"In war, resolution; in defeat, defiance; in victory, magnanimity" --Winston Churchill

Rodney watched the Ronon dot move at remarkable speed, covering a distance that would have left him gasping for breath. His eyes drifted over to Sheppard's unmoving blip of light, urging the runner to live up to his previous occupation.

"We should do something," he muttered.

"Like what?"

Rodney turned around to give the physician an impudent glare. "I don't know; figure out a way to help them if things go bad."

Carson looked up from the mini-pharmacy he was counting. "The sensors can't broadcast anything happenin' over there. We can't even read vitals from the data stream. Sitting here trying to raise the level of your stroke meter isn't going to help."

"Rescue attempts require thinking, and the two blinking dots on the screen have proven that they are incapable of using their brains."

He ignored the physician mutter under his breath as he watched, entranced by the screen in front of him. The Atari graphics were the only clue they had about the showdown at the OK Corral.

"Ronon's there!"

"Where?"

Carson nudged his way over to the cockpit, eyes glued to the two dots huddled together. "What do you think they're doin'?"

"How the hell should I know? I never played Cowboys and Indians when I was a kid. No doubt Chewy is telling Sheppard how much he admires his idiotic behavior and sharing with him some secret handshake reserved for their special breed of lunatics."

"Ronon's going somewhere."

"I don't need a color commentary, I'm watching the same thing you are."

He narrowed his eyes, wondering what the big guy was up to, when the dot went back to the colonel. "Maybe he had to take a piss."

"Now who's adlibbing?" Carson shot back.

The two of them didn't say a word when both dots converged again before Ronon's wandered several feet away to lay in wait. It was amazing how two little specks could make his heart pound and leave him sweating, waiting to see if either one did anything. Rodney's eyes bounced side-to-side inside their sockets watching both symbols.

"Oh no," the Scot breathed.

Rodney leaned forward when the third life sign appeared out of nowhere. His fingers tapped the console to enlarge that area. "Decloaking like that… um, not a good sign."

"Bloody bastard doesn't care anymore."

The Ronon blinking light dashed towards the Voulsh one, and the two energy readings jumbled into a single indistinguishable shape. Thirty seconds in and Rodney wasn't sure who was who, and, strangely, he was secretly glad that they couldn't see the damage being done. He didn't think he could stomach watching two people beat each other to a pulp. Knowing both warriors had a secret love of knives… fuzzy white dots were just fine.

"I don't know if I can take this," Carson fretted next to him.

Rodney swallowed past a lump in his throat. "Ronon can take him."

"Rodney."

He wanted to close his eyes. There could only be one reason for that worried tone.

The colonel's signal began to move from its position.

Rodney slammed his hand on the panel in front of him. "Damn it, Sheppard!"

One dot hadn't budged in the past minute; the other one moved towards the colonel.

"What's goin' on?"

Rodney shook his head. "I don't know. Ronon would definitely kill Voulsh... so it... it can't be him. But, why would Voulsh let Ronon live?"

"Maybe the colonel told Ronon not to kill the bugger."

It was possible, but Rodney thought the Satedan would ignore that particular order. He glared at the screen, and things devolved before his eyes when the two dots bounced off one another in a dance of death.

"There's no way Sheppard can win this, military training or not, and I'm not going to just stand by and watch him die on a glorified Palm Pilot!"

Carson grabbed his shoulder, but he jerked away. "We killed that Wraith that was after Ronon, we can shoot Voulsh from the jumper."

"We could also accidentally kill the colonel! He can't move fast enough to avoid our weapons."

"Damn it! I'm not going to play the useless scientist role while Sheppard does this to protect us all. For once he's going to have to just grin and bear a role reversal!"

"Rodney..."

"Don't Rodney me. Get out of my way while I fly this thing."

He tried to shove past his friend but the Scot grabbed him by both shoulders and forced him to study the display. "One of the life signs is gone."

Already? It was over?

Rodney blinked, panic setting in, and he held his breath while he studied the screen. "Sheppard's transmitter is still active!"

"Aye! It is!" Carson said elated.

Rodney pointed excitedly. "Sheppard's moving over towards Ronon's dot."

His friend slapped him on the back. "He did it!"

Neither dot moved or began coming back their way and the anxiety inside the jumper skyrocketed with every minute that neither friend exhibited movement.

"How far away are they?" Carson asked.

"A kilometer at least, too far if we tried carrying all your crap," Rodney said as he began powering up the ship.

"What are ya doing?"

"Going to go get them."

"And how in the hell are ya goin' to do that? There's no place to land."

Rodney got the jumper airborne, navigating it towards his unmoving team mates. "I'm going to use some primitive military philosophy."

"And what the blazes would that be?"

"If I can't fix it... I'll just blow something up."

Ronon used every Satedan expletive in the book, his brain screaming the words used to invoke, encourage and berate. No matter how much he concentrated, there was nothing he could do to overcome the paralysis from multiple stuns. Millions of tiny needles pricked at his skin and mush had replaced his muscles, leaving tingling feet and fingers that curled slightly.

He lifted his head. "Sheppard."

The colonel didn't respond to his name and Ronon added a sharp hiss to his tone. "Sheppard!"

The pilot lay there, eyes blinking as if trying to focus on the voice nearby, but the man didn't answer--- wasn't doing anything to stop his wound from bleeding.

"John!"

"Yeah?"

Ronon could feel his frustration explode. "Grab a field dressing... put pressure on your leg."

Sheppard's chest rose and fell at an alarming rate, his face ashen under the blood that welled up from his eye and split lip. Ronon focused on trying to move, every thought centered on his body. A heaviness forced his limbs to the ground, a deep-seated lethargy that trapped all motion and submitted his body to the will of gravity.

He wasn't completely numb though, and he tried to push past the forces that trapped him in place, the sensation of being covered by thick layers of thistle a sign of his nerves trying to awaken.

"I need your help, Sheppard."

His plea had the desired effect and the colonel turned his head to face him, speaking in a breathless whisper. "Ronon?"

"I need you to come over here."

The colonel groaned as he rolled to his side, panting heavily from the effort, blood-shot eyes trying to focus on his face. "Not... feeling so... hot."

"You probably forgot to duck again, now move!"

His hand burned a little, the prickly bits leading to a dull throb. The painful stimuli could only mean feeling would follow. Ronon worked on his fingers, hoping the growing sensation would move faster through his extremities.

Sheppard made it to his hands and knees. As soon as he moved, his face blanched and the sounds of his retching filled the air. Ronon winced, his nose reacting to the awful smell that he couldn't get away from as his friend emptied out the contents of his stomach. He understood enough first aid to survive on the battlefield; his medical knowledge was limited after that. There was no telling what mixing medications had done, but the re-opening of the wound took priority.

He could do something about the bleeding with Sheppard's help. Anything else and they'd have to wait on Beckett.

When the heaving was over, the colonel slumped to the ground only a few inches from where he'd been sick. Ronon couldn't allow his friend to drift off. "Sheppard."

The colonel groaned and looked over at him miserably, his voice raw. "What?"

"Pull out my field dressing."

The pulsating pain in his arm peaked with tiny waves scraping just beneath the surface of his skin. He grunted, using the pain to move to his side, his other broken limb lifeless next to him.

Sheppard shivered violently, apologizing in between rasps. Ronon moved his clumsy arm, flopping it over one of his pockets in search of the dressing. Fat-feeling fingers struggled with the thick pad of gauze.

"Flip onto your back," he instructed.

"You're... sure... bossy… today."

"Now."

It took several aborted attempts before the colonel rolled over. It really amazed him that his team leader had been in any shape to fight Voulsh in his current depleted condition, but battles to the death did have a way of wearing people out. He contemplated his next move, noting that a little feeling had returned.

Ronon stuffed the dressing between his teeth, dug his right hand into the ground and clawed closer to his friend. It was awkward, dragging his body towards Sheppard's leg, noting in alarm that the colonel's BDUs were sodden with blood. It would be impossible to wrap the bandage around the thigh properly, or even hold it in place. With only one option left, he took the dressing and pressed down on the source of the bleeding with sloppy fingers.

The pilot moaned, flinching his leg in the process and making it impossible for him to sustain the proper amount of pressure. Ronon inched closer, a sea of pin-pricks washing over him with every jerky movement until he was as close as he could get. With an enormous amount of effort he laid across his friend's left leg, holding the dressing in place with the weight of his body.

"Arrrrrgggghhhh!" Sheppard roared until his voice ran hoarse.

"It's the only way to stop the bleeding," Ronon grunted, trying to get comfortable in an impossible position.

The colonel wheezed harder from the pain, but soon the pilot settled except for the occasional odd muscle twitch. An army of fine razor tips began dancing over Ronon's spine and he tried not to fidget so he wouldn't hurt his friend.

"You… ever… hear... of personal space?"

"We're not going to mention this to anyone," Ronon growled.

His chin snuggled into the arm he rested on Sheppard's leg.

"Comfy?"

Ronon grunted. "You're not soft."

It was ironic; he couldn't move no matter how hard he tried while Sheppard wasn't able to lay still, hands trembling while the rest of him twitched or jerked at random intervals. He was sure this was some abnormal reaction to the stolen meds, but there was no telling how shock and injury would complicate things.

The colonel took a shuddering breath. "Do you... have your com?"

Ronon blinked, annoyed he hadn't thought of that. Not that it mattered anyway since he'd lost it in the fight. "No."

"When… are the others... supposed to... meet us?"

"I told them to wait."

There was a long pause. "Oh."

Ronon felt himself drift off, his eyelids drooping as his mind longed to join his snoozing body. His eyes snapped open several minutes later and he tried flexing his fingers, the tingling more pronounced. A dull burning began to course through his broken arm. Then it occurred to him that during all his shuffling, he hadn't heard his team leader complain.

"Hey."

At no answer, Ronon adjusted his numb hand, pressing down on the wound, causing his friend to groan. "Wake up," he ordered.

"M'tired..."

The colonel couldn't be allowed to lapse into unconsciousness so Ronon wracked his brain for something to occupy the pilot-- conversation wasn't exactly one of his strong points.

"What you did was stupid."

"I... know."

Ronon didn't dwell on mistakes; what was done was done. "Warriors have to make bad choices sometimes. It shows strength of character."

"Thanks... I think."

Ronon moved his head to catch a glimpse of a man who been to Hell and back and tried to keep him talking... breathing. "You've been holding out on me."

Sheppard didn't stir and he could feel his rage burn hot at the possibility that after everything... it could end like this. "Killing Voulsh… I'm impressed."

Ronon didn't ask him how. A man like Sheppard would have needed to reach deep into the ugliest parts of his soul, tap into those dark feelings buried in secret places to take out a guy like Voulsh. To accomplish that and still hold onto his humanity set his CO apart from many men. The colonel didn't like to kill, didn't have the taste for death that many soldiers developed. He'd take a longer road to avoid that type of conflict.

Sheppard still cared; cared enough to value life just as much he tried to protect it. And that was rare indeed.

The wind blew over their bodies; the fabric of his shirt sleeve was soaked through with bright crimson, the metallic odor thick in the air. He curled his fingers, adding pressure to the inside of Sheppard's thigh to try to slow the flow, eliciting another painful moan.

"Sheppard?"

He tried pushing against the pilot's body to rouse him.

"Mmm... stop... it."

"Don't fall asleep."

"Tryin'... not... to throw up," the colonel said breathlessly.

Ronon's nose wrinkled at the memory, trying to ignore the spreading warmth under his arm, dripping to the ground. "You're not allowed to die... not now."

Silence greeted him and Ronon was running out of topics to discuss when a weak voice began to speak.

"I would... have... shot... that Wraith..."

The statement came out of the blue. "What?" Ronon stammered while the colonel caught his breath.

"...on Sateda... I wouldn't... have let him... kill you."

The admission knocked Ronon for a loop; he didn't like this mode of thinking.

"I would have punched you."

"Better than... being shot."

Ronon didn't own a watch and didn't know how long the silence stretched after Sheppard's admission. He lost count of how many he times he threatened the pilot that he'd kick his ass if he didn't say something.

He flexed his other hand, sending little bursts of lightening down his broken arm, relishing the pain and emerging sensation. He had to get up, had to get help, but pin-pricks weren't going to haul Sheppard the distance towards the jumper. He wanted to scream, to pound his fists into the dead face of the man responsible for all of this.

Ronon felt the cry, a roar, build up in his throat and just as he was ready to unleash it, he heard the high pitched sound of the jumper's engines above. He lifted his head a little and watched in shock as the ship hovered over their position.

"Over here!" he yelled, even knowing that they couldn't hear him.

There was nowhere to land and he didn't have a clue what his friends were up to, but help was so close, close enough to feel hope, even if his internal voice doubted that anything could be done.

The craft circled and flew away towards the woods, the dense trees preventing any touchdown. That was the funny thing about allowing yourself to feel hope... it was so fleeting, but even as it dwindled and died, the jumper began firing at the forest, the weapon's blast destroying sections of land, leaving a large crater in its wake.

Ronon actually grinned.

He strained his neck, forced himself to look over at his friend. "The docs are here! If they can pull off a ballsy move like that, then you can stay alive!"

Silence greeted him and Ronon vowed he'd rip every Genii left on Atlantis limb from limb and burn their bodies with Voulsh's so they could spend all eternity in Hell together if his commander didn't make it.

Carson gripped the handles of his armrest as the treetops on the view screen evaporated in a fireball. "What the blazes are ya doin'? Tryin' to get us killed?!"

"I'm creating a parking space so just pipe down."

He didn't trust the physicist's abilities to pilot the jumper well enough not to send them careening right into the flames. "I didn't even know you knew how to use the weapons systems."

"I don't. This is my first time."

Squeezing his eyes closed, he offered up a prayer, his fingernails clawing into the leather underneath. "You're bloody insane."

"No, I'm adapting to my situation, something a certain walking rug taught me. Now get ready, I'm about to land," Rodney snapped.

Carson withheld a lecture about kettles and the color black. This wasn't a rational Rodney he was speaking with; this was the worried, scared, and fed-up-at-feeling-useless Rodney McKay with no other way to vent his fears. The landing threw them both forward, finesse the last thing on his friend's mind, and before he could grab his kit, the physicist was tugging on his sleeve.

"Will you hurry up!"

"Are we sure that Voulsh is dead?" he asked, snatching up his trusty black bag, his heart stuttering in his chest.

Rodney froze, both men thinking that the Voulsh-dot might have simply cloaked again. "No, you saw the lights get in a tussle. Sheppard killed him and if not---" Rodney pulled out his gun and unclicked the safety.

Carson felt a chill go down his spine despite the warm temperature that the breeze blew into the jumper. He'd never get used to the whole gun-toting thing, or to the recent familiarity that his friend had with brandishing the weapon.

"Let's go," he mumbled.

The two of them made their way out of the jumper cautiously, the ground still smoldering after being carved out, and they huddled close together, keeping an eye out for the unexpected. Their steady pace away from the crater increased as Rodney clutched the life signs detector, frantically urging them onwards.

"Both of them should be right--- there!"

The physicist pointed at two bodies several meters away and threw caution to the wind as he dashed over, hollering over his shoulder for him to get his butt in gear. Carson huffed, sprinting towards his fallen comrades, trying to mentally prepare himself for the worst. What he didn't expect was to see Ronon Dex using the colonel's thigh as a pillow.

"What the bloody hell?"

Rodney stopped dead in his tracks before the bombardment began. "What is this? Mid-afternoon nap time?"

Ronon lifted his head to shoot daggers at his team mate while he struggled to move, his limbs flopping about like a rag doll's.

"Hold still, lad. What did you do to yourself?"

"Stunned twice, can't move."

Rodney knelt by the colonel's side, his hand reaching for a pulse. "Sheppard?"

Carson reached for the Satedan's but the runner gruffly nudged his offending hand away with his forehead. "I can wait. Sheppard re-opened his wound. This was the only way I could stop the bleeding."

"Damn!" Rodney swore, his hand resting along the carotid. "It going like a million miles an hour!"

Carson had a difficult time wrangling with the runner who greatly outweighed him. Even though he wanted to check out the larger man for injury, his patient would have none of his worrying after he was maneuvered away from the colonel's leg.

"Just take care of Sheppard," Ronon ordered.

Between Rodney's distraught expression and the sight of the blood-soaked bandage, Carson settled the runner to the ground and quickly pulled away the drenched dressing to examine it closer. The BDUs under it were slick with blood, his fingers coming away wet.

"Oh, sweet Jesus, Colonel."

Grass blades were stained red, trails pooled in the creases of Sheppard's pants and Carson quickly pulled out a fresh gauze pad, pressing it over where he imagined the ripped flesh was beneath.

"We've gotta get him in the jumper... Now."

"Didn't you bring you kit with you?" Rodney asked frantically.

"Nothing in my bag is gonna help. We need to get him back to Atlantis as quickly as possible and what I can do for him is with the rest of my equipment inside the ship."

"Okay, okay."

Carson wrapped a trail of white around the field dressing to secure it in place, his mind prioritizing what needed to be done. "Is he conscious?"

Rodney, who had been keeping up a quiet litany of reassurances in Sheppard's ear, looked up. "Barely."

"Any other injuries that you know of?" Carson asked as he ran his hands along the colonel's torso, flanks and arms.

"Not sure."

The physician noticed the colonel's poor battered face. "Looks like he got clobbered pretty badly, bloody fool... Oh damn!" he swore when he came across the pilot's swollen and misaligned fingers. "He busted his hand in the fight... must have been all that adrenaline pumping," Carson said, shaking his head. "What a mess."

Knowing that everything else could wait, he looked up at Rodney. "You grab his upper body, I'll handle his legs."

He turned to Ronon. "Rodney will come back to help ya as soon as we're done gettin' the colonel inside."

"Go," the warrior urged.

Rodney grunted as he hauled up their friend under his armpits, struggling to support the dead weight. "I'm going to do what?"

"I'm going to be a wee bit busy to help ya with Ronon," Carson snapped.

His team mate frowned, adjusting the colonel's upper body, his arms lying limply by their sides. "Fine, but this is going to wrench my back for a month."

The trek took excruciatingly longer than Carson had hoped as he readjusted his grip under his patient's knees to try to keep the jostling to a minimum. However, all the bouncing around was rousing the colonel back to awareness. Sheppard groaned and lifted his dangling head to squint against the onslaught of the sun.

"We're getting you somewhere more comfortable, just hang on," Rodney tried to reassure the confused man.

The jumper was within view and Carson carefully navigated while walking backwards, trying not to trip and drop his precious load. The colonel began to struggle weakly as he wiggled within their grips, his eyes snapping open in panic, long limbs flailing around.

"Easy, lad, we're almost there."

"Lemme... go," Sheppard rasped.

Carson's feet hit the ramp as he searched for a place on the floor to lay the man down. "We will in a second."

"Nooooo... gonna... be... sick."

"Not all over me." Rodney reacted quickly and lowered the pilot.

"Turn him to his side," Carson instructed, worried that his patient might choke before they could get him situated.

They eased him over just before the colonel began throwing up, Rodney supporting Sheppard's head since he was too weak to even turn it in time. The physicist pulled out a rag from thin air, and with a gentleness that belied his mocking words, wiped at his friend's mouth and chin.

"See what happens when you act stupid and mix medications? Playing witch doctor is for the those trained in the black arts. You're going to wash my clothes for a week after this."

Carson had been prepared for a crisis. During all that time they'd waited on Ronon's signal, he had arranged things for this type of emergency. He uncoiled some IV tubing, swabbed an area of skin and inserted the needle in the colonel's left arm to give him some much-needed fluids. "Rodney, hang this on that portable pole behind ya."

He pulled out his stethoscope, undid the colonel's shredded tac vest and slipped it under his T-shirt to listen to his heart while reaching toward a wrist to take a pulse.

The vein fluttered violently, pounding under his fingertips while his ears filled with the roaring staccato of the colonel's heart. "God almighty."

Rodney's head snapped to attention, eyes filled with trepidation.

"Get the BP cuff outta of my bag and place it around his bicep. Give it a few pumps and give me the reading off it."

Carson pulled out his bag, grabbing a pair of scissors, cursing over the fact that he didn't have a single trained person to help him with triage, and removed the sopping bandage as he slit open the BDUs. He ignored Rodney while the genius of Atlantis struggled to apply the blood pressure wrap. The colonel's thigh was a mess, caked with dried blood, and fresh volumes seeped from ripped-open stitches.

"What's his pressure?"

"Um... hold on, this isn't as easy as..."

"Rodney!"

"It... it's uh..."

"Just give it to me."

"170 over 100?"

"What?... that can't be right." Carson's heart sank, knowing that the digits were correct--- if they had been reversed then the colonel would be dead.

"Why? It's what the damn things says. What's wrong?"

"Go get Ronon and get back here as quickly as possible," Carson ordered briskly.

"What? No you need me to---"

"What I need is for you to grab Ronon so we can get the hell outta of here!"

Rodney hesitated. He was obviously too keyed up and desperate to help, making the physician feel guilty over his uncharacteristic outburst. "His pulse and pressure are astronomically high... yet he's bleeding out," Carson said, shaking his head, wracking his brain over the conflicting problems.

It didn't make sense. Freshly-sewn sutures leaking like a sieve, coupled with a stimulant PUSHING the blood out… the man's BP should have been circling the drain even with a dose of ephedrine.

"Go! Now, Rodney!"

Feet clambered out of the jumper while a grocery list of problems needed to be addressed in order of severity, and hemorrhaging took precedence. He didn't trust sticking forceps inside the colonel's thigh mid-flight, so a pair of latex gloves and a portable light later, Carson was clamping down on injured veins in a less than ideal operating setting.

Steady fingers threaded a tiny piece of string, temporarily sewing together the bleeder responsible for the streaks all over Sheppard's leg. The femoral artery was still intact, but the other vesicular damage was bad enough.

The colonel moaned as he worked inside the wound. An elbow kept the man's leg still while Carson kept telling himself that he wasn't causing too much pain. He couldn't risk any sedation; the pilot had taken that option right off the table. Carson was grateful for whatever morphine still flowed through his patient.

He had to get Sheppard's blood pressure down; even with the main culprit clamped, the wound still oozed thanks to the copious amount of blood thinners the colonel was on. Oxygen was next and he pulled out a mask, checking the O2 tank before trying to slip it over his patient's mouth and nose as he heard his team mates approaching; Rodney's bickering voice carried into the jumper.

"You need to lay off extra helpings at dinner, you're too heavy."

Ronon's arm was draped over Rodney's shoulders, the smaller man somehow taking on most of the runner's weight. The two wobbled back and forth until the physicist deposited the larger team member on one of the seats in the rear.

Carson held out his hand as his friend came charging over. "Be careful."

"I'm not going to step on him, jeeesh..." Rodney headed for the cockpit, demanding answers as he went. "How is he?"

"Holding on."

Ronon cradled his arm, his body leaned against the inside wall, his eyes glued to all the activity in front of him. "He finished it."

There was no need to mention what 'it' was. The Hunter was dead, killed by the guy who refused to give in, to let his team come into harm's way. Ronon didn't need to say the words out loud, but maybe he did so in order to make them seem more real. Carson risked a glimpse at the hulking warrior, a man who prided himself on protecting his team and had been forced to let his CO handle things on his own.

Carson ran through another set of vitals, unsure what he was up against. He frowned at the mess of complications in front of him: shock, blood loss, shallow, rapid breathing, racing heart and pulse. The physician rummaged through his kit, pulling out a syringe and filling it with a beta blocker to control the wild BP.

He injected the medication with bloodstained gloves since he hadn't switched out with a fresh pair. A noise caught his attention and black pin-pricks in swirling green blinked at him.

"Colonel, can you hear me?"

"Hmmmprrrh."

He worried about Sheppard getting ill again, with his leg trussed up with clamps and rudimentary stitching. "Take slower breaths, nice and easy. It'll help with your nausea."

The pilot got an A for effort as he fought for control over his inhalations, his wild eyes darting around the jumper.

"Everyone's safe. You're safe and we're going back to Atlantis to get ya fixed up."

Carson placed a hand on his patient's heaving chest to calm him. "Colonel, please just relax."

"We're almost there." Rodney yelled from the cockpit.

The pilot's eyes fluttered closed and the physician needed to confirm a rising suspicion. "Colonel, how many dosages did you take?"

Bleary, unfocused eyes stared at him and he leaned over, touching the side of the pilot's clammy face. "How many times did you inject those medications? It's important."

"Mmmm... Twice," Sheppard said, his voice muffled under the mask.

Carson squeezed his eyes in damnation. "Both of them?" Of course, couldn't have one without the other.

He licked his lips, rummaging for a vial of Narcan that he had grabbed just in case. He injected the drug in hopes of counteracting the morphine's effect on the colonel's respiratory and nervous systems, but knowing that it couldn't do the same to the stimulant since each drug worked on different receptors. That was the crux of it all. Sheppard had played with the devil by mixing both, leaving Carson to deal with the fallout on top of his other injuries.

It was a bloody disaster.

"Why, son?"

"For duty."

Carson looked up, startled, not realizing he had voiced his thoughts under his breath. "Duty? Doesn't he realize there's more to life than honor and duty?"

Ronon's eyes looked over at the colonel in admiration. "He does. That's the difference between 'em... Sheppard faced Voulsh over a more important thing... and that's something Voulsh would never understand..."

The physician rested his hand on the pilot's wrist, keeping an eye on his racing pulse, and gave the hand there a squeeze since there was nothing left he could do until they were in the infirmary. He looked up at Ronon in understanding. "Aye, but that's something that the colonel still needs to learn. The bond he so desperately tries to protect runs both ways."

"We're entering the launch bay!"

Rodney was crouched down next to the pilot, the automated systems taking care of the landing. Carson tapped his radio. "I need two med teams ready for transport. Tell them to prepare for an overdose and instruct Dr. Cole to be standing by in the OR."

The physician began preparing his patient when his hands brushed over something sticking out of one of the colonel's pockets. Feeling a little curious, he stuck his hand in the pocket, his fingers rubbing over a chain, and pulled out Sheppard's dog tags. He held them up in confusion, the things dangling from his fingers.

"I thought he lost these?"

Ronon grabbed the chain and clutched the tags, staring at Rodney and the physician as he spoke. "Those were never lost... Voulsh tried to steal a part of something that he could never have... Sheppard just claimed what was rightfully his."

The last, long chapter up sometime on Friday or Saturday. Thanks a million you guys!!