Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate or Star Wars.

AN: Just your usual "Sunday" spoiler ALERT! Some random unnamed male doctor tries to treat Ronon...

Earthlings were particularly ill-versed in the art of body language, Ronon mused as he half slouched in an infirmary bed, on the receiving end of a frenzied tirade from a doctor bouncing with indignant flaps of his lab coat. Usually this wouldn't be so bad, but after being chased by villagers wielding massive spear-shooting machines on wheels for a few hours, his good will was beginning to wear thin.

"I do not trust you," the Satedan explained patiently.

After again trying to reach out trembling sweaty fingers towards his patient, the doctor desisted and tapped his pockets nervously. "I won't take long. I'll even give you painkillers."

Ronon considered this, gauging the dull ache throbbing in his thigh. Half the spear was still sticking up past his stomach, and his brain told him it should be a sharper pain, but he decided he didn't need drugs to push it into the background. Adrenalin was there to be used, after all. Although he did miss Doctor Beckett's company, right now he fiercely missed the fact that even under pressure, Carson could keep his hands from perspiring as with this specimen. Narrowing his eyes towards his victim, Dex conceded that at least there was a protective layer of that rubbery glove stuff between him and the weakling's sweat.

"You don't need to trust me for this…" the doctor wheedled.

Ronon furrowed his brows in disbelief. "Yes I do."

"Okay, bad attempt. What can I do to earn your trust?"

The doctor's temples were physically throbbing, and his fingers became so sweat that the gloves on his hands went transparent. Unimpressed, and taking a moment to assess the empty infirmary, Ronon crossed his arms and calmly suggested, "I would say you should save my life, but that would merely be your job. Perhaps you should smile and offer a hostage."

"A hostage?!" The left temple pinged remarkably hard. "Everyone else has left for lunch, so I don't have anyone to use for you. I might add that you have no gun to threaten me with."

Brief frustrated pain shot across Ronon's skull, possibly a headache from all this jabbering. The painkillers suddenly looked a lot more tempting, or possible a sedative for him to be relieved escape the doctor's stupidity. He shrugged to buy some time to form a plan of escape. "So you have heard about the last time."

"What last time?" the doctor snapped suspiciously, pulling a slipping glove vigorously up to his wrist, "Why am I not surprised to hear that? I don't have time for your antics."

His stomach growled in addendum. Ronon shot a nasty growl out of his nostrils in response. "You must make time, even if you are hungry. And Doctor Keller will hear of this."

A light suddenly shone in the doctor's eyes, and his lips even managed to tweak weakly upwards. Impassively waiting for the whole solution to be cranked out of the incredibly slow cogs in the doctor's head, Ronon sized up the distance to the door. Three beds, easily vaulted. Door shut – switch just needing a slight slap to allow him freedom.

"You're threatening me with my reputation!" the doctor exclaimed at last, "Is that a good enough hostage?"

"It depends on how selfish a man you are," Ronon offered indifferently.

The doctor blustered, but his eyes managed to slink down to his watch. It was too amusing to watch, the red splotches rising along his arms and neck like a rash. Ronon was sure he even saw a few strands of hair detach from the heaving head to scurry away to the floor. A vein began to tick wildly just beneath his victim's chin. Ronon managed to keep the wince from his face as he tried to move his wounded leg. No chance.

He settled for a heavy sigh. "It will do, for now. I do not trust you with my life – this is nothing but a service rendered in exchange for my silence."

The doctor hurriedly shed his soiled gloves and tore on a new pair, springing into action. Ronon rolled his eyes towards the ceiling and tried to ignore the insect whizzing around him.

I have honoured your tenacity, Doctor Beckett. Do not expect me to channel your acceptance of pathetic life forms.

He could almost hear Carson laughing in his ear. It will do for now, lad.