Maybe It Wasn't So Funny…
Ronon sat down next to their hiding place. When Lorne tackled Sheppard, he was surprised. He was contemplating doing the same thing. Contemplating? No, he was moving to do the same thing. The idiot was going towards a certain death.
Ending up in the water only added to his surprise. Seconds later, he saw Sheppard and Lorne surface and then they were gone just as quickly. Lorne resurfaced without Sheppard, so he took the man under his charge. They rode the rapids until the current pushed the pair to the river's edge. Next time he came across his team leader was on the bank of the river coughing and gagging. Something he had already done and helped Lorne to do.
From his position in the hiding spot, Sheppard sat up and squinted at Ronon's lower left leg. He pointed towards it. Ronon looked down. His pants leg was torn and blood seeped through it.
By Kell's bloated corpse, he swore to himself. The cold from the river must have masked it. He felt absolutely nothing. Yes, his pain threshold was uncommonly high, but it should have registered. He returned Sheppard's pointing with a well go figure shrug.
He squinted and made his own observation. Where Sheppard had been pressed down in the leaves, was a smear of blood thinned out by the water dripping off of him. Now it was his turn to point and gesticulate.
Sheppard lifted his shirt and an angry, jagged gash stared back. Something either snagged him in the river or he snagged something while on the wild water ride.
Well, this just sucked on toast, to borrow a term from the Earthlings. Now what? They needed to move. The search party might come back. Waiting around was a bad idea. Also, their gear might have floated down river…
He pulled Lorne from the cover of the bushes and hefted him up once again. This could not be helping him at all. However, it did not matter; they could not stay. Sheppard nodded in agreement and with understanding. It was time for them to take a walk. The trio moved from the safety of the trees to follow the river. However, they kept close to the tree line in case they needed to take cover quickly.
After about an hour, Ronon's leg started to complain. He was not one to show distress easily, but it was certainly creating problems due to the added weight. He looked over his empty shoulder at Sheppard who was falling behind. His complexion had turned to ash and his eyes failed to maintain a sharp focus on his surroundings. While the man confessed laziness, he never demonstrated carelessness. This was no good.
He spotted a well hidden, overgrown area and placed Lorne down. He walked back to Sheppard and placed a firm hand on his chest. Glassy eyes stared back, recognition a little slow in coming. He blinked and Ronon pointed to where he stashed Lorne. Sheppard followed and sat down next to the major.
As their clothes dried, Ronon discovered how much the blood discolored Sheppard's shirt and pants. Quite a bit actually. The gash must have nicked a blood vessel that liked to bleed. He carefully lifted the Colonel's shirt. The wound was worse than it originally looked. If they had access to the infirmary, it was easily taken care of. Out here, any cut could be life threatening. Even his own.
This was definitely a bad thing.
They had nothing to bind wounds like these. And, they could not wait for rescue. Stymied, Ronon looked back at the river. He needed to think. His eyes fell on debris in the waves lapping up to the riverbank and that is when he spotted it, his beloved. His cherished weapon of choice glistened in the sun. Apparently, she washed up on shore and waited patiently for him to find her. He stood up and retrieved her. As he stood at the water's edge, another beautiful sight graced his vision. A backpack. It was snagged on a tree in the middle of the river.
Ancestors be praised. Only problem was wading out to get it. He was just getting dry, but the water would numb his leg again. That was a plus.
He returned his attention to the two men in the tree line. Sheppard checked Lorne. Apparently, he regained enough of his senses to focus on his teammate.
Ronon had noticed a few things about his team leader. He never asked anything that he was not willing to do himself, whether it was a mission or some grunt level duty. Second, he proffered the laid back persona, but he was all business. Ronon would follow the man into battle because he knew his stuff. He still had plenty to learn, but Sheppard seemed to enjoy the challenge. He was a student; he just did not take direction from superiors well. Everything was in his own way and own time. His Satedan hierarchy would have frowned with extreme prejudice on such behavior. Well, that was a moot point now. Really, how well had it served them anyway?
Ronon paused before returning to the pair. Funny thing is…not everyone under his command liked him, but they would follow him into battle as well. They might make an eye roll, but Sheppard never had to doubt whether his order was being followed. Ronon had already learned a good deal from these people's unique-- for the Pegasus Galaxy anyway-- views. It was a good decision to stay because they also had a lot to learn.
Sheppard looked up at him as he drew closer. He gestured about the leg. Ronon looked down at it. He shrugged. This inability to hear was unacceptable. Even the ringing was unacceptable and annoying. He pointed to the pack in the river.
Sheppard went to stand up, but Ronon placed a hand on his good shoulder. I'll get it. You sit. Or, so he hoped that's what he conveyed with his stern facial expression.
Sheppard answered by pointing to his eyes and then at Ronon's back. I'll watch your back.
That, Ronon could live with. He nodded back and held out his hand. They walked to an easy ingress spot. Ronon started out. The river really lazed in this area, so wading was not a problem. He retrieved the pack and waded back from the center of the river. His leg still complained, but just not as loudly. The cold water did feel good on it.
Sheppard held out a hand and helped the big man the last few feet. He took the pack and together they trundled back to where Lorne rested oblivious to the world around him.
Sitting, the Colonel started taking inventory of the pack. The first aid kit was water tight, thank goodness. Ronon watched as Sheppard went about figuring what each of them would need. He threw Dex a large bandage, some antibiotic ointment and sterile wipes. He showed Ronon the Tylenol. Ronon graciously declined.
Sheppard made a- well, aren't you something Mister 'I can have an operation on my back without even a local'- face.
Ronon returned it with a- you're a pansy if you need something for such a small scratch as that Mister Prissy Pants- scowl.
They smiled politely at each other afterwards.
Ronon knew that was not a small scratch and neither was his. It was just fun to ruffle the man's feathers every once in a while. McKay was easier, but Sheppard took a little creativity. Nevertheless, the situation was far from funny. They needed help and Sheppard knew it too.
Ronon motioned for Sheppard to take care of his wound first then work on Lorne's. He nodded back and grabbed similar supplies he had given Ronon. With their needs taken care of, they went to work on Lorne's.
Sheppard was not even going to attempt to remove the shrapnel, just cover it. He also found an icepack, crushed it, and put it on the back of Lorne's head. The major did not even stir. They exchanged looks; it worried both of them.
Sheppard then dug out some Power Bars and tossed one to Ronon. He did not understand the dislike some of the expedition members had for the little treats. They were pretty darn good-- doughy, sweet and easy to chew. What more could you ask for?
The Colonel rested his head on his knees and slowly chewed one of the delectable little bars. Ronon looked at the nearly glassy, lazy river as he munched on his. It was quite peaceful if people were not chasing you down and trying to blow you up. The movement of the water mesmerized him until a reflection caught his attention. The conveyance to and from the Stargate was making its return run.
Sheppard dubbed it the Gate Express early in the mission. It was a long covered wagon pulled by four large, four legged, hoofed beasts of burden. McKay called them oxen on steroids except not as cute and cuddly. He looked up oxen on the Atlantis database and realized McKay had been using his razor sharp sarcasm. It was kind of funny.
He stood up and in true John Wayne fashion (Sheppard had recommended the movies) fired off two shots to get their attention. He looked back at Sheppard who had not even flinched. Ronon tapped him on the foot with his boot and pointed up when Sheppard looked at him. A smile crossed his face and he stood up.
The conveyance stopped and the driver looked down at the river bank. He waved. Ronon waved back. They had taken the transport a couple of times. Ronon usually sat with the driver and chatted with the man during the journey. The driver, Tram, had been making the run for five years. Basically, he was hopeful that the negotiations went well. It made for a safer trip.
The only reason they had not taken it this time was because the wagon was on its way back from the Ring. Waiting an extra three days just to take it was not an option. Although, McKay had tried to convince everyone not to make the three hour walk and to wait, but that had gone over as well as inviting a Wraith to dinner. With hindsight, it might have been a better idea than originally thought.
Ronon returned his attention to the driver who had started to yell down to them. Crap- to borrow again. Ronon made large gestures to his ears and large negative gestures. The man nodded back. He pointed down the river. The road descended closer to the water and the climb up was slightly easier.
Others exited the wagon with a length of rope. Sheppard grabbed the pack and Ronon slung Lorne over his shoulder. They both went down to the river's edge and waded in. The shock of the cold water put grimaces on their faces as they moved farther across the river. The bottom dropped off and they had to swim. Ronon was not sure how Sheppard did it with the pack and a torso injury. He waited for him to flounder; Sheppard never did.
They made it to the narrow bank on the other side and walked to where the rope dangled. At the end was a harness. They must have done this type of thing before. Without question, Lorne was first. Ronon shouted up that this man was unconscious and please be careful. Smiles and nods were directed down. They secured him into the harness and Ronon pulled on the rope to let them know they were ready. Ronon looked up at the driver. Tram looked out across the river to the other side with an angry scowl on his face.
Ronon turned around in time to see the scouting party taking aim at them.
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Oh, this is so not good. He would forever be the master of understatement. He had seen one too many of these cells not to recognize it immediately upon awakening.
He sat up with the pins and needles thing going full blast.
"Dr. McKay?"
Oh, this is even better- he was here with a snot nosed kid who had no idea what the Wraith…Hey, he could hear. Yes!
Wait, the Wraith did not shoot him. They were human. Oh great, now he had to deal with another set of humans trying to use Wraith technology. That had gone so well the last time.
"Dr. McKay, am I suppose to feel this tingly?"
Oh right, the pacifier sucking newbie.
"Cavanaugh is it? Yes, you're supposed to feel this tingly. We were shot by Wraith stunners, so get use to it."
"What is this place?"
"Could you ask any more insipid questions? This, my dear babe in the blue shaded, Wraith woods, is a Wraith cell. Now shut up and let me think." Think about what though? How they were going to die a horrible, horrible death or worse, live a horrible, horrible, pain filled, short life?
Now he realized that the rest of his team was not here- just the teat suckling, wet behind the ears, verdant green, Pegasus Galaxy toddler. Oh no. Sheppard and Ronon had been caught in the explosion and thrown off the cliff. Or, that is what he had surmised from where Weir and Teyla had been looking. Another, oh no. Elizabeth and Teyla, where were they?
He took a deep mind-clearing breath and let it out. Alright, he had handled situations like this. He was even successful. He devised and executed- bad choice of words- an escape plan. He could do this. To paraphrase the bard, piece of cake.
"Someone's coming Dr. McKay," young Cpl. Cavanaugh stated in trepidation.
Heavy footsteps echoed down the hall. The cellmates exchanged worried looks and visibly gulped. Their captors stopped in front of the cell in all their leather clad glory. Goon one had spiky blond hair and a smirk. Goon two had bushy brown hair and a Neanderthal presence. The third was totally frightening.
They were insanely screwed--again.
His team's luck still held on to its bad little self.
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Caldwell stood over Weir's desk wondering if he really could do a better job than her. She had led this city through: infiltration by hostile forces; siege by the devil himself in the form of stringy, haired death dealers; and contamination by a nano-virus. She had help, he understood that. She trusted some of these people more than he ever would have. Whether it was her mistake or his was more and more unclear.
He even felt they had a tentative truce because of the similarities of recent alien interventions. A shared experience sometimes tempered strained relationships. He was even beginning to understand why she kept Sheppard around. He was a whole lotta trouble on paper, but that translated well out here.
O'Neill liked him. He had only met the General in passing, but knew the man was a maverick in his own right. There was recognition of that trait in Sheppard which created an instant understanding between the two. Caldwell was usually a by the book kind of officer. He was starting to appreciate the other side of the coin out here in Pegasus.
The Stargate klaxon sounded. He thumped the desk with his hand and walked out into the Control Room stopping behind the technician. "Is it Col. Sheppard and Dr. Weir's team returning?" He placed his hands behind him while staring at the puddle. He gave a mental sigh. Alas, it was time to give them their city back.
"I'm not receiving an IDC. It's a radio signal." The Canadian's face scrunched up and he looked momentarily confused.
"Do you recognize the source?" Caldwell asked looking over the man's shoulder.
"Yes. It's…"
A familiar voice blared over the communication equipment in greeting. No wonder the guy was reluctant to believe his ears.
"Hey howdy Atlantis! This is Ford and have I got some news for you!"
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A/N: The author humbly apologizes for whining and carrying on like a three year old in the last chapter. She shall try and conduct herself with a little more decorum in the future. All she asks is that you send in your understanding of her breakdown in written form. Then please press the button. The bunnies and the author are going in search of Isaac the Bartender for a Margarita.