Chapter four

Atlantis was burning. Somehow Ronon was at the heart of the blaze, helpless and alone. He watched friends writhe in agony, screaming. Sheppard, Teyla, McKay. Somehow he alone was unharmed and well. They needed his help but for some reason he was unable to give it to them. He clawed at the bubble that incased him, desperately trying to break free of its infuriating safety. If the fire was going to kill his friends, he would go down fighting it with them. The air around him was burning, killing; Atlantis would fall into the sea once more. But it was more than that, he realized. The entire planet was engulfed in flames huge and lethal. Nothing could survive this. The whole destructive cleansing of all life Lantean was killing him from the inside. He would never give up fighting like this. But he did. And in a moment of agonizing emotion, he knelt and cried. It was the culling of Seteda all over again. He was again helpless to the chaos. But his body refused to die….

Ronon! Ronon! RONON! He was gasping, heart going a hundred miles per hour, tears and sweat streaming down his face. Desperately he tried to calm himself, seeing the worried face of Dr. Beckett who was holding him down. It was a dream, they were alive. He was alive. He brought a hand to his face to wipe the sweat away and realized it was still covered in bandages. He was in the infirmary. He remembered whoever was watching the Gate stunning the Doctor, but he had refused to fall. They had shot him again and again until he was overwhelmed. Then the girl, Martha, had run to his side and explained everything. He had thought that her head would come off in anger before they agreed to let them stay, and told her he was not dead and would stay in their infirmary until he woke up. And after hearing some half- hearted explanation of following orders Ronon had also come out. They had taken him to the infirmary too. He must have fallen asleep.

He felt drained and horrible. Both physically and emotionally exhausted and embarrassed.

"You alright, son?" Beckett asked him, holding his wrist and trying to get a pulse.

"Yeah, fine, just a dream…" he said quietly, still trying to catch his breath. It couldn't have been a dream. It was too real. Too vivid. It was as impossible and horrifying as Ronon had ever had. It was a nightmare times a thousand. He fell back against the bed, stunned.

"How long…?" Ronon asked, not sure how long it had been since they had landed.

"'Bout an hour. You fell asleep just after I finished with your arm. That Martha girl over there did a surprisingly good job of patching you up. I was impressed." He gestured to a bed near them where the Doctor was laying. Martha shot him a murderous glance. He looked away. "I was just going ta let you sleep here for the night, seeing as you need the rest. You're still welcome to if you like." Ronon glanced at Martha again. She was still glaring at him furiously. Beckett seemed not to notice.

"Thanks, Doc, but I think I should go back to my own room." He felt childish saying that, but there was no way he'd be able to sleep with Martha in the same room looking at him like that.

"Suit yourself; come back if you need anything." Beckett offered.

Even back in his own room, Ronon couldn't sleep. It hadn't been a dream, really, he was sure of that. And what if, in some twist of fate, that was going to happen to them someday? Why had he not died in the fire when everyone he had known had perished? Ronon didn't usually worry, and worrying about others was still a relatively new feeling for him, but whatever it had been had been powerful and more emotional than he was comfortable with.

Back in the infirmary the Doctor groaned. He hurt all over. Whatever they had hit him with had definitely not been lethal, but pretty powerful. He cracked his eyes just enough to see above his face. Martha. And someone else he had not met yet, a man. They were talking some medical gibberish he could understand but had never taken much interest in. something was different. About him. Then he realized why he felt so weak, only one of his hearts was working. The other seemed to have stopped when he was hit with whatever kind of stunner they had. He was grateful they hadn't used bullets. He was trying to hold off on regenerating unless it was absolutely necessary.

"Martha" he said weakly. She looked down at him and smiled. He was very thirsty for some reason. Having only one heart for so long took a lot of energy. "I need to get my other heart working again, could you help?" Her face suddenly turned serious.

"Which one?" she was careful to ask this time.

"Left" he answered, the other man, who he assumed was a doctor looked puzzled and glanced worriedly at Martha, who said "I'll explain later" and pushed the palm of her hand hard into his chest. He flinched.

"Again, it's not quite-"He cut off as she thrust her hand once more against his chest.

"That's it!" he sat up sharply, the other man looked thoroughly wierded out. Then his mouth dropped open in shock. "Gallifrey" he whispered, and lay back down.

Once again, thanks for reading!