Understudy

Author: Cheryl W.

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Chapter 9: Proving Ground

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It was when the Daedalus came under attack before Sheppard even got to Atlantis that John began to take Dr. McKay's "there are no safe rear guard positions in the Pegasus galaxy" seriously. He was training with a Ronon Dex who was being pathetically gentle with him when the alarm sounded moments before the ship rocked under enemy fire. Ronon started to run from the room but John stood there, aching to do something but unwilling to be in the way, to overstep his tenuous "trial run" as a member of the Stargate program, (his thoughts, not any of McKay's words).

Sensing that Sheppard wasn't at his side, Ronon stopped, looked back to see the man standing in the training room looking tense and frustrated and a bit lost. John's vulnerability hit a chord with Ronon. "We're up buddy," he announced, felt relieved when John's dark expression lighted into a so very familiar bittersweet 'let's give 'em heck' lopsided smile. Then the man was matching his hurried stride. Ok, Ronon usually would be running but he didn't want John to push himself that far, not when it had only been a little over two weeks since he'd been shot.

The ship rocked with two more assaults as they traveled the corridors, both times Ronon reached out to grab onto John, ensure the man didn't bounce off the walls and do damage to his still healing bullet wound. Claxons echoed through the ship barely letting them get a thought to stay in their head until someone squashed the alarm. Neither Dex or Sheppard needed a freaking alarm to know they were in trouble.

John was pressing his arm to his ribs that he had vowed to Dr. Beckett were 100% healed, grimacing against the stinging pain emanating from his two week old bullet wound and doing some embarrassingly loud heavy breathing by the time he and Dex entered the bridge. He took in the chaotic scene, processing what he could. There was a large organic ugly looking ship outside the bridge window and a swarm of black ships "darting" toward them. ('Huh, guess that's where they got their name,' he thought, certainly hadn't made the connection to the name when McKay showed him a few of them still and broken in their Wraith Museum in Area 51.

When he saw the beam of a freaking laser shooting from the enemy ship, he knew he had truly stepped into some freak alien battlezone. He was trying to brace his stance for another rock and roll of the ship at the incoming hit but again Ronon coiled his arm around him and latched a hand on his elbow, was his stabilizer as the ship went askew under the enemy fire.

The commander of the Daedalus, Colonel Steven Caldwell was demanding damage assessment, ordering the navigator to jump to hyperspace, to get away from the onslaught. But he was only getting bad news in return: the corridors between the pilot quarters and the hangar bay full of 302 ships had taken a direct hit, was leaking atmosphere, their hyperspace drive had also suffered damage and was offline and to make things interesting, the darts were starting their bombing runs with not one ship out there to give them any opposition.

He heard McKay before he saw him as he ranted. "I would gladly go fix the hyperdrive but there's the matter of a fifty darts starting strafing runs along the corridor between me and the drive!" He was lashing out to that other scientist guy that McKay had had a tiff with in the Area 51 meeting room during John's visit: Radek. It seemed like they didn't ever see eye to eye.

Radek retorted back, "Yes, I'm aware! But you can talk someone through…."

Rodney's face got more irate at the suggestion. "Who?! That numbskull Kavanagh?! He's more likely to blow us up than fix anything."

Caldwell was grilling an officer, "Are you telling me there's not a single pilot able to get to the hanger bay?! Why would they all be on the other side of the …."

"Championship volleyball game, sir. You…you gave the ok…."the junior offer stammered, historically knew what happens to the bearer of bad news.

"Well that's just great. We're sitting ducks without the hyperdrive and we're just going to get picked apart by the darts," the colonel snapped back. He addressed the next to weapon's control, "Keep firing at the hive ship, make them reconsider getting closer." To another officer he growled, "Patch up my ship ! We need to get fighters to the hangar bay and McKay to engineering. I don't care if you have to make a human bridge for the pilots to walk across, get it done!"

Eyes going to the schematic of the ship, the damaged areas flaring in red on the screen, John realized the corridors from the bridge to the hanger bay were unscathed…so far. "We can make it to the hanger deck from here," he pointed out, loud and confident enough to snag a small portion of Caldwell's besieged attention.

"Yes brilliant deduction but that does us little good since…" Caldwell barked without looking at the man who had made the irrelevant statement.

"I can give the darts another target to go after instead of the Daedalus," John strategized, felt his heart thudding hard, knew this was the make it or break it moment in this whole freaking space odyssey of his. Would they trust him? Had McKay lied, or been misled, that they would let him fly? Could he trust himself to not screw up again and cost more lives?

Sheppard's offer had Caldwell's head snapping up. A light seemed to go on in his head as he realized who was speaking out of turn, offering them….some hope.

"My distraction tactics should give McKay enough time to make it to Engineering," John hoped to God that he wasn't miscalculating what they could expect out of his efforts, that he didn't get blown out of the sky/space a second after launching from the bay like some dumb, green, wet behind the ears, kid pilot. "Maybe time to patch up a path to the hanger bay so other pilots could get airborne…spaceborne…" John corrected himself, almost couldn't hold back a smirk at his new lingo..and the chance to do some good…in an honest to goodness space ship. To fly again.

Steven Caldwell turned away from the useless control panels and faced the one man who might turn the tide for them. He had to admit the plan…it had the potential to have a small percentage of success…where presently, they had no other proposal that could boast that. "Looks like you're finally going to stop free loading and earn your ride, Major Sheppard."

John nodded curtly. "Yes sir" his inside churning and yet something sparking in him that he had thought had died in Afghanistan: the belief that he could get back into the fight, be worth something again.

Rodney had been sure Caldwell would scoff at Sheppard's suggestion…the Colonel loved to scoff at everyone, so it took him a few moments to register the Colonel's agreement to Sheppard's suicidal proposition. Pushing to stand between Caldwell and Sheppard, he bitingly countered the Colonel's totally unacceptable approval, "What?! No?! One ship against 30 darts?! He wouldn't be a distraction, he'd be a mosquito that they swatted in 10 seconds or less!"

Trying not to take McKay's objections personally, John stepped to the left, again in the Colonel's line of sight and piped in, "I just have to buy you a few minutes. Ten….Fifteen."

Spinning around to face Sheppard, Rodney growled, "The only thing you'd be buying is the farm! No! This is not happening." Then he folded his arms like he had the final say in all of this.

But Caldwell's gaze was locked on Sheppard's, didn't see the man backing down or taking the way out McKay was providing to him. "Yes, Doctor it is happening."

A new voice added to the fray, Dr. Weir's. "Already ordering my people around like they are your chess pieces, Steven?" she challenged, arching an eyebrow at the Daedalus' commander who did not have authority over her Atlantis staff, a point he kept "forgetting."

"Dr. Weir there will be no distinguishing between my crew and yours if we all become space dust!" Coldwell shot back, losing his reign on his temper like he usually did with this particular woman.

John stepped into the pissing match going on between his two superiors, but his look took in McKay and Ronon as well. "Listen! If any of you expect me to sit on my hands and get blown up without putting up a fight, you really picked the wrong guy to draft into your little alien getaway travel package! I'm here to be a part of this! To do some good even if it's the last thing I do, especially if it's the last thing I do." To Elizabeth, who he knew had the final word on giving him the green light, he implored, "Let me do this. Let me try to be worth your faith in me."

Elizabeth felt her chest tighten at Sheppard's words, that he knew her allowing him to join Atlantis, it did involve faith. Faith he needed, hers, McKay's, Ronon's. He also needed to know she trusted that their combined faith in him wasn't misplaced. Praying she wasn't sentencing him to his death needlessly, she gave her first tough decision as Atlantis's new commander: "Go. But I expect you to use your piloting expertise to full advantage and be prepared to give me a full report on the improvements you deem necessary to the 302s when you get back."

John's smile was beaming. "Yes, ma'am," he charmingly drawled then he was beginning to loop his way out of the bridge, his healing injuries and echoing pain taking second place to the adrenaline surging through him and the prospect of getting into the battle, feet first.

Watching John's departure, McKay turned to Ronon, bit out with frustration, "You were absolutely no help!? You don't want him to go as much as…Hey where are you going?!" calling after the Satedan striding out the door.

Ronon turned around walked backwards a few steps as he declared, "With him," a starting of a smile breaking across his face, the likes McKay hadn't seen before. A mix of 'They want to fight, then let's fight!' and …honest to goodness…joy. Then Ronon was out of sight, merrily tagging along with Sheppard's suicide run.

"Why do I see an ulcer in my future?" he bemoaned to himself but Weir heard him and make a reply.

"See, you already believe that Sheppard's plan will work…" At McKay's look, she clarified, "You see a future for all of us. One with you having an ulcer, yes, but a future." Then she smirked, confessed her own fears, "If it is any consolation…I see grey hairs in my future and I really wanted to grow old gracefully."

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John wasn't all that surprised when he heard size 13 feet thudding up been him. Once Ronon gained his side, the Satadan wordlessly pulled John's arm over his shoulders and loped an arm around the wounded man's waist. Though John appreciated the help because time really was of the essence and moving fast wasn't in his bag of tricks at the moment, he was waiting for the same backlash from Ronon that he had gotten from McKay. Reasons why he shouldn't do this, evidence that he couldn't do this.

When the other man remained silent and continued to aid him in the direction of his self assigned mission, John broke their silence. "Say it already."

"Say what?" though Ronon had a fair idea what Sheppard expected him to say.

"That I can't do this, boasted something I can't deliver," John pressed, starting to feel a resignation that Ronon and Rodney might be right.

"Don't know you can't do something if you never try doing it," Ronon quietly gave in reply.

"Let me guess, your John said that," John moodily shot back. Thought that, on the bright side, this might be the last time anyone got him confused with his alternate universe counterpoint, maybe because he failed so tragically like that John never did…or because he was dead.

Ronon gave John as sideways look, chuckled at the man's scowl and answered, "My grandfather told me that. He was a pretty wise old guy."

Sheppard's face pinked with embarrassment. Meeting Ronon's gaze, he apologized, "Oh, sorry about…disparaging your grandfather's advice."

Ronon simply shrugged, didn't take it personally. The ship began to shake and the corridor echoed with booms that Ronon knew was the darts strafing the ship, thankfully not their corridor. But Ronon knew their target was on the other side of the hangar bay and the passageway to engineering. It was as if this particular Wraith hive ship knew where to strike the Daedalus to cause the most damage. It was not a happy thought.

Fighting each step to keep his equilibrium, John was relieved to see the signs for the hangar bay. "Thanks, by the way." This earned him a questioning look from Ronon, making him clarify. "For not pointing out the low odds that this will work."

"Coming up with odds is McKay's thing. Me, I believe in fighting to my last breath."

"You might get your wish," John undertoned and then they were in the hangar, found that there were a few technicians there, waiting, hoping for some pilots to show up. Well one had. Minutes later, Sheppard was dressed in flight suit (which Ronon helped him get into because John determined that his pride couldn't slow him down). Then he stood beside an honest to goodness space ship and tried to not let the awe of that moment overwhelm him. What did slow him down was the daunting task of trying to lever himself up the ladder to the 302's cockpit, the first step a little high off the ground for a guy whose body wasn't up to taking a bit of a running jump to get there.

When Ronon unceremoniously gave him a shove on the butt to lever him up to the first step, John groused at the unsolicited help, "We'll talk about personal space boundaries later!" But then he was making his way up the ladder. Reaching the cockpit, he took in the cramped quarters with glee in his figher-pilot heart. Maneuvering his legs into the cockpit, he slid into the seat, grimacing at the sharp pain in his ribs and the fiery ache in his shoulder. He was reaching for the harness but big hands were already there buckling him in. "Thanks mom," he sarcastically drawled, though he was glad for Ronon's dexterity because his own hands were shaking a bit with his dwindling energy. So yeah, exactly the physical ailment he needed when his hands had to be rock steady to fly and out maneuver enemy ships so he didn't die.

He was about to bid Ronon a hasty blunt goodbye when the tall man made a surprising move by getting into the rear seat of the 302. "What are you doing?! Get out!" John growled wished he could swivel around, physically grab Ronon and haul him from the ship. Him risking his life was fine and dandy. Sentencing Ronon to death because of his maybe misplaced pride…no, never again would someone die because they took an ill-fated ride with him. "I don't need a copilot?!"

"That's good because I can't fly this thing," Ronon calmly stated as he clicked in his harness, wished there was some freaking leg room because his knees were practically under his chin.

Ronon's statement baffled John. "Then why are you here?!"

"Thought you'd need company," Ronon stated, as if Sheppard getting lonely was in anyway responsible for his actions. In truth, he knew his John was more careful when the lives of others were at stake instead of just his own. Was all gung ho to sacrifice himself but was never willing to sacrifice anyone else. And with this Sheppard, Ronon honestly didn't trust the man to regard his survival as highly as Ronon did.

John didn't believe the "need company" line either, thought maybe Ronon was there to make sure he didn't screw up. Though without piloting skills, what could the other man do? Yell "watch out" or "dart on your six" like Goose in Top Gun. But thinking about Goose and his fate wasn't very helpful in that moment. Crap, now all action movies references had to be banned from his mental rolodex. "You do know this is probably a suicide mission?" he bluntly asked, his hands testing the controls, going over them in his mind, trying to remember everything the other pilots had told him about flying a 302: same maneuverability as a fighter jet without G-forces and the mother lode of weapons.

100% certain he was making the right choice, Ronon reacted to Sheppard's pessimism with a laidback, "Like I said, rather fight to my last breath. Besides, I've always wanted to be in an aerial puppy fight."

John couldn't help snort at the alien's verbal slipup. "Dog fight, not..puppy fight." Finishing his system checklist, he nodded to the technicians who were waiting for him to give them the green light and they walked away. That left him alone in a spaceship with a space alien from another galaxy. A really stubborn space alien. "You're not leaving are you?" he long-sufferingly asked of his stowaway.

"No," Ronon firmly gave in answer, reached forward and gave John's uninjured shoulder a squeeze of encouragement, of the 'I'm here with you and not going anywhere' sentimentally he would never voice and the other man wouldn't want him to.

Knowing Ronon was trusting him to not get him dead, that Caldwell, Weir, McKay…heck everyone onboard the Daedalus was counting on him to pull this off, he took a steadying breath and eased the 302 off the flight deck and headed her out of the opening hangar bay. 'You wanted to fly, John…better watch what you wish for,' he thought to himself and then he sent the 302 soaring into space. Exhilaration surged though his soul and he felt like he was coming back to life after being dead for so long.

"Ok, let's get these jackoffs attention, shall we?" and Ronon heard a so familiar tone of boyish cocky excitement in Sheppard's voice that it hurt and yet made him smile. This John really wasn't so different from his own. When things were at their worst….his John managed to do the impossible to turn things around. Just like he wholeheartedly knew that this John was about to do the same type of miracle.

True to his word, Sheppard got the darts very interested in him by brazenly barreling toward the horde of them, unleashing laser fire as he came. Three wraith ships ignited into scrape metal under his assault and Sheppard dove through the flames of their wreckage, hitting other ships with his firepower as he went. Jerking the lithe 302 on its side, the darts' strikes harmlessly slid by them on either side. Then John had the ship diving straight down and Ronon could see by the monitors that a string of darts were taking the bait and following him, were abandoning their strafing runs of the Daedalus corridor leading to engineering.

"McKay get your butt moving," Ronon growled under his breath, hoping the Doctor wasn't wringing his hands, wondering if he needed an all clear signal. Thinking he just might, Ronon keyed in his radio, "McKay go! The darts aren't targeting the engineering wing anymore."

"Roger that, Dex," came Caldwell's reply.

The 302 rocked under a hit barely absorbed by the ship's shield but John used that instability to arch right before coming to a full stop, causing the pursuing darts to fly by him. He merrily blasted them to kingdom come. But standing still had its cost and another couple hits sent the ship spinning. Gripping the 302's controls with both hands, John wrestled the craft back to straight flying, only to zip under the Daedalus a moment later. Flying close to the ship's contours, he charged right through the darts attacking the corridors to the hangar bay. Couldn't help smiling as he saw some of the darts following him had pancaked right into their buddies, just like he hoped they would.

Then he had to dodge more ships. Surging high this time, he hoped some of the new darts picked up the chase, were drawn away from their attack on the corridors to the hangar bay. Because, he knew he wasn't going to last much longer out there solo, not when his shields were dropping down below 30%. And even if he was ok going out in a blaze of glory, he didn't want that fate for Ronon. Before he could contact the Daedalus and tell them now was the time for other pilots to make a run for the hangar, Ronon beat him to it.

"Caldwell, get some pilots up here to help him!" Ronon commanded to a man far outranking him. Wondered if anyone noted he didn't say to help them, had only asked help for Sheppard, because Sheppard's survival was his priority, not his own.

When another hit caught its wing, the 302 ship began to roll and roll and roll. Ronon closed his eyes hoping not to hurl, hoped as well that John hadn't closed his eyes.

"I hope you're grading your first puppy fight on a curve," John joked and Ronon smiled, knew that was Sheppard speak for 'I'm not quitting anytime soon.'

Shutting off the damaged left side engine, John got the 302 stabilized again but knew he was down to basic moves now. But the darts didn't have to know that. "How about some bluffing? You up for that?"

"John said I always had a terrible "poker face"," Ronon confessed, thought honest might be called for in this junction of do or die battle.

But there was cocky mirth in John's voice instead of disappointment when he made his reply. "Well, lucky for you, I'm good at bluffing. It was the quitting while I was ahead that I stank at." He just never knew when to walk away, to not buy into the notion that he'd get a bigger win the next deal. Then again, maybe he hadn't given a crap if he lost everything, though it was only what he deserved. But today, today he cared very much if he lost, whohe lost.

Ronon just had to ask, "And are we ahead?"

John laughed outright at the innocent question from his "co-pilot". "Not even if we were doing penny antes."

And Ronon knew that he was right, John wasn't walking away from the fight, instead was gearing up to take it to the next level. "Guess we can't quit yet."

"Nope, guess not. Hang on," John advised but Ronon's hands were already latched onto anything he could with a white knuckled grip. Then John did a loop that sent them on a course away from the Daedalus and heading right for the hive ship. "I really hope Captain Lorne hadn't exaggerated this ship's payload. He said something about…drones…"

Ronon liked the sound of a drone right about then. "Yeah, might be time for one of those. You think it where you want it to go."

"I what now?!" John retorted, hated when people tried to make things sound easy that was actually really really complicated.

"I'm not sure how you just…." Ronon broke off as he realized he shouldn't gloss over this, didn't want Sheppard to feel overwhelmed or belittled because he was coming at this for the first time, under extreme pressure. 'I wish someone else was here who had the gene, could do a better job of explaining all this to him,' Ronon apprehensively thought but Sheppard only had him and they were running out of time. Patience interwoven in his tone the likes none of his spar partners had ever been graced with, Ronon instructed, "Put your hands on the console and think…I guess think about releasing the drone, of a missile being fired, of where you want it to land."

"Preferably not on us, right?" Sheppard wise cracked because that was how he preferred to deal with stress.

Ronon smirked. "Yeah, not on us."

"Crazy sci-fi mind games," John irritably grumbled under his breath but began to do as Ronon suggested. Laying his hand on the control console, he felt ridiculous, like he was having a moment with the ship. Here he was feeling up a motherboard while there were enemy ships on his tail were really pissed that he was heading for their home base. Their hits were quaking the 302's frame and taking his little fighter space ship's defensive shield down to a measly 10%. "Ok, drone, do your thing and rip a nice big hole in that…." he said aloud, not really believing in any of this nonsense until, in stunned surprise, he saw something like a blobby missile zing out of his ship and arch toward the hive ship. "I don't believe it! There's …it's…."

Ronon's tone was all proud confidence. "You did it, Sheppard," his hand coming to pat John on the back as the drone found its target, hit the hive ship and disintegrated its besieged shield. "Send another one."

"Ah…ok, I did this…" John put his hand back on the console. "And then said…" but the second drone was already launched. Then there was an explosion this time to the rear left side of the hive ship.

John and Ronon let out a cheer….right before another barrage of dart fire hit their remaining engine and the control stick went stiff under John's efforts.

"Crap, we're dead in the water," John announced the bad news, dread drenching him that he had done it again. Condemned others to die because he thought he knew best, could save someone instead of only bringing death. He was about to offer a heartbroken useless apology to Dex for getting him killed when the man spoke, but not to him.

"Daedalus, how about beaming us aboard?" Ronon calmly asked, like he didn't get that they were seconds away from meeting their maker.

It took John a moment to get what Ronon was asking of the Daedalus, to run it through his new dictionary of space travel terminology. And then, when he came up with a translation, he nervously protested "Beaming?! Hey, I don't know ..can't someone come out and pick us up…" just as a tingling sensation coursed through his body. Then he was falling right through the 302's seat! And ended up landing butt first onto the solid floor of the Daedalus bridge.

Realizing where he inexplicable was, his eyes flew behind him He felt immeasurable relief to see Ronon was there too and still in one piece. "Crap…beaming..that's really a thing? Like beam me up Scotty?!"

"Thought you didn't watch science fiction shows?" Elizabeth Weir taunted, as she crouched down beside him with a teasing smile, her hand giving a reassuring squeeze to his ankle.

"Saw that quote on a tshirt…" John numbly denied. Then his mind brought everything up to speed and he jerked his head up, found Colonel Caldwell and urgently demanded, "The hyperdrive? The other pilots?"

"McKay's working on the hyperdrive and the other pilots aren't needed, the darts are heading home," Caldwell reported, nodding to the view screen at John's back.

Not trusting himself to spin around to look out the viewport and not fall over, John took Caldwell's word for it on the darts' retreat. "So did we buy you enough…" he was about to say 'time' when the hyperdrive kicked in and the ship under him did that freeze, fast forward motion and leaped through space. Knowing that was a very good thing, he bowed his head on his knees, just raw with relief that he hadn't gotten Ronon killed and hadn't let people down with another one of his piss poor doomed plans.

He felt grounded when Ronon's big hand came to rest on his head and the man came to crouch by his side. "You did good, Sheppard," Ronon quietly praised, words he had never said to his own Sheppard somehow thinking he hadn't needed to hear them. 'But maybe he did. Maybe he had better walls to hide his insecurities than his Sheppard does but that doesn't mean those insecurities weren't there. That he didn't need me to tell him how proud I was of him, always was of him. How proud, honored I was to stand at his side, to be his friend, his brother.' So he said them now, to this Sheppard..and, in the quiet of his heart, he said them also to his own John. "I'm proud of you, Sheppard," he declared by John's ear, for the man's hearing alone.

John stilled at the praise, didn't remember anyone ever being proud of him. Looking up, he saw that not only Ronon but Elizabeth and the whole freaking bridge staff was looking at him. 'And I'm huddled on the floor. Great impressions, you're always the best at making great impressions, John,' he taunted himself then began to climb to his feet, didn't bulk at Ronon's help even with an audience because falling on his face, it wasn't better than huddling on the floor, was much worse.

He straightened his stance when Colonel Caldwell came toe to toe with him. "Colonel."

"Honestly, I thought they were only bringing you along to flip on Ancient tech, be the protected prince in line for the thrown," Caldwell bluntly said, causing Dr. Weir to heatedly protest his honesty.

"Colonel Caldwell, you are speaking to someone under my command and I expect you to treat him with respect, especially considering he just saved all our collective lives!" Weir scathingly retorted.

But Caldwell didn't bother responding to Weir, continued his stare down with Major Sheppard. "Today you proved me wrong. You have a place on my ship, Major, if you ever want it."

"Which he doesn't!" McKay forcefully declined the offer for John. Still huffing and puffing from his full out run to the bridge to see if John's ship had been blown out of the atmosphere, he had staggered onto the bridge to find John and Ronon alive and well and Caldwell trying to steal John away from him. So not happening! Crossing over to Sheppard, he wrapped a possessive hand around the man's elbow and began leading him out of the bridge. Ronon positioned himself on John's other side and, sensing that Sheppard's strength was down to the dregs after his little excursion, loped his arm around John's waist.

They were only a few strides down the hallway when Weir called behind them: "To the infirmary, gentlemen and no going AWOL, Major."

"Yes, Ma'am," John dutifully called over his shoulder and gave a wave as the threesome kept meandering down the hallway. When he was certain that they were out of Dr. Weir's earshot, John said under his breath to Ronon, "We really aren't going to Beckett. I just need to sit down somewhere for a bit."

But it was McKay who answered in a high pitch ranting tone, "Right, sure, you just need to sit down?! You were in a space battle, you're pale as a ghost, are listing against me and, oh right, got shot two weeks ago."

"More like three weeks," Ronon helpfully corrected.

John wagged his finger at Ronon in agreement. "Right, yes, that was three weeks ago. So I'm just fine to take a breather in my room."

McKay, always loving to correct misinformation, shot back, "Actually, if we're nitpicking, it was sixteen days since you were shot and subsequently died. And the only place you're taking a breather is in the infirmary."

"Ronon," John piteously began, hoping to find an ally against McKay and Weir's insistence.

But Ronon's smirk gave his answer before he gave an insincere, "Sorry buddy."

Accepting that he wasn't getting out of a trip to the infirmary, John grumbled like a five year old, "Ah crap," because he'd come to realize, amazingly, that Dr. Beckett did care about him and that meant there definitely would be a reaming out for his "heroics". Especially since it ended up with him being in pain, regardless that the other option of him staying safe on the sidelines would have had them all being dead about then.

"Yup, doc's going to yell at you," Ronon agreed with amusement to John's unspoken thoughts as they made the turn to head for the infirmary.

"You'll back me up, right? Tell Dr. Becket that it was necessary, life or death. Right?" he demanded of Ronon but Ronon's smirk said it all. The man would go on a suicide run with him but when it came to facing off with an angry Scottish doctor, he was on his own. "Oh, come on! And I was going to teach you how to fly the 302s and everything!"

Ronon tilted his head in surprise at what John was offering him. "Why teach me that?"

"Maybe so you didn't have to be a helpless backseat driver? Could have taken over today if I lost consciousness, got killed." John couldn't believe Ronon didn't want those safeguards, especially after he had got them dead in the water out there. "I can't believe your John didn't teach you." A bit miffed at that John for his oversight, for not protecting Ronon as much as he could have by giving him that skill set.

McKay nervously looked to Ronon, didn't know how the man would react to the judgey tone this Sheppard was speaking about his Sheppard. Ronon looked…not angry but contemplative, spoke after a moment.

"Piloting was his thing and the ships on Atlantis…they only operate for those with the Ancient gene."

John was only partially appeased by that answer. "Well, if you want, I'll teach you to fly the 302s." But then he pointed a finger at Ronon, gave his prerequisite, "But only if you defend our little flight just now to Dr. Beckett."

Honored at the serious offer amid the joking bargaining chip, Ronon found he was also touched that Sheppard thought he could learn to pilot the 302s, could do what John just had done, save their lives with his skill and guts. "Guess I could protect you from Beckett…" Ronon agreed to John's terms before he stipulated, "…but only if my first lessons is how to blow darts up with the 302 weapons."

John's smile was beaming as he readily accepted that deal. "I can make that happen."

"Yeah, well, like I told you last time, I'm still not standing between you and Beckett's ranting and raving. Go ahead and sarcastically call me your "fearless leader" but I have no desire to have large needles included in my checkup this month," McKay announced.

"Large needles are the least of your problems. I foresee a dessert shortage for you," John predicted with a wink to Ronon.

McKay almost stumbled to a stop before he remembered he was helping John stay on his feet and ushering him toward the infirmary. "Dessert?! Shortage…what are you…"

"You pissed off Colonel Caldwell and he seems like a man who knows how to hit you where it hurts," John said with as much seriousness as he could manage without breaking into a smirk.

"Pissed off…no we…he offered…wanted to…" Rodney tried to deny but he fell silent as he realized that he had spoken unprofessionally to Caldwell when the Colonel made that offer to Sheppard. He paled as it hit him that he had disrespected the Colonel in front of the man's entire bridge crew. "Oh crap. You really think…desserts? Really?!" John and Ronon both smirked at him in answer.

It took a moment, but Rodney bravely relented to his fate. "Oh well, I should lose a few pounds anyways," he acknowledged, because regardless of what Caldwell believed, it would have been far harsher punishment if the man actually did steal Sheppard away from him, no, well, from Atlantis.

Surprised at McKay's acceptance of his made up punishment, John patted Rodney on the chest and vowed, "Don't worry, McKay, if that punishment goes into effect, I'll give you all my desserts." At Rodney's lit up expression, he couldn't help tease, "Except the brownies. They are all mine."

"Oh come on! You know they are my favorite!" Rodney whined.

John laughed at McKay's antics, didn't mind that it hurt just a little bit to laugh. Today had been a good day, no, a great day. He had gotten into a cockpit again, fought bad guys and won, didn't let anyone die on his watch and …was spending time with people who, regardless of all his walls, he had come to truly care about. And, more astoundingly and humbling, they liked him back.

But today they did one better. Today they had faith in his abilities, had put their lives, their full trust in him.

As the enormity of their trust hit him, he sent up a fervent pray: 'Please God, don't let me fail them. Don't let me ever fail them.'

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and I'm sending out my love to my awesomely kind reviewers. You keep me plugging away thinking of new tortures for my lovelies. Did I say torture?! I'm sure I meant thrilling bromance adventures.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.