Worthy of Care

Ronon was not a man of inaction. He suspected it was genetic. Satedans didn't sit when they could stand, didn't walk when they could run. He'd almost left Atlantis after his first week when he'd continuously seen soldiers sit around in rec rooms and the Mess and do nothing. Nothing. Ronon had faulted Sheppard and his lazy ways until he'd gotten to know the man and discovered the intensity underneath the slouch. Hours of studying Earth culture – reading their books, watching their entertainment, learning their history – had offered insights into why they could be so relaxed.

Years in Pegasus had cured most of them of it.

His team rarely stood down short of devastating injury so he hadn't been too worried when McKay had announced he was making use of his vacation time and heading to Earth for a couple of weeks. "Geek convention," Sheppard had said. But when Teyla requested leave to spend some time on New Athos, Ronon's feet started to itch. The fire in his blood that the Wraith had kindled so many years ago still burned hot, too hot to be cooped up for days in a city of metal and stone. Fortunately, time had taught Sheppard of Ronon's need to keep his skills sharp, and he suggested a camping trip to an untouched beach.

Which was spectacular right up to the point that Sheppard lost his footing on a cliff and plunged at least five meters through a tangle of vegetation until a quick stop at the base of a tree left him with a broken ankle and a flaming case of poison lusak. Ronon had to bite the inside of his mouth every time he saw the fluorescent orange patches on Sheppard's face and arms. The pictures were going up on the base computer network as soon as Teyla got back and showed Ronon how to download them from McKay's camera. In the meantime, he was on his own since Sheppard refused to budge from his quarters until the rash was gone.

Maybe it was time to get to know some other people.

Ronon headed toward the door of his room but stopped before it opened. Did he remember how to make friends? His friendships with Teyla and Sheppard had been the natural outcome of being on a team together, and he'd had plenty of friends when he was young, but that had been a lifetime ago.

Where to start?

The gym. He knew most of the Marines by name from the classes he taught, and that tech, Amelia Something, said she took kickboxing. Maybe she would be around. She might be worth getting to know. He sailed out the door, trying to wipe off the silly grin twitching his lips, and rounded the corner, almost plowing into Lorne.

"Sorry," Ronon said as he screeched to a halt.

Lorne held up a finger and pressed his other hand to his ear. "I understand that, Mr. Woolsey. I'll get to it as soon as I can, but I'm spread a little thin at the moment." He closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Tell the doc I'll try to have someone there by tomorrow." He lowered his hand and opened his eyes with a tired grin. "Not your fault, Ronon. I wasn't watching where I was going."

"What's wrong?"

Lorne raked a hand through his hair. "We've got several teams off-world searching for the last remnants of Michael's hybrids and the rest of my people are clearing a section of the city so the new personnel arriving on the Daedalus in a couple of weeks will have a place to sleep. Beckett called in requesting supplies, and Woolsey wants me to find a team to haul it to him." He sighed. "I've been trying to avoid bothering the colonel with crap like this."

Even though they rarely worked together, Ronon had felt a certain kinship with Lorne since being Sheppard's "protector" was something they both took seriously. Sheppard had enough to deal with, and the two of them did what they could to lessen the load. Maybe making friends with Lorne was a good place to start. But first…

"I'll do it," Ronon offered.

Lorne's forehead wrinkled. "Do what?"

"Take the supplies to Beckett. Not doing anything right now anyway."

"That's a generous offer, but according to Woolsey, we need a jumper which is why finding a team to take the supplies isn't as easy as it sounds. Have to have the gene to fly. Apparently the village the doc's working at is a good twenty kilometers from the gate through a thick forest."

Ronon cocked an eyebrow. "So?"

"So, you'd have to carry three large cases…" Lorne chuckled. "You're right. What was I thinking?" Some of the tension drained from his face. "I'll let Woolsey know you're going. Head to the infirmary and ask for Cole. She's supposed to be packing what Beckett requested."

"Got it." Ronon took off at a trot.

"Don't forget to tell Sheppard," Lorne called.

Sheppard. Right. Ronon wheeled and stepped into the nearest transporter. He exited near Sheppard's door. When it didn't open, he pressed the chime.

"What?" a miserable voice said.

"Why'd you lock the door?" Ronon asked. "Biro told you to stay off that ankle."

"I am staying off it."

"How are you going to open the door?"

"Not opening it."

Ronon's chin dropped to his chest. "It's not going to last forever."

"My face is orange. Orange. With big green bumps on it."

Ronon grimaced. He'd forgotten about the side effects of the sap used to treat the rash. "But the itching stopped, right?" He took the silence as affirmation. "Listen, I'm headed off-world for a couple of days. Beckett needs some supplies delivered." More silence. "You need anything before I go?"

"No," Sheppard replied sullenly. "Be careful, okay?"

Ronon bounced a fist off the door. "Hey, it's me."

"My point exactly," Sheppard said. "And I swear to God that if you put those pictures on the intranet, you'll be babysitting scientists for a month."

"Don't know what you're talking about." Ronon hoped Sheppard couldn't hear the laughter in his voice. "See you when I get back."

Ronon hurried to the infirmary where Cole was waiting with three huge packs of medical supplies. He strapped one to his back, slung the other two over his shoulders, and headed out with a promise to not break anything along the way. Woolsey met him in the gate room and took time to fuss about him going alone with so little weaponry. Ronon waited patiently, having finally figured out that when Earthers expressed concern over his well being, they were showing affection and not disparaging his abilities as a warrior. Once Woolsey ran out of words, he nodded to Chuck who dialed the gate.

Heavy, rain-scented air greeted Ronon on the other side, and he inhaled deeply, soaking in the drizzle, the scent of new blossoms, and the animal chatter that surrounded him. His ties to Atlantis grew stronger each day, but the city didn't stir him the way rich, dark soil and sky-high trees did. Even as a child in Sateda's capital city, he'd longed for holidays at his grandparents' farm. His sister had thought him crazy, but the bright lights and non-stop bustle of the city had held no allure for him. He needed grass under his feet and game to hunt to feel whole.

He pulled his scattered thoughts together as he scanned the area around him. Other than a small animal scurrying by, everything was quiet. Ronon adjusted the packs he was carrying and stepped onto the faint path before him with a smile. Atlantis offered many things, but an obstacle-filled jogging trail of mire wasn't one of them.

Mud sucked at his boots as he ran. His dreads streamed behind him and the heavy packs bounced painfully on his shoulders and back, pushing him harder and faster up the steep hills. He let his mind go blank as he concentrated on his breathing, on the rhythmic pounding of his legs on the path, on keeping his stride even as possible as he leaped over broken limbs. His senses expanded. A brook burbled nearby. Two birds chased each other to his left while some kind of reptile watched him on the right. Breaks in the canopy allowed fat raindrops to pepper the forest floor.

An hour later, he stumbled to a stop at the crest of a hill, bracing his hands on his knees as he surveyed the village below while sucking in as much oxygen as his lungs could hold. Not his best time, but not bad considering the mud and the medical packs.

The village wasn't what he'd expected. Most fishing villages were built near water, but this one was literally on top of it. A lake covered the valley floor and a long strip of structures on stilts stretched from one end of it to the other. A sturdy wooden bridge started where the forest path ended and ran the length, offering passageway between buildings with wide porches and solid railings. Children chased each other on the bridge and through homes, oblivious to the rain, the wind easily carrying their shrieks of laughter to his ears along with the shouts and curses of men and women sitting on house balconies with nets and lines cast into the water. Ronon saw no evidence of farming or ranching; the fish trade must be good, which surprised him based on the barely worn path he'd traveled.

With a mental shrug, Ronon made his way down the bridge toward a small clump of boys kneeling in a circle, expressions intent as they played in front of a house. As he approached, one boy looked up, his eyes widening briefly before distrust turned his features cold. The other boys turned with the same unfriendly looks on their faces, and Ronon stopped, taken aback. He was used to curiosity and even fear, but rarely had he been met with open hostility, especially from children.

"Why are you here, stranger?" the first boy asked, his voice full of challenge.

Ronon applauded the boy's bravado and decided to treat him accordingly. "Got supplies for Doc Beckett. You know him?"

The boy's expression flickered at the mention of Beckett's name, but the distrust held. "Maybe. What's your name?"

Ronon folded his arms over his chest, making a show of his biceps. "Ronon Dex. What's yours?"

The boy's eyes drifted to the blaster hanging low on Ronon's hip then traveled up to the set of Wraith bones strung around his neck. "You can leave the supplies here."

"Nope. Gotta give them to Beckett." Alarm began to niggle in the back of his brain, but a quick glance showed nothing out of the ordinary. Still, he couldn't be too careful. "Where is he?" Ronon asked, his hand landing firmly on the grip of his weapon.

A woman stepped out of the shadows of the house. "You will find the doctor at the clinic, five doors down."

"Mam!" the boy exclaimed. "Did you see—"

"Enough," she replied. "If he is a friend of the healer, then we have nothing to fear from him."

Ronon nodded to her and headed toward the building she indicated, still baffled by his reception. Every person he passed, child or adult, followed him with cold eyes, their stances stiffening when he looked at them. When he reached the door, Beckett's distinct accent made him smile. The doc was one of the few people Ronon had allowed to get close, but they spent little time together these days since Beckett traveled so much. He missed the man's quick smile and gentle ways.

"Hey, Doc," Ronon called, stepping inside and rapping his knuckles on the door. "Got those supplies you wanted."

Beckett flinched hard and whirled. "Ronon, lad. You startled me." He patted the arm of the teenage girl sitting on the exam table. "Keep that bandage clean and come back if the burn begins to hurt."

The girl nodded and slid to the floor, practically sprinting past Ronon.

"I wasn't expecting to see you here." Beckett's smile didn't reach his eyes as he glanced over Ronon's shoulder. "Where is the rest of your team?"

"Just me this time. McKay's on Earth at some science meeting. Teyla's with her people, and Sheppard's hiding in his room until his poison lusak clears up. Have you ever seen…" As he set the medical supplies on the floor, a carving on the wall caught his eye. "What—"

Beckett grabbed his arm and pulled him out the door. "I appreciate you coming all this way to bring those supplies. I'm sure you have a lot of things to do. I can take it from here."

Ronon tried to pull away to get a closer look, but Beckett held onto him with an iron grip. Ronon stared down at him, struggling to identify the expression on his face – a mixture of McKay trying to bluff and Teyla trying to talk him out of doing something stupid.

Every nerve in Ronon's body went on alert. He reached for his blaster while his eyes searched for danger.

"What's wrong, Doc?"

"Nothing, son." Beckett lied worse than McKay. The normally welcoming man pulled the door shut and pushed Ronon onto the walkway where the boys were huddled together, staring at them. "Let's take a walk."

Ronon's brows shot up. "In the rain?"

"It's the rainy season. It won't stop raining for three months according to the locals."

"But—"

"Do you see those dark clouds?" Beckett blocked the doorway with his body as he waved toward the forest Ronon had come through. "The storm will be here soon. You can either head back to the gate now or you can stay in my hut for the next two days while we wait out the storm. I'd advise you to take that walk with me."

Like hell Ronon was going to let it go, but maybe getting away from prying eyes and ears would loosen Beckett's tongue. "Sure, Doc. Lead the way."

Beckett relaxed, almost, and stepped forward. "And how are things on Atlantis?"

Ronon hesitated, wanting to go back inside to see what Beckett was hiding, but chose to follow out of respect for the man, heading back the way he'd come. "We got Michael."

Beckett froze in mid-step. "When?"

"Few weeks ago. He attacked Atlantis."

"Who…"

"Teyla." Ronon grinned. "She threw him off one of the towers."

"Good." Beckett's voice was thick with emotion as he stepped from the bridge onto the steep path up the hill that led to the gate. "Bastard deserved it."

While Ronon was in total agreement, to hear Beckett say it came as a bit of a shock. Then again, he supposed even Beckett's well-known compassion had its limits.

"And how are Teyla and young Torren?"

"Good. Didn't realize how fast kids grew."

Beckett laughed. "Walking already, is he?"

"Started last week." Ronon's chest filled with pride. "He's quick, too. Gonna be fast."

Beckett shook his head. "That poor bairn doesn't stand a chance with you, John, and Rodney around all the time. Try to let the boy have a bit of a childhood before you teach him seven ways to kill a man with your little finger."

Ronon snorted and turned to offer a hand before he realized Beckett didn't need it. Where McKay would have been red-faced and bitching, Beckett was barely breathing hard. Life traveling among the worlds of Pegasus agreed with him, kept him fit and filled with purpose. And usually very glad to see anyone from Atlantis. Except today.

"Doc, back there in the village…"

"Let it go, Ronon." Beckett had already started down the other side of the hill toward the forest. "You mentioned something about John and poison lusak?"

Ronon huffed in annoyance but jogged forward to catch up. He relayed the story of Sheppard's mishap as they walked, letting his eyes scan the woods, taking the time to soak in the beauty instead of racing past it as he had on his way in.

And that's when he saw it – a carving in a tree trunk with the same swoops and curls as the one in Beckett's room. He trailed off as he moved toward the tree.

"Ronon, lad, what are you… Oh, God." Beckett clutched at his sleeve. "Leave it and come on."

But Ronon wouldn't be put off this time. Horror flooded through him as he finally got a good look at the carving on the tree.

"Ronon, please."

Rage quickly replaced horror. Ronon pivoted and drew his blaster, intending on slaughtering every soul in the village.

Beckett stepped in front of him. "Calm down."

"Do you know who these people are?" Ronon growled, waving a wild arm toward the town.

Beckett folded his arms and matched his glare. "They are human beings. That's all I need to know."

"Wraith worshipers!" Ronon roared. "Collaborators!"

"They are people, son." Beckett stepped forward and gripped Ronon's arms. "Admittedly misguided, deluded even, but people like me. And you."

Ronon flinched as the words brought up memories he'd tried to forget, memories of betrayal and loss and weakness. Adrenaline and rage pumped through him, and he sucked in a ragged breath, fighting his instincts, remembering lessons taught by Weir and Teyla – listen and consider. "You saying the Wraith tortured all those people into becoming worshipers?"

Beckett shook his head sadly. "No, as far as I know it was a conscious choice someone made long ago. Those people were raised as worshipers. They've never known anything else."

"What's your point?"

"They aren't bad people, Ronon. They are fair traders, love their children, enjoy strong drink and a good joke." Beckett leaned toward him, eyes shining earnestly. "We can help them, show them who the Wraith really are. But they have to know we're trustworthy before they'll listen."

Ronon bowed his head at the man's naïveté. "Doc, it won't matter how much they trust you. They know who the Wraith are. Worshiping the Wraith keeps them alive, and that's all they care about." He straightened and held Beckett's gaze. "Do they know you aren't one of them?"

"Of course they do."

"Have you ever told them?"

Beckett rolled his eyes. "I'm not a fool. I made it quite clear when I arrived that I didn't hold to their beliefs."

"And they trusted you?"

"Well," Beckett's gaze dropped, "the worshipers on the last world gave me a good recommendation."

Ronon groaned and wiped the rain from his face. "If other worlds find out you're helping these people, you might not be welcome. Or worse." He wondered if Beckett really understood the kind of danger he could be in. "Even associating with Wraith worshipers brings a death sentence on some worlds."

Beckett smiled gently. "I won't let anyone dictate who is worthy of medical care, not even you, son."

"Doc…"

"I'll be fine." Beckett patted his arm. "Now, finish telling me about your camping trip."

Ronon wanted to argue, wanted to plead with Beckett to change his mind, but he knew it was a waste of time. Beckett's stubbornness was legendary, which usually worked in his favor, and in the favor of his patients. Ronon knew the man would never give in, no matter the danger. Ronon also knew how real the danger was. Sateda had been one of the worlds where worshiper association carried a death sentence. Ronon had been witness to it many times, had been on the execution squad twice. He'd carried out his duty without hesitation, certain that the accused was guilty, a certainty that had grown after the Wraith ships appeared, the ships they shot down which led to Sateda's destruction. But now – he glanced at Beckett – what if he'd been wrong? What if they'd executed innocent people who were trying to help a friend?

He shook the thoughts away. What-ifs never helped. What's done is done, as his father used to say. And those deaths were so much less painful than what the rest of Sateda had received at the hands of the Wraith.

A low rumble pulled him from the memories. Ronon turned, seeking the source of the sound. The ground beneath his feet shook, and the trees swayed, showering them with water and leaves.

"We need to go." Beckett's voice was hushed and intense as he stared up at the cliffs behind Ronon. "Now."

Ronon didn't argue. They whirled as one and sprinted back the way they'd come. The quaking grew worse. Rocks and debris sluiced past, carried on streams of muck.

"Run, lad!" Beckett shouted. "Fast as you can!"

Ronon staggered sideways as a wave of mud slammed into him. He turned, intending to grab Beckett, but the ground beneath his feet dissolved and whipped his legs from under him. Then he was sliding on his back. Branches whipped his face and arms. Rocks pelted his shoulders. Ronon flailed, barely able to keep his mouth and nose above the tide of mud and debris.

When the ground rose slightly, he slowed enough to wrap himself around a tree. Mud stung his eyes, filled his ears, slicked his arms and hands; he could barely hang on as a river of muck flowed past. Ronon braced his forehead against the tree trunk and coughed until he was certain he was losing a lung. The lacerations left scarlet rivulets through the almost black mud on his arms, and he felt warm blood trickle down his neck. McKay would be having a fit about now, worrying about infections and germs and…

Beckett.

"Doc!" Ronon bellowed. "Where are you?"

Silence, except for the fading roar of the slide.

Ronon leaped away from the tree and spun in a circle – everything was covered in the thick black mud. How was he going to find Beckett?

Think!

Beckett had been dressed in the standard black Atlantis uniform, not helpful against the black mud, but any clothing would be covered in it so it didn't really matter. His hair and skin would be covered with it, too.

Of all the times to not have Sheppard or McKay and one of their gadgets.

Ronon raced uphill to search for the carving in the tree, praying it was the only one. When he found it, he began to climb down, scrutinizing the forest floor for any man-sized lumps.

He found one half a meter away, wedged between two trees, face down.

"Doc!"

Ronon skidded to Beckett's side and lifted his face out of the mud.

Not breathing. No pulse.

Ronon pulled him from the tangle of trees and winced as Beckett's leg, twisted in an unnatural position, caught on a branch. He raked a finger through Beckett's mouth to dislodge as much of the mud as he could then began chest compressions.

He'd been trained on life-saving techniques from the time he was a young boy, but strangely enough this was the first time he'd ever had to use them. He had no idea that they were so tiring.

"Come on, Doc. Breathe."

A rib crack under his hands. Beckett didn't react.

"Not going to lose you again, Doc."

Sweat poured down Ronon's face and arms. His shoulders burned.

"Please, Carson."

Another rib snapped.

Beckett gasped then began to choke. Ronon rolled him on his side and held his shoulders while he coughed up muddy water. Thunder crashed as the storm seemed to stop right on top of them and a steady rain became a downpour. Ronon hunched over Beckett, blocking as much of the rain as he could with his back. Beckett's breathing was ragged, and the skin that showed under the streaks of mud was almost translucent.

Ronon squinted into the deluge, searching for a place to wait out the storm. Trees, trees, and more trees, but none that offered any kind of shelter. Carrying Beckett to either the village or the gate was out of the question – too dangerous in an unfamiliar area with this kind of weather – but he had to get the doc someplace warm and dry. Finally he spotted a hollowed-out trunk that was big enough to hold both of them.

As gently as he could, Ronon lifted Beckett and moved to the tree, careful to not jar Beckett's leg as he laid him inside and crawled in after him. Beckett's pulse was thready and his breathing shallow. Ronon ran his hands over Beckett's frame, but other than the ribs he'd cracked and the badly broken leg, he didn't have any other obvious major injuries. Ronon took a moment to check himself, certain that once the adrenaline wore off, every ache and pain would make itself known. His hip throbbed and gouge marks from broken branches dotted his arms. He suspected his back looked the same.

Ronon peeled his leather coat off and covered Beckett with it before ducking back outside to find a couple of sturdy branches to use for a splint. Along the way, he picked up a large piece of bark with enough curvature to serve as a shallow bowl. When he returned, Beckett hadn't moved, still unconscious, which was probably a good thing. Needing something to hold the branches in place, Ronon tore the shredded sleeves off his shirt. He laid the branches and cloth to the side and studied Beckett's leg. A severe break in the middle of his right shin – might have broken both bones.

With a final check of Beckett's breathing and pulse, Ronon straightened the leg as much as he could, but didn't try to set it. Beckett moaned, pain flickering on his face.

"Sorry about that, Doc."

Ronon moved the branches into place and tied them tightly with the strips of cloth. Beckett flinched again then quieted down when Ronon tucked the coat around him. Next should be taking stock of his supplies, except he didn't have any. He'd always prided himself on not wearing a tac vest like the rest of his team, but he could really use one right now. The few items he carried in his coat and pants pockets – garrote, throwing spikes, Pop-Tart, whet stone – had been lost in his slide down the hill. He could gather a little water with the bark, but he had no food, no bandages, no pain relievers, nothing to help Beckett. And he'd lost his radio, too, so even if Atlantis called, he couldn't answer.

A glance outside confirmed that the storm hadn't slacked off and didn't show any signs of stopping. Might as well do something useful. Ronon ripped a corner off his shirt and began to wipe the mud from Beckett's face. He rubbed one spot several times before realizing it was a nasty bruise. Beckett was definitely going to feel that one.

The adrenaline was wearing off, and a crushing exhaustion began to settle in Ronon's bones. He eased Beckett's head and shoulders up then scooted behind him and pulled Beckett to his chest, hoping the contact would keep them both warm. Ronon's back was bowed and his knees were to his chin.

He was asleep in seconds.

Voices woke him about four hours later according to his internal clock that years on the run had honed to near precision. Ronon checked Beckett – still breathing, pulse weak but there – then eased the man to the ground and moved to the opening. The rain had slacked off to a drizzle, its drumming not loud enough to mask the footsteps nearby.

"Healer Beckett!" a voice called.

Villagers. Ronon twisted away from the opening, eyeing Beckett in indecision. If he waited until they moved on, he could get Beckett to the gate and back to Atlantis. However, carrying Beckett by himself for at least fifteen kilometers through mud and rain would probably injure the man further. Ronon couldn't leave him here alone – too many unknowns. Which left him with the option he liked least.

Trusting Wraith worshipers to care for his friend while he went for help.

Ronon closed his eyes, knowing that no matter how hard he wished it, Sheppard was not going to be smirking at him outside, McKay wouldn't be insulting him, and Teyla wouldn't be offering calm words of wisdom. The decision was his alone to make.

"Here," Ronon called. "We're here."

He crawled out and gently pulled Beckett from the hollow. Three men materialized beside them, worried eyes focused on Beckett's still form.

"Mudslide," Ronon explained. "Doc caught the worst of it. His leg is busted, and so are a couple of ribs." He met their stony gazes. "My people can help him."

The men exchanged glances then the oldest said, "Another storm is approaching. To carry him through the forest to the Gateway is folly."

Ronon nodded. "I know." He took a deep breath, fighting his instincts. "If you can get him back to the village, I can get my people here. We have…flying ships that can get through the storm."

"Healer Beckett has given much of himself to help our people. We can do no different. Go. We will care for him until you return."

Ronon squeezed Beckett's arm, nodded his thanks to the villagers then whirled and sprinted for the gate as if the Wraith were on his tail. What had been a pleasant run earlier now became a race against time. The rain grew heavier and the wind whipped his dreadlocks against his face. By the time he reached the gate thirty minutes later, he was staggering. He dialed, inputted his IDC and leaped.

He stumbled into the gate room, exhausted and soaked to the bone. "Need a radio," he gasped.

The nearest Marine handed him a headset.

"Sheppard, this is Ronon."

"What's wrong?" Sheppard asked.

"Beckett's hurt bad and there's a storm. Need you to fly us."

"Meet you in the jumper bay in ten minutes."

Woolsey hurried down the stairs. "What happened?"

Ronon waved him off and keyed the medical channel. "Need a med team in the jumper bay."

Cole answered, "Condition and location of the patient?"

"It's Beckett," Ronon said. "Broken leg and cracked ribs. Maybe some internal injuries."

"Be right there."

Woolsey arched a brow.

Ronon explained as he headed up the stairs, trusting Woolsey was following.

"I'll have a med team waiting when you get back," Woolsey said.

Ronon nodded as he strode through the control room and took the stairs to the jumper bay three at a time. Cole was arguing with Sheppard who was hobbling toward the jumper.

"Doc!" Sheppard glared at her. "I'm going and that's it. Flying a jumper doesn't require the use of my ankle." The orange patches on his skin flamed. "It's Beckett."

Cole stopped short, remembered pain flickering on her face. "You're right. Let's go."

Ronon grabbed the med kit from her and hurried up the ramp while Cole wrapped an arm around Sheppard's waist and helped him inside. As Sheppard ran through pre-flight, Ronon deposited the med kit in the back and accepted the towel Cole had fished out of the storage bins.

Sheppard acknowledged the permission to depart and lifted off. "How bad is that storm?"

"Bad," Ronon said, settling into the co-pilot's chair. "And the gate's in a clearing right outside the forest. You'll need to pull up fast."

"Got it."

The jumper lowered into the gate room and blasted through the wormhole. When they exited, they went almost straight up through boiling black thunderheads and massive lightning.

"Wow," Cole whispered.

Sheppard leveled out. "Which way?"

Ronon stared out at the blanket of clouds that stretched as far as he could see. He closed his eyes and concentrated on that first run through the forest. "That way," he said, pointing a little right of center. "About twenty kilometers."

They shot forward and, two minutes later, angled downward and pierced through the storm. The ship rocked as thunder boomed and lightning crackled. Ronon squinted through the blinding rain for signs of the village.

"Got 'em." Sheppard pointed at a group of red dots on the HUD. "About four hundred life signs, directly ahead."

"The village is on a pier in the middle of a lake," Ronon said. "Doubt you can land on it."

Sheppard turned to stare at him. "That might have been important to mention before now."

"Would it have made a difference?"

"No," Sheppard admitted. "It would have just been nice to know."

Ronon ignored the way Sheppard's grip tightened on the controls until his knuckles turned white and the muscle in his jaw jumped, certain that Sheppard would get them there safely. Sheppard was like that.

Touchdown was a little rougher than usual, but they were on the edge of the water, no more than five steps from the bridge.

When Sheppard turned to join them, Ronon clamped a hand on his shoulder. "You'll only be in the way."

Sheppard's eyes narrowed but then he slumped back. "Be careful."

"Always."

Ronon slung the med pack over his less-aching shoulder and trotted down the ramp with Cole on his heels. The wind swirled around them, with gusts so strong that Cole had to wrap her arms around Ronon to keep from being blown into the water. When they reached the shelter of the first structure, she hugged the wall, panting for breath. Ronon waited until her head lifted then led her to Beckett's hut. When he found the door bolted, he banged on it, shouting for them to be let in.

The door opened a crack, and the old man's eyes widened when he recognized them. Muttering about the insanity of the young, he opened the door to let them in then leaned his full weight against it to close it again.

Cole hurried to Beckett's side and began an examination while Ronon looked everywhere but at the carving in the wall.

"How is he, Doc?" Ronon asked.

She pushed soaked hair out of her eyes, her face drawn tight. "Going into shock. Bring me the kit."

Ronon set the pack at her side and backed away, experienced enough to know that if his help were required, she would ask. She worked quickly, pulling out IVs and devices and medicines. Ronon realized with a start that her fingernails were blue and she was shivering. He spotted Beckett's satchel and pulled out a towel and jacket.

"Here," Ronon said. "Can't help Beckett if you're shivering like that."

Cole quickly stripped off her own jacket, slid on the dry one and wrapped the towel around her head.

"How much longer will the storm last?" Ronon asked.

The old man shrugged. "Days probably."

Cole's head shot up. "He needs the scanner and maybe surgery. I'm pretty sure he has internal damage. He won't last days."

Ronon turned back to the villager. "When will it be safe to walk outside?"

"Hard to say. An hour, maybe two."

Cole frowned and turned back to Beckett. Ronon grabbed Beckett's satchel and began to stuff it with the few personal items dotting the room.

"You would take the healer from us?" the old man asked.

Ronon zipped the satchel and started to collect the medical equipment. "He's hurt bad."

"But you can help him so that he may return?"

Ronon glanced at Cole who was immersed in caring for her patient. "Best doctors I've ever seen." His gaze swept over the carving. "If Beckett wants to come back, that's his choice."

"You disapprove." Not a question.

Ronon turned to face the old man fully, letting the Wraith bones dangle from the cord around his neck. "You know the danger he puts himself in to help you."

Eyes flinty, the old man shot a pointed look at Cole. "Are your people more like him or you?"

"I'm not…" Ronon stopped, because while he might come from a different planet than the people on Atlantis, they were as surely his people now as if they had been born to the same clan. But that didn't mean Earthers understood Pegasus ways. They blew into the galaxy, turned everything upside down, and kept going, not knowing they had upset the balance of life. Maybe not caring. And yet surprised when people and circumstances became hostile. Teyla had infinitely more patience in trying to teach them the ways of Pegasus. Ronon relied on his blaster.

"Ronon, this is Sheppard."

"Here."

"Wind seems to be dying down. How are you doing?"

Cole activated her headset. "I've stabilized him as much as I can. We're good to go."

"On our way," Ronon reported, spotting the homemade litter propped in the corner. "Give us five minutes and open the hatch."

"Copy that," Sheppard replied.

The old man moved out of the way as Ronon spread the litter on the ground then helped Cole lift Beckett and lay him on it. Ronon draped Beckett's satchel and the med kit around his neck and moved to gather the other sacks of medical equipment and supplies.

"Leave them," Cole instructed. "Carson will be back."

Ronon moved to the head of the litter and knelt. Cole knelt at Beckett's feet, her back to Ronon, and on three they lifted the litter. Ronon pushed away the memory of the last time they carried Beckett's body and nodded at the old man who opened the door.

"Like him," Ronon said as he passed the man. "Most of our people are more like him."

"We await his return. May the Wr… Go in good health."

Ronon and Cole staggered out. Rain and wind whipped at them as they made their way carefully down the bridge and up the ramp of the jumper. Sheppard closed the hatch but waited to lift off until Beckett was secured and they were seated. Another quick trip straight up and straight back down then through a waiting wormhole had them in the gate room minutes later.

A med team descended and whisked Beckett away.

Cole heaved a sigh as she raked her fingers through her hair then stood and arched a brow at Sheppard. "I trust you are going to let someone help you to your quarters."

"Yeah, sure. I'll—"

"Great. Ronon, as soon as you get him there, I'll expect you to report to the infirmary."

"I'm fine. All I need…"

Cole closed her eyes and held up her hand. "When you look in the mirror, you'll understand how ridiculous that statement is. You need medical attention." She opened her eyes. "I'm not above blackmail."

"What does that mean?" Ronon challenged.

"That means," a wicked smile appeared, "I'll tell Teyla."

Sheppard shuddered. "You better do what she says."

"Got that," Ronon muttered. Since Torren's birth, Teyla had grown more protective of all of them, and heeding medical advice was at the top of her list. Ignoring it meant long hours in the gym. Meditating.

Cole smiled triumphantly and left.

Ronon growled when Sheppard began to chuckle. "Keep laughing. I'm telling Teyla you were walking on that ankle."

Sheppard snorted, unrepentant. "Only to the jumper bay and that was to save Carson. She'll understand. Now, help me to my room before anyone else sees me."

Ronon rolled his eyes but pulled Sheppard to his feet and wrapped an arm around his waist. The transporter was close by and they made it to Sheppard's quarters without any of the crew seeing them.

Sheppard grimaced at the black mud clinging to his shirt and pants when Ronon helped him hobble to the bed. "I need a shower."

Ronon tossed a clean t-shirt and sweatpants at his head. "You'll live."

"You okay?"

Ronon glanced down at his torn, muddy clothing. "Yeah." He plucked at the remnants of his tattered shirt. "This was my favorite."

"I'll get you a new one."

Ronon grinned and waved goodbye as he headed to the infirmary, not bothering to explain that the makers of that shirt had been culled to extinction three years ago. The cloth had been a special weave, soft and durable, and the stitching unparalleled. It couldn't be replaced, not in the true sense of the word but, like all things in Pegasus, something else would take its place.

When he reached the medical suite, he was scanned, poked and prodded until he threatened to rip the tech's arms off. Marie gave him a level stare, unmoved by his bluster. He suspected they had grown immune it. She handed him a bottle of cleanser and pointed him toward the shower, telling him not to come back until every speck of mud was gone.

He turned the water as hot as he could stand it then let it run over him until it ran clean. Then he let it run a little longer, bowing his head and sighing as it pounded his shoulders and back. No place he'd ever been had showers like Atlantis. While he enjoyed time off-world, when he came home, the first thing he wanted to do was shower. After being a runner, he never took cleanliness for granted.

Ronon stepped out, dried off, and pulled on the scrub bottoms someone had left for him. He padded back to the examination area where Marie was waiting. He climbed on the gurney now covered in fresh sheets and groaned as his back and shoulder protested.

Marie smiled as she rubbed a bitter-scented ointment on the lacerations on his back, arms and face. "The scans show a couple of deep bruises, but nothing is broken though I imagine you're going to hurt for a couple of days."

Ronon grunted. She had no idea. "How's the doc?"

"Doctor Biro is monitoring him. They don't want to do surgery unless absolutely necessary. The internal bleeding has stopped, and when he gets a little more stable, they'll set his leg." She put the ointment down and began to bandage the worst wounds. "The bruises on his chest…"

"Wasn't breathing when I found him." Ronon blinked heavy lids. "I told Cole that, didn't I?"

"She figured it out." Marie patted his arm and handed him a scrub top. "You're good to go. And by go, I mean to your quarters to rest." Before he could say anything, she held out a small sack. "Two pastrami sandwiches, an apple, and water."

"I love pastrami."

"I know. It's what you always ask for."

Ronon smiled a thank you and headed to the door. When she turned her back, he made a quick left toward the critical care area. He passed the attending doctor who rolled his eyes but didn't say anything, and pulled a chair next to Beckett's bed. The man was surrounded by beeping machines and snaking IV lines, and the mottled bruises on his face were in stark contrast to his pale skin, but he was breathing and that's all Ronon cared about. He settled into the chair and dug into one of the sandwiches.

"You should be in bed," Beckett whispered.

Ronon glanced up in surprise. "Thought you were asleep."

Beckett flinched as he shifted slightly. "You're a noisy eater."

"That's what Teyla says." Ronon took another bite and chewed with gusto. "Good sandwich."

Beckett looked at him through slitted lids. "The villagers?"

"Waiting for you to return if you want."

A ghost of a smile crossed Beckett's face. "Told you they weren't bad people."

Ronon shook his head. "Get some sleep, Doc."

"You, too, my friend." Beckett's eyes slid shut, and his breathing evened out in sleep.

Ronon finished his sandwich and rolled the bag closed, deciding a nap sounded like a good idea. He tucked the bag under his arm, gathered his few belongings not lost to the mud, and left. The transporter deposited him close to his quarters, and he stifled a yawn as he walked the last few meters to his door, almost bumping into Lorne.

"Oh, there you are."

"You need me for something?" Ronon asked.

Lorne grinned. "Heard you might have a few photos that needed to be uploaded to the network."

Ronon grinned in reply. He and Lorne were definitely going to be friends.

Written for the sgahcchallenges Easter fic exchange. Thanks to everybetty for the beta. All faults mine.