rodney and.. Teyla?" Talking was an effort, quickly sapping his meagre store of energy.
Ronon was leaning forward as he spoke now, his attention once again focused on Sheppard's injuries. "Nothing so far. They've probably made it to the gate by now." He pressed the damp cloth gently to the edges of one of the deep puncture wounds and let out a growl of frustration as Sheppard jerked instinctively away from the touch, moaning as hot pain briefly roused him from his pervasive lethargy.
John's body felt super-heated, flushed and dizzy. He was vaguely aware of sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, trickling down the side of his face to soak into the hair at his temples. His breath was coming in short, ragged gasps. Ronon loomed over him, blocking out the bright glare of the sunlight, his face serious.
"I need to clean these wounds," he stated firmly, his voice low and rough "or they're gonna get infected." The Satedan glanced down at John's leg before continuing ominously, "That's if they're not already - animal bites are bad for infection."
Sheppard nodded his understanding. He'd spent enough hours at McMurdo idly watching the Discovery Channel, for lack of anything better to do, to recall that carnivores' mouths were rife with bacteria. It was basic survival training to try and clean and disinfect any animal bite as soon as possible. Survival training, however, was less forthcoming on suggestions for what to do when the animal that bit you was still hunting you down.. and when any attempt to touch the wounds had you wanting to scream the place down.
He breathed out heavily, saying shortly, "Do it."
"You need to stay quiet. Sound carries in the jungle."
Sheppard gritted his teeth. "Just... make it quick."
Ronon gave him a long look and then simply nodded, understanding in his eyes.
He couldn't help tensing up as Ronon leaned over him.
Sheppard shuddered as Ronon pressed the cloth firmly against the ragged mess that was his thigh, clenching his jaw desperately as he felt the damp fabric slide roughly over the abraded flesh, wiping away blood and dirt and sweat. God, the pain was incredible. It roared through him like a wave of fire, washing away conscious thought, leaving only raw, agonising sensation. John's hands clenched until his arms shook, tears leaking from the corners of his screwed-shut eyes, a smothered keening sound escaping his tightly-pressed lips.
Oh god, how much longer? He could feel every touch, every swift pass of the sodden cloth over his flesh as Ronon worked efficiently to cleanse the wounds. He gagged, moaning helplessly. It hurt so much. His entire leg burned with agony. His throat felt tight with the effort to stay quiet and he could feel the scream building in his chest.
He couldn't help himself; a sharp cry was ripped from him as Ronon pressed hard into the wounds, digging out pieces of debris. A large hand was suddenly clamped over his mouth, pushing his head firmly against the unyielding ground, smothering the scream on his lips. Sheppard twisted helplessly, his hands clawing at the earth, pinned to the ground by Ronon's hands on his face and his leg, his screams muffled as the Satedan cleaned out the wounds thoroughly. He screamed and screamed until his throat was raw, Ronon's hand heavy across his open mouth, his teeth scraping against skin.
He couldn't breathe. Darkness was crowding in at the edges of his vision and the energy had drained from his muscles, his involuntary struggles growing weak. A helpless shiver ran through him. Pain thrummed through his whole body, leaving him dizzy and nauseous. He was beyond screaming now, beyond thought, drifting on the edge of consciousness. He was barely aware of the pressure on his leg ceasing and of Ronon's face looming over him.
His team mate's voice seemed to echo oddly through the buzzing in his ears.
"Sheppard?"
Ronon's hand lifted from his mouth and John was vaguely aware of the harsh panting of his own breathing. He stared unseeingly at the bright blue sky above. His limbs felt heavy and limp. He was aware of Ronon talking but he couldn't make sense of the words. He couldn't think around the pain still singing in his veins. His head throbbed dizzily.
He grimaced, tired muscles tensing up as something soft pressed tightly against his wounds. Ronon's voice was a drone in the background. He closed his eyes tiredly, letting the words wash over him as the sensation of pressure increased around his thigh. He thought he heard the word "clean" and maybe "dressing" and then the world faded to black and he slipped gratefully into the darkness, leaving the angry pain behind.
Sheppard drifted in and out. He was vaguely aware of movement, of a rhythmic jogging motion, and at one point he roused enough to realise that he was once again hanging upside down over Ronon's shoulder.
He felt hot and dizzy, his head feeling like it was stuffed with cotton wool. Thoughts were hard to keep hold of and he kept slipping away from himself, the darkness pulling him under only to jerk him awake again what felt like moments later. His leg burned now with a constant pain that flared and growled as he bumped against Ronon's body with every jolting step. He was drenched in sweat, his muscles trembling minutely.
Once he thought he heard the crackle of voices.. but there was no-one here but Ronon and he, no-one to talk to. Maybe he'd dreamed that part…
He startled into brief wakefulness when the screaming howl of the predators floated down to them from upstream and the pace of Ronon's strides quickly increased. He was vaguely aware of Ronon's voice, telling him, "They've found our trail again. You need to hurry."
He swung limply over the Satedan's shoulder, his arms dangling loosely beside his head, confused at Ronon's words. Hurry and do what? Was he supposed to be doing something? His head was pounding and the darkness sucked him in again.
He was jerked awake by motion, his body jolting up and down as Ronon... Ronon was running, breathing heavily, his feet hitting the ground hard and fast, every heavy step reverberating through John's aching muscles. He was distantly aware that they were on solid ground, no longer wading through the river. He felt flushed with heat, his head swimming dizzily and he was glad to let the darkness fold him into its soft embrace.
He let out a grunt as he hit the ground heavily, the impact awakening the raging fire in his thigh. He struggled to breathe, sweating and trembling, opening his eyes in bemusement to see blue sky and sunshine, the edges of the canopy dancing in the breeze far above. He started groggily as the distinctive whining discharge of Ronon's gun shattered the jungle calm, closely followed by the angry squeal of an animal in pain.
"Ronon..?" his mouth felt dry, his tongue thick, and his voice was no more than a cracked whisper.
More gunfire from close by, Ronon's weapon and a 9mm too. Booted feet came into view, stepping over him as he lay limp and trembling on the ground. He looked up to see the Satedan standing over him, a gun in each hand, his dreadlocks whipping as he turned his head back and forth, twisting his torso to fire in different directions.
Under the loud retort of the gunfire, Sheppard could hear the screaming growls of their hunters. The sound seemed to come from all around them.
TBC...
