I know, I know! Haven't updated in years and now two updates in a weekend! What can I say? I'm really getting back into it! I do still work night shift, but I will update when I can! Thanks for the cookie comments! :D

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Chapter 36

Ronon awoke not long after the rescue party departed the village. He cracked open his tired eyes, still suffering under the effects of some medicine or another. He recognised the telltale bitter taste of it in his dry mouth, sensed the fuzziness in his head and felt enough tingling in his limbs to know that Beckett had put him out with some drug. He couldn't even find the strength to be angry with the Doc, still aching all over from his various wounds. His head, arm, and ears hurt, but his torso was aflame with agony. He pulled up his shirt to stare at the dressings covering his torso, smoothed a hand over them and felt the heat radiating behind them. He grunted while turning onto his side, sweat bursting to wet his clothes.

He saw that he was hooked up to a bag of strange orange liquid. If his fever was anything to go by, he figured it was a Caronaan antibiotic dripping into the line in his arm. He supposed it wasn't surprising, given that most of his wounds occurred in the forest and were caused by the claws of a Groten. None of this made Ronon any happier at his current predicament.

Ronon looked around himself at what he could see from his prone position. For some reason, he'd thought McKay had been in the bed next to his, but it was now empty. He thought perhaps his drug-infused brain might have made that detail up, but then, he did ponder Rodney's whereabouts as his fever continued to burn through him. Ronon raised himself onto his elbow to look around the barn, trying to take his mind off his ails. The place was quieter than before. People were either asleep or gone from the place. He watched as a pallid man was taken from the barn on a stretcher and out into a waiting Vipen craft parked outside the barn doors. Once loaded, the craft took off, and another took its place. It seemed that the sick and injured were being moved, and he wondered if he, too, would be taken to whatever destination the Vipen was heading. He thought that perhaps Rodney had been taken in one and eased himself back onto the bed until he heard a loud, hoarse voice barking orders from the other side of the barn. He recognised the accent of Carson Beckett. He sounded distressed, which piqued Ronon's interest. He pulled himself upright, a slight moan escaping his lips as his shattered arm protested and his torso burned from the movement.

His head spun dizzyingly for a moment, and he gripped the edge of the bed, closing his eyes so he didn't see the room sway sickeningly before him. He heard a tapping sound and concentrated on the noise as he breathed through the painful sensations, hearing it come closer. When he opened his eyes, he saw the village leader stop before him, his wooden cane clicking one last time on the barn floor.

"Oh, Fer Dex, you are a sorry sight indeed," Sama said sadly.

"What's happening?" Ronon asked, nodding towards another person being taken from the barn.

"Central City has opened the Monuth Hospital doors to the fallen. We are evacuating the most gravely ill first. Rest assured, there will be a place for you, soon."

"I take it that person will be next to go?" he asked, looking in Beckett's direction.

Sama said nothing but sighed wearily and sat on the edge of Ronon's bed. When his silence drew on for too long, Ronon glared at him, an uneasy feeling permeating his thoughts.

"What?"

"It's Fer McKay, I'm afraid."

Ronon shot to his feet but stumbled, lightheaded, until Sama grabbed him by his shoulders, halting his near fall. The older man was stronger than he appeared and firmly sat Ronon back on the edge of his bed and held him there until the fight left him. It didn't take long; the infection sapped his strength, and no matter his will to stand, Ronon was sure he wouldn't be able to make another attempt anytime soon.

"What happened?" he asked instead through a haze of misery.

"Fer Beckett explained that while Fer McKay appeared to have mostly superficial injuries, there was one that had gone unnoticed, largely due to the bedlam in the barn when he was first triaged."

"And yet, he managed to get back into a bio-suit?"

"Yes, an action that has forced these dire consequences upon him."

"How bad is he?"

"Very bad, he is gravely ill. So much so that he remains too unstable to move to Monuth hospital. Fer Beckett is trying to stop the bleeding long enough to facilitate the move, but the outlook seems grim."

Ronon snorted unhappily at Sama's cool assessment of his friend's health. The man was never one to mince his words, but his directness left nothing but pain in Ronon's chest that had nothing to do with his injuries. Ronon shivered in his damp clothes, the fever continuing to burn through him as the infection ravaged his system. He felt almost too ill to care. But the fact was he did care, fiercely, and so he attempted to stand again despite Sama's loud protests. His legs trembled, and he fought the urge to collapse back on the bed as nausea raised bile from his empty stomach to burn the back of his throat. He grabbed the bag attached to the line in his arm and then went to step forward, but Sama halted him momentarily.

"If you must insist on this action, Fer Dex, then at least allow me to help you," Sama said softly, handing him his cane.

Ronon sneered at it, his pride flaring to deny the aid. Sama insisted and pushed it into his hand, then stood by his injured side to help guide him. Ronon's gaze fell upon the frantic Carson, and he swallowed his pride, gripped hold of the cane, then took a few shuddering steps forward.

Carson was shouting orders to the people around him as he continued to work on Rodney, unaware of Ronon staggering up behind him. The doctor called for swabs and various instruments, yelled at one woman who handed him the wrong thing, then in the same breath, apologised and asked for the correct one. As he stepped up, Ronon saw that Carson was bloodied up to his elbows, drenched in Rodney's blood. It was all he could do not to throw up as Carson plunged his hands deep inside the wound in Rodney's lower abdomen, and he grunted as he bit back the bile. On hearing the sound, Carson threw an astonished glance towards him, then barked an order at the man standing near the end of the bed.

"For Christ's sake, get this idiot something to sit on!" he yelled, turning his attention back to Rodney. "What the blazes are you doing on yer feet?!"

"I needed to know, doc," Ronon replied, lowering himself onto the chair with Sama's help.

"You needed— you needed to know!? I'll tell you what you need to know! Your system has a bloody smorgasbord of alien bacteria swimming through it, and you shouldn't be up! You're bloody lucky not to be in sepsis right now, but that doesn't mean you're not in danger of it! I've enough to deal with here without worrying about you at this present moment in time!"

"I'm sorry, Doc. I just…"

Carson's demeanor mellowed, but he didn't stop working. "Aye, I know, lad. I know. I'd be the same. Wait… wait a second…"

Carson fell silent, his hand movements slowing, and he leaned closer to better see inside Rodney's wound. For long drawn out moments, no one uttered a word. Ronon himself didn't even breathe as he watched the doctor gently move his hands within the wound.

"Those, give me those!" Carson cried suddenly, pointing a bloodied hand towards the array of medical instruments laid out on a small tray at Rodney's side. "Hurry now!" The aid handed over the small pair of forceps and the determined and anxious look on Carson's face turned to one of relieved delight as he smiled and exclaimed, "gotcha, yeh wee bugger!"

A few more silent moments passed as Carson continued to work. He asked for sutures, for clean forceps, and for swabs that he pushed into the wound. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he asked for Rodney to be evacuated immediately to the waiting Vipen.

A stretcher was brought to Rodney's bedside, and four aids gently slipped him onto it then hurried from the barn as Carson pulled off his gloves and apron and then used a towel to dab most of the red wetness from his arms. Carson looked at Ronon appraisingly, then said, "There's no way you're gonna allow yourself to be put on a stretcher, is there?"

"Not a chance, Doc," Ronon replied with a slight grin.

"I need to go with Rodney, so you might as well come, too. No time to waste, up with you!"

Carson had him upright and moving in one fluid movement. The doctor's arms held him firm as he and Sama guided Ronon to the Vipen and through the craft's open rear hatch. They shuffled up beside Rodney's stretcher and sat on the wall-mounted seats by his side. Sama said goodbye as the hatch closed and the Vipen engines started up. Carson hooked Ronon's bag of antibiotics on a peg on the wall, then immediately started to fuss, checking Rodney's wound and vitals as Ronon looked on.

Rodney's head was turned to face him. His eyes were half open and raised high in their sockets, roving side to side without seeing. His mouth was open; a small dribble of blood had dried upon his skin amid the bristle of his chin. His face was bruised and battered, a deep cut on his cheek closed with little sterile strips. His right arm hung lifelessly over the edge of the stretcher, dotted with various cuts and bruises, trails of blood long dried upon his skin. He was shockingly pale, made worse by the glaring white interior of the Vipen. Ronon's eyes continued to look over Rodney's form, and he saw that his left arm was strapped up, a piece of bone protruding from the skin pointing toward the roof. Ronon swallowed thickly at the sight, but nothing prepared him for what Carson checked over.

On the left of Rodney's abdomen, there was a huge, gaping wound. How it had been missed was beyond Ronon, as it was no mere laceration. Carson saw him stare and sat beside him as the Vipen finally lifted off.

"It wasn't that big to begin with," Carson said quietly "When it was first noticed, it was marked down as bruising by one of Rella's medics, and to be honest, it did look like one at the time. A blossom of blues that peeked up above the waistline of his trousers. His arm seemed worse, and that's what he moaned about the most. But a few minutes after we got him out of the bio-suit for the second time, he took a turn for the worse. We rechecked his wounds and found it was more than just a bruise. It was also a high-impact puncture wound. We had already extracted a Groten claw from his shoulder that caused a wound in a similar shape, but the claw that did this was far bigger and went deeper. The wound held together well enough, most likely helped by the tightness of his waist belt, until Rodney's hare-brained idea to get back into another bio-suit and take off on a rescue mission. I believe the conforming mechanism of the suit shifted the belt, and as a result, the wound burst. It's probably why he didn't make it back to the village conscious. I had to cut the wound further open to try and find the leaking vessel. I only just found it when you sat down." Carson heaved a sorrowful sigh. "His collapse was caused by internal bleeding from a wound I failed to diagnose."

"Not your fault though, is it, doc? You said one of Rella's crew did the initial check."

"Aye, but I should have checked for myself." Cason looked down and scraped at the dried blood on his wrist. "I nearly lost him."

"He's still here, thanks to you."

Carson stood to check Rodney over again as the Vipen continued its journey to Central City and Monuth Hospital. Ronon was shivering so badly now that his teeth chattered even as he swept sweat from his brow. Hearing the sound, Carson looked at him with concern. "Only you would pick yourself up out of bed as ill as you are. You should have stayed put and allowed that concoction to work," he chastised, looking at the bag of antibiotics. "Here, let me check you over."

"I'm fine Doc." Ronon pushed Carson's hands away. "Take care of McKay."

"Listen, big man, you will sit there and let me check you over, or by God, I'll have you taken off active duty for a few months and put on enforced bed rest."

"You wouldn't."

"I bloody well would, and you know it."

Ronon resigned himself to the health check, which consisted of recording his blood pressure, pulse rate, and temperature and a quick look at his wounds. Carson grimaced as he held up Ronon's torn shirt and peeled back the dressing over the slashes on his torso.

"They'll need to be properly washed out when we get to Monuth. It's not going to be pleasant, but unless you want to come down with sepsis, it needs doing. What a state. There was only so much I could do back at the barn." His eyes wavered towards Rodney momentarily as he patted the dressing back down and lowered Ronon's shirt. "Hopefully, we will get you on better medicine there and a bed to rest in, which—I might add— you will bloody well stay in!"

Ronon was about to reply when the Vipen took a sudden change in direction, jostling the occupants of the rear compartment. Carson jumped up when Rodney came perilously close to falling out of the stretcher, leaning over the unconscious man and holding him safe. Ronon gripped the bar above his head as the Vipen dove rapidly before straightening and leveling out again.

"Sorry about that," the voice came from the pilot via the intercom. "We had a rapid deployment of Vipens from Central and had to get out of their way. Everyone okay back there?"

"Aye, we're fine. What's going on?"

"Central is sending more help to the rescue front. There is a new plan, and the Minister has sent more help."

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Monuth hospital was as gleaming white and sterile as the Vipens. Being the only hospital this side of Caronaa, it was enormous. Corridors stretched for miles. Wards accommodated many beds in private rooms. Staff were plentiful, which was good considering the recent influx of injured from the village. The weak and injured people were triaged in a spacious room across the corridor from the emergency department, then sent on to the best place to care for them. Carson dropped Ronon off in the triage area and followed Rodney's stretcher into the emergency room.

Inside were several people in red gowns and facemasks who helped move Rodney from the stretcher onto a bed in one of the bays. Another person in a burgundy gown pulled on sterile gloves and listened intently as Carson reported Rodney's condition to the team. He watched as a large rectangular contraption from above lowered over Rodney's inert form. It had lights and a magnified viewing panel through which the person in burgundy looked.

"Thank you, Fer Beckett. You did a great job, considering what you had to work with. Rest assured, we will continue your work and get your friend fixed up for you."

Carson nodded and thanked them all for their help, quite reluctant to leave Rodney but aware that there was nothing else he could do for him except wait. So he wandered back towards the triage, only to be told that Ronon had already been assigned a bed in the twelfth corridor. He left the triage area behind and wandered through the hospital. The place hadn't changed since he'd been there helping medical staff with plague victims almost two years before. The wards were still bright and clean, and everyone he passed smiled at him in greeting. Eventually, he came to the ward where he originally helped the Caronaan plague victims. He stood outside the doors, peering in at the dimly lit area.

John had confided in him about Kerria's condition months before. Though the man had tried to hide it, Carson could see how deeply he cared for the Caronaan woman and worried for her. Before AR-1 left on this recent mission, John had sought him out. For what felt like the hundredth time, he asked if Carson had made any progress on a cure for those in which the original cure failed. When he sadly told John that he hadn't, Carson had seen the fervent hope die in his eyes, saw the walls of his calm façade crumble at the admission. Something about his desperation bothered the doctor, but John refused to speak about it. He had squared his jaw as his cracked façade rose once more, thanked Carson, then left without another word. The interaction troubled Carson enough to make an urgent subspace call to Monuth, only to discover that the comatose plague victims had finally begun to succumb to their illness. That Kerria and the others had lasted as long as this was a testament to the careful attendance of those working in Monuth hospital.

Carson pushed through the doors and stepped into the ward. Unlike the rest of the hospital, there were no happy smiles on the faces of those working within, no bright enthusiasm, and no hope. The place was eerily quiet, except for sounds from medical devices and the hushed tones of grim-faced workers. Staff nodded in greeting as he passed them, having seen him around in the days and weeks following the opening of the plague ward as he tried to find a second cure. It surprised him to discover that half of the ward was now empty; beds stripped down and cleaned, standing in darkened bays of silence. He continued through the ward, counting less than twenty desperately ill patients. Over a hundred had been there the last time he had visited.

He found the bay he was searching for and stopped at Kerria's bedside, frowning as he looked down at her. She was deathly pale. Her face was covered by a mask that delivered oxygen to her damaged lungs. Carson smoothed her long blond hair, the straw-like brittle texture of it only deepening his frown. The reading on the machines hooked to Kerria told him all he needed to know, and Carson shook his head sadly.

"Oh, lassie. I'm so sorry," he whispered, reaching to hold her cold hand.

He absentmindedly traced a circle on her hand with his thumb as he stared at the oxygen mask. Something niggled at the back of his mind, something he couldn't quite grasp, which caused him annoyance. He listened to the quiet woosh of air from the ventilator, still staring at the mask, when a nurse entered the bay and broke his thoughts.

Smiling, she set down a tray and offered her hand to Carson. "It's been a while, Fer Beckett."

"Janse! How have you been?" Carson asked with a smile, taking her hand in his free one and squeezing it warmly.

"I have been well, and you?" she replied, turning to the tray and tearing the top from a small vial of liquid.

"I've had better days."

He watched Janse empty the vial into a small chamber and adjust Kerria's oxygen mask. Something about the mask continued to annoy Carson, and he stared at it for long moments.

"Have you come to see Rella by chance?" Janse asked, a small smile tugging her lips.

"Oh, no, I saw Rella in the village," Carson replied, his cheeks reddening. "I came here with two injured friends. I'm heading back to the village soon, thought I'd pop in and see what's happening here."

Janse nodded, her smile vanishing. "It's just the same, there's no change in any of the people that remain. It's a waiting game now, Fer Beckett. Their time has run out, so we care for them in their final days."

"It's one of my biggest regrets," Carson said, patting Kerria's hand and letting go. "Not being able to save them."

"No one could help them, Fer Beckett. The Great Being knows we tried, but the failure isn't entirely your own to bear." She tugged at Kerria's mask, changing over the tubing to accommodate the nebulizing chamber.

Again, Carson stared at the mask, feeling the same annoyance from before. It felt as if he was on the cusp of understanding something huge. He couldn't quite grasp the significance of the mask or why it was pulling his attention.

Janse connected the nebulizer and set it to run. A quiet, whistling rushing noise started as the chamber converted the liquid into a vapor that Kerria breathed via the mask.

The mask… what is it about that bloody mask…?

It infuriated him, and it was a few moments before Carson noticed that Janse was waving a hand in front of his face.

"Are you okay, Fer Beckett?"

He glanced at the mask, then at the nebulizer, back to the mask, and he finally understood. A huge smile broke upon his face, and he clapped his hands.

"Oh, I'm fine, lass," he grinned and pulled her into a hug that made her giggle. "I am more than fine! I need to get back to the village, pronto."

Carson clapped his hands again, then ran from the ward, leaving Janse to stare after him in amused bewilderment. ..
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