I'm enjoying all the cookie comments you are sending me. I'm writing these chapters as I go, so I never really know how they are being received. Let's go back and see how the rest of the team is doing. People don't always just magically heal. Sometimes, they linger...

Glossary:
Formal: Fernin = Sir, Fennin = Ma'am.
Informal: Fer (m) and Fen (f)

Enjoy!

)0(

Chapter 41

Ronon woke in a world of pristine white walls with bright overhead lights and the smell of disinfectant. It felt as if he'd been lying in the same position for days, which he deemed likely, given that he observed the familiar sensations of heavy sedation. He squinched his eyes against the brightness and looked at his surroundings. According to the sign on the wall, he lay in a medical bay on the twelfth corridor. It could have been the seventieth corridor for all he cared because he had a splitting headache and a thirst that seemed to dry through to his bones. He looked down to see cables on his chest and tubes in his arm and groaned with frustration. He hated lying around hooked up to things. The machines scared him. He'd watched too many people hooked to them that never made it and feared one day he would hear the screaming sound of death from one attached to himself. He considered tearing off the cables but knew from experience that it made medics mad as they had to put them all back on again until they were happy with the readouts, no matter how many times he pulled them off. He sat himself up and dropped his legs over the side of the bed. Medical staff milled around the ward, and he caught the attention of a nurse and asked for something to drink. The badge pinned to her top informed him that her name was Dova, and she brought him a fresh jug of water.

"You look stronger today, Fer Dex, " she said, pouring him a cup.

"I feel it. Maybe I can get these off," he replied hopefully, gesturing to the cables and tubes, then took a sip of water.

"That's not up to me, I'm afraid. But, the doctor will be round soon, and you can ask her."

The nurse went to leave, until Ronon caught her arm and asked quietly, "How is my friend, umm, Fer McKay?"

Dova's brow creased, and she looked behind her to ensure no one was listening. "I'm not allowed to discuss other patients, Fer Dex, but your friend is… well, rest assured he's getting the best possible care."

"Can I see him?"

"I'm-I-"

"I just need to make sure he's okay."

"But he-"

"Look, I can tear all this off and look for him myself, or you can help me."

The nurse scowled, huffed, then hurriedly left the bay.

"Myself it is," Ronon growled and grabbed the lines in his arm, about to pull them out and remove the leads from his chest.

"Fer Dex!" The little nurse scolded him from the doorway, holding a folder. "At least give me a minute to get things in order. Then, I'll take you to see Fer McKay."

Suitably chastised, Ronon let go of the lines and laid back in the bed to wait. When Dova returned, she pushed a wheelchair to the side of the bed, making Ronon roll his eyes.

"I can walk."

"I'm sure you can, but you won't if I have any say in this little day trip. I've heard about your stubbornness but never imagined you'd harm yourself to get your way."

"Pulling out a line is hardly harming myself," he retorted.

"No? Denying yourself the medicine that has kept you alive thus far can be seen as a form of self-harm, Fer Dex."

Ronon rolled his eyes again as the nurse set to removing the cables from his chest, then transferred the bags of antibiotics to a stand attached to the wheelchair. She fretted as he moved from the bed to the chair, occasionally reaching for him until he glared at her. He sat down and waited for her to ensure everything was in place before she released the brakes and pushed him out of the bay.
Dova informed him that Rodney had been moved to the first corridor following his surgery. If he took another turn for the worse, the ward was the closest to the theatres. This meant that she had to push Ronon through much of the hospital. He despised the looks people gave him as they passed, pity in their eyes and weak smiles.

"How long was I out?" he asked Dova to take his mind off his social discomfort.

"Not that long. Around thirty hours."

"That's long," he replied.

"Not really. You have a systemic infection. That you are already out of bed is quite a surprise."

"I'm not one to lie around."

"I noticed," the nurse replied dryly.

They wandered through corridor after corridor, and Ronon was surprised to realise he was tiring even though he wasn't walking or exerting himself. His arm throbbed, making him wrap his hand around the thick splint that supported his shattered bone. Dova noticed and leaned over in time to see him grimace, so she pulled the chair to a stop. Ronon was about to complain when she took a small object from her pocket.

"I thought you might need this before we got back. I passed it with the doctor, and you can get two shots if you need them."

She pushed the injection actuator to his neck and pressed a small button that released a metered dose of painkiller into his bloodstream. Ronon felt instant relief, the pain fading as the nurse started them moving again. He mumbled a thanks as they turned a corner onto the first corridor. They passed the theatre suites, the main door, and the waiting area before the nurse finally stopped at a door and pressed a button on the wall.

"Intensive Ward, how can I help you today?" said the voice from the intercom.

"Hello, Fen Kasla, it's me, Fen Dova. I have a man here who wishes to see his friend."

"Let me guess, one of the Atlanteans?"

Ronon was about to correct them but stopped himself. He was an Atlantean. They were his only family now. Atlantis, his only home. He may have been born on Sateda, but that didn't mean he couldn't also identify as something else.

"Yes, it is," he said in gruff reply.

A quiet, exasperated groan came from the intercom a second before the door buzzed open. The ward was eerily silent, so when the doctor who answered the intercom spoke, her voice appeared to reverberate off the walls.

"You are the second in to see him today. I'll tell you the same as I told Fer Beckett on his third visit; Fer McKay isn't well enough for visitors," Kasla said, folding her arms across her chest and squaring her jaw.

"He doesn't need to perform tricks for us," Ronon muttered. "He just needs to know we're here for him."

"He won't know anything, Fernin. He's in a medically induced coma."

Ronon flinched at the words so obviously that the colour drained from the doctor's face.

"I apologise. I shouldn't have said that in such a way." Kasla ushered the nurse to the side and took control of the wheelchair.

"If you are who I think you are, Fer Dex, then you will understand how serious Fer McKay's condition is. He has the same infection that you have. It was unusual enough to trigger a warning in the lab of a new strain of bacteria. But, as we have discovered, it comes from the Danu, or what you call Groten. The organism thrives in the root of their claws and proves extremely difficult to treat. You and Fer McKay were infected through your battles with the Danu; just a scratch would be enough. But then…" the doctor stopped in the doorway of a bay and Ronon breathed in sharply at the sight. "...Fer McKay had more than just a scratch."

Rodney lay in a bed much like the one Ronon had been in, but this one was like something from one of the so-called science fiction movies that Sheppard was so fond of. It looked comfortable enough, but attached were machines and monitors that snaked cables and tubes under the thick sheet covering the lower half of Rodney's body. He wore a mask that covered his mouth and nose, secured with a thick strap around his head. It had a ribbed flexible hose attached to a machine which whooshed in time to Rodney's breathing.

"We didn't have treatment for your infections," Kesla said. "The lab had to develop it quickly from a culture from your chest wound. That's why you are on the twelfth corridor and not here. Unfortunately, Fer McKay was already terribly weakened by traumatic blood loss, and with the surgery and the extended period from the initial injury, his system couldn't maintain itself. So, for now, we maintain it for him."

Kesla stopped the wheelchair at the side of Rodney's bed, put on the brakes, then quietly left Ronon to stare with horror at the sight of his friend. He tried to ignore the medical machines; they just made him feel uneasy, and he was already unsettled purely by the sight of Rodney. It was as if his friend wasn't there at all. His chest and stomach were bound in thick bandages. His left arm was splinted much like his own, and a large dressing on his shoulder completed the ensemble. His skin was pale and mottled with black and purple bruises. Scratches and stitched lacerations crossed his skin in various places. His left hand was swollen, and his right eye was black. He truly looked like he had been in a battle, and Ronon silently cursed himself for not being there when Rodney needed him. Repositioning himself in the wheelchair, Ronon reached to cover Rodney's forearm with his hand. He was surprised to feel that Rodney's skin was cold to the touch, yet Ronon had expected it to be hot because his skin was hot, especially around the wounds on his chest.

Nurse Dova quietly slipped into the bay and stood by the end of the bed.

"He's cold," Ronon commented. "Why is he cold?"

"Everyone reacts differently to illness."

"He's always the one to get sick during a mission. Always complaining he is ill."

"That may be why it has affected him this way." Dova lifted a folder from a table and flicked through the pages. "His readings are stable. On the last check, they were better than they've been."

"So he's getting better?"

Dova put the folder back down and bit at her lip. "He's better than he was," was all she would admit. "We should get you back to your bay."

"I'm going nowhere."

"You need your rest as much as he needs his. And I have strict instructions to get you back within the hour."

"I said I'm going nowhere," Ronon scowled.

"It's fine, Fen Dova. I will look after him."

Ronon shifted uncomfortably as a graceful woman stepped into the bay.

"After all, I've been looking after this moody man for many years," Teyla said, resting her hand on his shoulder.

"Of course, Fennin," Dova smiled and took her leave as Teyla sat on the edge of Rodney's bed.

"You should be kinder to them," Teyla reprimanded "They saved your life."

"Yeah, well, I hate being told what to do. I bet that doc was thrilled to see another of us."

"Dr Kesla is simply under pressure, moreso as we are not Caronaan. She believes she has a responsibility to ensure that we visitors get back to Atlantis in one piece or it would somehow shame her."

"Caronaan pride."

"Yes, much like Satedan pride."

Ronon smirked and shrugged off the remark.

"I should have been there," he whispered bitterly.

"It would not have helped him."

"I could have stopped…" his hand gesture encompassed Rodney's entire bed. "This."

"Then let me tell you what I saw that day. I didn't see a man who needed help, nor someone who was afraid to be there. I saw a man step up and fight for good, and he didn't stop until he was stopped. You would have been proud of him, Ronon."

"I am proud of him," Ronon said quietly.

Teyla raised an eyebrow and smiled softly. "You are?"

"Of course I am. He didn't get into this state by running away."

"No, he truly didn't. I think he would have taken them all on had one not managed to tear him from the biosuit."

Ronon winced at that, imagining the man before him jammed up inside a tin can while a wild beast tore at his body. He knew how hostile and powerful the Groten were, having found out for himself back in the insect-infested forest.

Teyla smoothed the sheet covering Rodney's legs. "You know, as he lay in the battlefield after he was cut down, he asked me if he made a difference. He was in a lot of pain, but he wanted to do more. Now, if that's not a man of strength, I don't know what is."

They fell into an easy silence, watching for any change in Rodney. The nurses and doctors came in often and attended to both men, changing empty bags of medicine for new ones and ensuring their comfort. No one requested Ronon to return to his ward again, though nurse Dova often popped her head into the bay to ask how he was faring. Teyla stepped out to ask the medics questions and left Ronon in the quiet room alone. After a while, he grew sleepy, so he leaned his arm on the bed and rested his head on it, his other hand still on Rodney's arm. It didn't take long for the quiet rhythmic noise from the machines to lull him into an uneasy sleep.

He dreamed of monsters, fallen comrades, war, and flesh-eating bugs. His nightmare evolved several times, making him twitch and shudder in his slumber. In one, he watched his late fiancée, Melena, being attacked and killed by Groten, torn to shreds before his eyes. In another, he watched John Sheppard being consumed right down to his bare bones, eaten by tiny, squishy blobs. He saw his Atlantean family hunted into the Caronaan forest to be picked off by insects and Groten, and as one grabbed and pulled his hand, Ronon woke with a start.

The nightmares had been so real, so much so that he still felt his hand being pulled. It took him some time to understand that his hand was being pulled by the man in the bed on which he lay his head. Raising his head, he looked at Rodney, but he was still unconscious, still silent. Believing that he had imagined it, Ronon sat back in the wheelchair. As he removed his hand, Rodney's arm moved. Ronon straightened and watched closely, thinking his eyes were playing tricks, but Rodney's arm moved again, and his fingers twitched, scratching at the bed sheet. Ronon knew enough to understand this shouldn't be happening to someone in an induced coma, and so he started shouting for help.

The brakes to his wheelchair were released, and he was wheeled from the bay as medical staff rushed in. The last he saw was the bed being flattened and the door to the bay closed. Ronon stared at the closed door, imagining all kinds of scenarios happening behind it, his recent nightmares fuelling his anxiety.

Rodney was having a seizure.

Rodney was dying.

Rodney was already dead.

Rodney was leaving him. Just like everyone he cared about.

Ronon gripped the arms of the wheelchair, flashes of memories with the faces of everyone who had left him blazing through his mind. Sheppard's and McKay's faces were in there, too, gaunt, pale, and lifeless. Something was happening in his chest. It burned, and he thought it was his wounds, but it wasn't. It was pressure, squeezing the air from his lungs, and fire flaming in his ribcage. His breathing and heart rate increased until he couldn't think or breathe. His eyes darted about the corridor, unsure of why he suddenly felt terrified and under threat. Nothing attacked him, and no one tried to ambush him, but he felt at risk all the same. Dova tried to calm him with words of understanding and empathy, but Ronon couldn't hear them. All he could hear was the thudding of his heart loud in his ears, and all he could feel was the tightness in his chest and constricted throat.

He saw Teyla turning the corner at the far end of the corridor, a disposable cup in each hand. He shouted her name, and when she looked at him, their eyes connected, hers widening with apprehension as she dropped the cups, spilling hot beverage on the gleaming floor. He could see she thought the worst; it was in her features, in the taught line of her brow and tightness in her jaw, mirroring the panic that was surely plastered over his own face. That's when he understood what was happening to him.

Panic. He was panicking because he thought he was losing another loved one and he couldn't bear it.

The sound of Teyla's footfalls drew close, and she stopped abruptly beside him. She reached for him, and he took her hand in his and held it firmly. Time stood still as they waited impatiently for news coming from behind the closed door. Nurses frequently left the bay and returned, but said nothing to them, ensuring the door closed tight whenever they passed through it. Items were taken to and removed from the bay, anything from bandages to bedding. At one point, a young man ran in with a bag of fluid, only to run back out moments later to fetch another. There was an air of urgency from all who passed them, which seemed to confirm that something catastrophic had happened to Rodney. Even Teyla's unbreakable serenity was rattled; Ronon could feel it in her trembling hand. Eventually, the door opened, and the medical staff exited, Kesla being the last to step through. Her brow was furrowed, her mouth tight as she stopped before them.

"I'm afraid he's burning through sedative rapidly, even faster than you, Fer Dex. It may be down to physiological variences due to our differing genetics, but the sedative doesn't work on you like it does on us Caronaans."

Crestfallen, Ronon and Teyla simply nodded and waited for the bad news to come.

"Of course, he assures me this isn't a problem."

"He is awake?!" Teyla asked in astonishment.

Kesla chuckled, stood aside, and held her arm out for them to enter the room.

Rodney's bed looked different this time, less frightening. Most of the monitors were dark and swivelled down the side of the bed. Around half the cables had been disconnected and wrapped around hooks beneath the bed. The ventilator was disconnected, and the mask on Rodney's face had been swapped for a much smaller one that delivered a steady stream of oxygen.

"He's still very weak. I don't think he'll be awake for long." Kelsa said and left them.

Rodney's eyes were closed as Ronon and Teyla took position on either side of the bed. He still looked frail, but there was a difference, like a presence to him that before had been absent. When Ronon applied the breaks on his wheelchair, the sound made Rodney's eyes flutter open. They rolled a little before focusing, and he swallowed thickly when he finally saw them.

"Hey," he said, his voice little more than a breathless whisper.

"Rodney, it's good to see you awake," Teyla said as she took his hand. "How do you feel?"

"Like I was… hit by… a Jumper…"

"Might as well have been," Ronon said, leaning back in his chair.

"Nice… wheels…"

"Yeah, well, it's how I roll," Ronon replied with a smirk.

"Earth humour is… rubbing off… on you…" Rodney managed a faint smile. "What about… the Goh?"

"We managed to save twenty-four tanks of them. We will return them to their home when we can," Teyla replied.

"A-and John?"

Ronon picked at his thumbnail absentmindedly while refusing to look at Rodney. "He's on Ignothia. Last I saw him, he looked slightly better than when you last saw him."

"So when… do we go… back for him?"

Ronon hesitated before he looked at him and said, "We don't."

A flash of anger crossed Rodney's tired eyes, and he tried to rise but was too weak to do more than lift his head from the pillow. "Wha-what do … you mean?"

"It's okay, Rodney," Teyla soothed. "It's just that Ignothia is out of bounds as Groten ships guard the planet. We are formulating a plan to retrieve John and get the Goh home."

Rodney huffed, his eyelids flickering, his body relaxing, quickly tiring. "I… I'll come up… with a plan…"

"You will rest and nothing more," Teyla replied. "You nearly died and are still very ill."

Rodney fought against sleep and was about to say something until Ronon stood abruptly. Many emotions ran through Ronon's mind: anger, frustration, fear, and brotherly affection and respect for the man he watched fight against sleep.

"Don't let the wheelchair fool you, McKay. I'm well enough. And I'll make sure we get Sheppard back."

A tick pulled at the corner of Rodney's mouth as he thought of a reply. His eyelids drooped, his mouth slackened, and all fight left his body.

"W-well then… I leave it… to you…" he whispered as he fell asleep.

.

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