Title: "Rattled"
Rating :PG-13
Word count: 8400
Characters:Sheppard , McKay, Teyla, Ronon
Genre:Hurt/Comfort, Drama
Disclaimer :MGM owns the show and not me. No profit made from this.
Spoilers:None though takes place in Season 5
Writing for the Challenge Fall 2008 Fic Exchange
Summary:They escape death all the time, but Sheppard's newest close call will leave invisible wounds on them all. Team fic.

Assignment: Posted at the end.

Author Notes: I want to thank wildcat88 and everybetty for all their cheerleading, suggestions, and betawork.

Rodney rolled his shoulders, cracking the joints, but unable to loosen the muscles. He twisted his neck uselessly while reading the two pages blinking back at him.

In conclusion, I recommend that Dr. Radek Zelenka be considered for a budget increase and staff support needed for his continued, groundbreaking research. Attached are the ways to cut expenditures for Quarter 03 in order to fulfill the financial requirements.

Sincerely,

Dr. M. Rodney McKay

Department Head

The stellar letter had enough superlatives and documentations to back up the requisition. He clicked send, knowing that Woolsey would be pleased that every mundane requirement had been fulfilled, including printing a hardcopy version to hand in personally. He flipped his wrist, jumped up at the time and headed down the hall. His back still ached from restless nights but instead of heading to the infirmary to bitch for sedatives, Rodney went straight to the physical therapy room.

Dr. Ramirez glanced up from his desk, eying the appointment book, clearly perplexed. "Dr. McKay?"

"No, I'm not scheduled for anything this time. I actually dropped by to see about those tai-chi, feng shui, new age classes that begin next week," Rodney said, bouncing with restless energy.

"Voluntarily?" Ramirez inquired, cocking his head.

"Yes," he huffed. "What? Can't a guy try to find some relief from a lifetime's worth of back trauma? I have a number of neurological issues. Pinched nerves, possible ligament damage. I've probably lost bone density from being exposed to who knows how much--"

"There is an introduction to yoga starting on Friday. I could pencil you in," the physical therapist interrupted. "That is, if you're really serious?"

Rodney's eyes clouded over. "Would I waste my time otherwise?" He ignored the blank stare and made his way to his true destination.

Thankfully, his side trip was next door, and he darted inside the infirmary, tapping his ear piece. "Major Lorne, you got everything ready?"

The major grumbled under his breath before answering. "Yes, I told you that an hour ago."

"Good. Just double checking. McKay out," he replied and stopped in front of an empty bed. His eyes grew wide; heart palpations squeezed his chest. He spun around in a circle, ready to grab the nearest nurse when his quarry walked around the curtain. "Sheppard! Where the hell were you?"

"Using the little colonel's room if you have to know," Sheppard responded.

Rodney stood there, not quite gawking but staring long enough to cause the pilot to fidget under the scrutiny.

"So, um...you said something about a vitally important task that couldn't wait until after I went to my quarters?"

"Yes, right." Rodney flapped his hands, trying to take purposeful breaths. In and out. In and out. It was hard to replace the images that had scarred his psyche with this living, healthy person in front of him. Nothing could ever expunge those twenty-two minutes from his memory, and he would give up both PhDs to have them stripped away. "Um, follow me."

He kept Sheppard in constant eyesight. Appraising and evaluating. No grayish skin tone or dark eyes filled with naked fear.

"Ever heard of the two foot rule?" Sheppard asked as Rodney bumped into him.

The colonel grabbed his arm with fingers that were warm and pumped with blood. Rodney sucked in a breath, and Sheppard dropped his hand, startled. "You alright, McKay?"

No, not at all. "Yes, of course. Why? Do I look sick?"

Sheppard squinted, schooling his thoughts behind a wall. He still looked too pale, his movements languid. "Everything's fine, you know."

That's a lie...and they're all co-conspirators in keeping it.

Rodney mumbled a 'let's go' and hurried them along.

Navigating through the city felt newer, more profound. The lights refracted off the surface in hazy fractals, the walls in cooler hues. The distant hum that only called out to him when the colonel wasn't around seemed more engaging. Rodney traced his fingers along one of the rails, memorizing the sensation.

Tomorrow he would take the day off – no laptop, no work – and get lost in these beautiful depths.

"Something bothering you?" the colonel asked, catching him transfixed.

What could he say? "No...I mean...maybe after the game."

Sheppard did confused well. Who needed words when you had the manual on Lieutenant Colonel expressions? Rodney palmed the door to the theater. "After bribing half the SGC control room staff and promising my first born to Landry, I give you both opening NFL Monday Night Football games that aired this week." He gestured at the screen.

Speechlessness was a good sign. It cast away the lines around Sheppard's eyes, got rid of all that extra tension around his shoulders that made him seem smaller. Rodney's heart did a stutter. "Come on, even had the sofa redone. Oh, and hamburgers!"

He owed a butch of grunts for grilling duty, grabbing the steaming hot grub. "First game is the Colts vs. Broncos. And it should be close because Manning's still recovering from surgery. Oh, and then there's the Vikings and Packers, and it's like this big rematch, though I think Minnesota's defense will blow them away."

"You hate football. You hate sports of any kind."

"Thought it was time I broadened my horizons and took on the great American pastime."

"That's baseball."

"Okay, then I thought it would be fun."

"Fun? Excuse me, but where's the real Rodney McKay?"

They both sat down and watched over six hours of people throwing a ball around and hitting each other with shoulder pads. Rodney knew about the 'red zone' and the positives and negatives of running and passing plays. Staying up watching two weeks of ESPN broadcasts in a single night had prepared him well.

Sheppard kept leaning on the edge of the sofa as if the physical urging of his body could affect the players on the field. It was fascinating, watching Sheppard's hands mimic the ones on the screen and yell as if his shouts could change the outcome of the game.

The colonel would conceal a grimace when he overreacted too much or flop down after exerting himself. But Rodney kept himself from clicking off the remote and ushering Sheppard to his quarters. This was his idea after all...participating in some sacred rite of passage.

The game had a few qualities to it. Fundamental physics. Geometric plays and odds making. He couldn't see himself rooting for a team or anything. But disagreeing with a play and holding his breath as the leather ball flew over half the field was kind of thrilling in a...this won't kill me sort of way.

Sheppard slumped as far as the plush cushions would allow; he was spent, but it didn't keep him from smiling. "Thanks for this."

The manic rush he was feeling circumvented all of Rodney's rational thought. "I think you should teach me how to surf when you get a chance."

How was that for spontaneous? he thought.

"Did I say this week?" Rodney wiggled in the strange feeling wet suit, eying the waves with trepidation. "You have a cracked rib and what about taking it easy do you not understand?"

"This is me taking it easy. Plus the current's great."

"Shouldn't you be wearing something more than swim trunks? What if you puncture a lung?"

"I won't, and I have sunglasses."

They'd been out here for two hours, practicing lying on their surfboards...or he was while Sheppard simply got a tan.

The waves rippled over Rodney's bare feet, and he jumped. Why the hell did he suggest this? He stared at the crashing tide, the ocean daring and laughing at him with powerful tugs. Water represented power. It carved out land, destroyed whole mountains, supported life and swept it away. It was the strongest, most influential single element in the whole universe, and people like Sheppard dared to defy it.

Rodney waded a step deeper, the large board clumsy in his hands.

"It's all about balance. Finding your center," Sheppard said, completely at ease.

And riding a receding wall of water as it crashed back to shore. Rodney dug his toes into the beach.

"If you've ridden a bicycle you can ride anything," Sheppard encouraged.

Rodney hated the water, feared drowning and dying. He took a step forward, going knee deep, the water washing away the sand. His hands trembled, but it was too late to conceal them. There was no telling how long he'd stayed frozen in one spot while Sheppard called out his name.

"Huh? Oh, sorry, kind of zoned out. What?" Rodney asked.

"Why are you doing this?"

Rodney heaved the surfboard up, plopping it down on the ocean surface. "Does there have to be a reason?"

The sun reflected off Sheppard's aviators, the corner of his mouth curved slightly. "No. Guess the first order of business is learning how to pop up on an incoming wave."

This was insane; no, reckless. They swam out past the breakers, and, yes, he knew how to swim despite what others thought. He knew with every stroke of his arm, the only thing between life and death were the thin layers of fiberglass and polyurethane.

His heart pounded, his palms were all sweaty, while the saltwater stung his eyes. Rodney waited, paddling and floating with the rising and falling water.

"This next one is perfect!" Sheppard shouted. "Wait for it...wait for it..."

Rodney laid belly down on the board, his chest wanting to explode. The wave came, and he waited for the momentum of the water to flow faster.

"Hop up!" Sheppard hollered.

Rodney rode the crest, the swell lifting him in the air, the water carrying him up. He screamed until there was no air left in his lungs.

Foot position, foot position! Balance, balance!

Sheppard whooped next to him, perfectly poised on his board. Rodney fluttered, fighting the center of gravity, hands spinning and waving. "I'm going to die!"

But he was in the air, was the air. Lungs breathing in the ocean, spray and mist splashing his face. It was adrenaline in his veins and blood pounding in his ears. "Oh, my God!" Rodney screamed.

For twenty seconds his toes curled and his limbs tingled, crouched and flailing but standing, damn it! He was riding the wave!

"Don't bend over too far!" Sheppard warned.

Then the board wobbled, and no amount of pinwheeling could save him from falling, from the water crashing on top of him. Water swept him under, but Rodney bobbed his head up in a panic, the tide slinging his body to the beach. He landed hard, the wind knocked out of him, the retreating wave gobbling up the board in exchange for its one-way fare.

"McKay!

Rodney sputtered water, coughing, flopping over to see the stunning sky, the sun blazing overhead.

John Sheppard's worried face.

"You okay, buddy?"

Everything crashed in on him all at once, and he couldn't stop himself. Rodney sat straight up and grabbed Sheppard's shoulders. "I'm sorry I never said anything! I'm so sorry!" A shudder ran through his arms, down his spine. "You know that, right? You know... I mean..." He was stuttering, mind still riding high.

Sheppard gripped his biceps, face shell-shocked. "Rodney."

"I didn't know how to say good bye. We don't do that... but I could have said something... anything. But I'm saying it now... I'm saying it now."

Rodney struggled against the bonds pinning his wrists and legs to the chair. His breath came in stammering gasps. Cold sweat ran down his back.

"Please, Dr. McKay. You will only injure yourself if you keep fighting like this. We only wish to maintain order."

He sent daggers at their escort.

Ronon snapped his jaws at anyone who came near him, his body thrashing and battling twice the number of restraints. The rest of the Galigorians stayed as far back as possible.

"Please, do not do this," Teyla pleaded.

Povman shook his head, his black ceremonial robes billowing with the movement. "All will be over soon." He gestured at one of his men. The guard tugged on a rope, sliding the curtains away, revealing the other room through the thick glass.

Rodney gasped, hands shaking and chafing against the leather. Ronon growled, doubling his efforts to break out of his bindings. Teyla went stock still, breath wavering with his own.

Sheppard lay strapped to a gurney in a simple set of hospital-like scrubs, his limbs held tightly and only able to turn his head towards the observation room. His chest heaved while he attempted to control instinctive pants for air. The colonel's hands fought uselessly, feet wiggling at the end of the table.

Two men in white gowns moved into view. One rolled over a tray of equipment; the other set up a bag of solution and attached it to a metal pole. The first guy was older, his face blank as he silently swabbed an area of Sheppard's arm.

The younger Galigorian never looked Sheppard in the eye as he inserted an IV into the crook of his right elbow, his co-worker mimicking the same in the left.

"As you can see, two vein tubes are inserted, just in case the first one fails," Povman explained.

The colonel fought to dislodge them, body contorting but held firmly in place by straps over his chest and mid-section. Rodney felt his stomach drop, the walls closing in on him in the cramped room.

The older physician calmly undid the the ties to Sheppard's top and bared his chest despite the violent physical reaction it caused.

McKay wanted to close his eyes, his own skin crawling at witnessing the intrusion.

The physicians ignored their victim's panic as they moved aide his dog tags and attached EKG-looking leads to his chest. Rapidly beeping machines and flashing alien numbers gave away a carefully guarded fear like a gigantic neon sign.

In seconds they tore down and peeled apart John Sheppard to his very core. Rodney strained and twisted, desperately wanting to avert witnessing this systematic violation.

But he couldn't do it.

Sheppard's eyes were so wide open, even though the lighting in the room had to be blinding. His teammates cursed and begged, vowed vengeance, and pleaded for mercy. Rodney couldn't listen to them, unable to handle his own meltdown.

The two executioners double checked the lines, adjusting the knobs to the bags of clear fluid.

"Only normal purification medication is administered first to make sure the connections are clear and that the rest of the procedures are carried out in the most humane way," their diplomatic host declared.

"Humane wouldn't involve killing him!" Rodney spat.

"I know this is a difficult time, and you are upset. We only use the most merciful means available. We do not condone violence, but justice must be seen through to the end," Povman said, his voice compassionate. "We've gone to great lengths to ensure you are all present for Colonel Sheppard's last moments, despite your team's unwillingness to see this through in a respectful manner. We are a peaceful people, after all."

Ronon threw all his weight forward, shouting and grunting.

"We did not wish to strap you into your chairs, but you've left us no choice," the councilman sighed.

Povman raised his hand, and the white robed men wheeled Sheppard's stretcher parallel to the window. "The prisoner will be allowed to make a statement."

Rodney's guts clenched as the room fell silent, amplifying Sheppard's stuttering breaths. The pilot swallowed, closing his eyes and getting control over himself.

"I…" Sheppard exhaled, long and slow. "I want you all to take care of yourselves... Look after one another." He licked his lips as if to say more but clamped his mouth shut.

"Now each of you is allowed to have a final word," Povman directed. He swept his gaze, eyes landing on Ronon. "Mr. Dex?"

Ronon vivisected the councilman with his eyes before resting them on Sheppard's. "I will kill every single person behind this. I promise."

Sheppard curled his fingers into fists and leveled a calm gaze on the Satedan. "Don't."

The guards shifted uncomfortably in the room, and Povman cleared his throat. "Ms. Emmagan?"

The colonel flinched, Adam's apple bobbing, eyes wide and begging her not to say anything.

"John..." Teyla's voice choked. She reined in emotions, her expression going flat. "The night in the woods on PMX-215... remember what I said before we fell asleep and know that I truly meant it."

Sheppard nodded, hands still balled up.

"Dr. McKay."

"What?" Rodney blurted, fingernails scraping the armrests. "I..." Can't do this. "I..."

Each stammer made Sheppard twist and squirm.

Say something, you moron! "I..." Rodney gulped.

"Don't worry, McKay," Sheppard replied.

Rodney's vocal cords wouldn't work. But in his mind he was screaming.

Teyla held Torren to her chest, cradling in him in fresh swaddling clothes. The baby wiggled and yawned, slowly winding down from a long afternoon. She bounced him around the room while a tiny hand grabbed her hair and yanked on it. She smiled, holding him closer, memorizing the way his heart beat.

He was a miracle, everything about him, and she kissed his forehead with tenderness, allowing the thumping rhythm of his life to flow through her.

"Tomorrow is a special day," she whispered.

That night, Teyla dreamed of her son walking as a strong and admirable man among her people. Those who joined his circle were Athosian and Atlantean alike, the old and new merging for a new generation. She could not make out what was said, the vestiges of the dreamworld a blurring of colors and sound.

Early dawn arrived, and her entire family joined her on the mainland. Kanaan wore a dark brown tunic, pants and his father's boots. Teyla chose a simple dark green dress and sandals. They dressed their son in a soft, tan cloth made from the trekia silk, the garment passed down from her mother's mother.

Halling and a small group from New Athos joined them at the bank of a river. "It is time to enter the stream," Teyla said to all those assembled.

"Is it cold?" Rodney grumbled, rolling up his beige pants. "It's freezing!"

Ronon clapped him on the back. "Don't slip on any rocks."

The group only went ankle deep, the flowing water a postcard perfect babbling brook. John stood next to her, and she soaked up the warmth of being next to him. Casual clothes suited him, the dark blue button-up shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. There was no gun holster at his hip, just the smooth lines of his black slacks.

She stared at his bare toes in fascination, as if catching a glimpse of something rare. There was a sudden urge to capture his wrist, to hold on and never let go.

"The river represents life and its many changes. Today we are gathered here to witness one more," Halling announced. "We are here to recognize the guardianship of Torren John to his preathos."

Teyla listened to the words of one of her most trusted friends, her eyes roaming over those who would care for her son if something ever happened to her. There was no doubt that any of these men would take over the education, guidance, and care of her son. Loving and teaching him about life and what it meant to be a good man. A good leader.

The ceremony was an older tradition that had not been practiced very often, even when she was a child. Lately she'd been restless, off-balance. She needed to take refuge in the roots of her people. To share a part of herself with those she deeply cared about. She saw John watching her out of the corner of his eye, and she smiled sheepishly at being caught as her mind wandered.

He was the one who seemed ill at ease. Shoulders stiff, hands restless by his sides. It was possible that being unarmed was the equivalent of feeling too exposed-- too vulnerable. But that wasn't it; maybe he knew—knew why she needed to do this.

When she couldn't face it herself.

"Ronon Dex, please step up and give Torren a symbol of yourself and the promise of guardianship," Halling instructed.

Ronon nodded at Kanaan then stood before Teyla and her son. His eyes were warm and gentle, and he gazed down at the infant in her arms. "I vow to look after you. To show you right from wrong. And how to follow tradition while accepting change." He took off a necklace, thankfully one without any Wraith teeth, and placed it over Torren's head.

"Thank you," Teyla and Kanaan said in unison.

Rodney was nervous as a fluttering bird in his approach. He smiled at Teyla, clearing his throat. "I'll teach you valuable things such as science and math. The fundamentals of relativity and Newton's Third Law. But... really... what I'll do is teach you what it means to take a chance. To listen to your heart even when your brain is wrong." Then he handed Kanaan a small calculator. "My mom gave this to me, and I'll show him how to use it."

Teyla felt her eyes go moist, but she held back the wetness and beamed at Rodney. "Thank you."

John smiled at Rodney's blush reddened cheeks and embarrassed shuffle back to his place in the circle. That was until it was his turn to face the same awkwardness. He turned towards them, fingers tentatively touching her son's forehead. "I'll show you what it's like to fly. Explain to you about honor and friendship, about teamwork and sacrifice. Most of all - I'll tell you about your wonderful mother." John pulled a thin black strip from his wrist. "This is from something that means a lot to me. One day I might even tell you why."

John placed the tiny part of his wristband over her son's little fingers. Teyla felt her heart skip and pound. "Thank you," she whispered.

"I won't ever let anything happen to him," John spoke, his voice rough and low.

She knew he meant it with every fiber of his being and wanted him to make the same promise about himself. But she kept her lips closed, her son's coos and playful hands reminding her that today was a celebration of life. Not death.

Teyla indulged in things she'd never felt necessary before, something unspoken spurring her on. Bubble baths with a glass of wine. Requests for her favorite desserts in the mess hall. She meditated on her newfound restlessness, sought more vigorous workouts that did not exercise away the burden.

Time with Torren, missions with the Team, nights with Kanaan were unable to right the balance.

"I want to go to the celebration of the Fall Harvest on Junaia," she told John after a debriefing. He wasn't cleared for full duty yet, despite his protests to the contrary.

"Alright," he replied.

It was hard to look him directly in the eyes without a shudder, returning to moments that none of them would speak about. He caught her sometimes—when her mind flashed back to those agonizing minutes. "I want you, Ronon, and Rodney to come with me."

"To a celebration?"

"Yes, I think we deserve to go to something that is…" She paused. "Fun."

"Fun," John repeated.

"Yes."

Some of those weird feelings disappeared when John agreed.

The festival was loud with singing, music, and boisterous voices brought on by drinking. A Junaian threw another lufta pouch into one of the fires, creating a small explosion that left Ronon and John reaching for their side arms. The other merrymakers let out oohs and ahhs at the resulting puffs of smoke. Teyla hid her smile, enjoying the feeling of excitement.

Night fell, ushering in the true start of the festivities. Their bellies were full from a great feast; John carried a mug of ale that he sipped on. Many of the natives wore their finest dress, magicians entertained groups with tricks, and people in face paint and costumes mingled within the crowd.

The crowds split into tiny groups, all smiles and laughter. The celebration of the Harvest was a holiday many planned year round. Several Junaians stopped to chat, hugging each teammate after the greeting.

"I'm still waiting for the rave to start," Rodney mumbled.

Ronon shrugged. "Kind of wish there was more food."

"I think they'll be slaughtering the ceremonial gomba closer to when the two moons meet in the sky," Teyla replied, taking a drink of her wine.

Some of the magicians sprayed dust into the roaring fires, turning the flames various colors. Many of the partiers rolled large barrels into a clearing and gathered around them.

"What are they doing?" Rodney asked, perplexed.

Teyla smiled. "It is a drumming circle."

As soon as the words left her mouth, a rhythmic pattern emerged and people flocked towards the area. Teyla enjoyed taking in her teammates from the shadows, the fires casting deep oranges and dark reddish hues across their faces. It was rare to seem them tension free, eyes darting from face to face in the crowds in curiosity, not suspicion.

She could feel the slow and lilting bass from the drums begin. The instruments ranged in various sizes, from huge skin covered barrels to smaller ones that fit snuggly in your lap. They were all highly decorated, and each player free-formed their style while adding to the collective beat.

The circle enticed people to dance, some using their arms and hands to express themselves, while others simply rocked or moved their feet to the tempo.

The drumming would grow more frenzied and intense as the night went on, but for now, it was just a steady, coaxing pulse.

"I would like to join the circle," Teyla announced.

She grabbed Ronon's hand because she knew he would not complain.

Teyla rested her forehead on his collarbone, while he wrapped one of his hands around her waist, the other across the back of her shoulder. He was fluid grace on his feet, bending and leading with slow circles.

"Feeling better?" he asked in that low, grumble of a voice.

She pulled her head away, holding to both biceps. "Yes, this is what I needed."

Ronon led her in lazy patterns across the large grassy area, extending the space between them with his long arms then drawing them closer. Teyla controlled the last half of their sweep, closing her eyes and taking in the sounds around her. She took it all in, the stars, the melody, the warmth of friendship.

They drifted back towards their teammates, breaking their connection.

Teyla felt a mix of euphoria and happiness, grabbing Rodney's hand despite a squawk of protest. "Don't think. Just go with it."

"I can't. I have two left feet."

"All you have to do is feel it in your heart."

Rodney kept switching hand positions. Both on her shoulders then around her waist and finally by her elbows.

"Relax," Teyla soothed and took the lead.

A new rhythm was introduced, its slow momentum shifting, new accents building to the beat.

Stiff robotic limbs soon relaxed enough to flex and curve loosely. She lifted up his chin so he looked her in the eyes not the ground. "Smile, Rodney."

The tribal snare continued at a slow hypnotic pattern.

Rodney leaned towards her, following the gentle dip and swing of her body. His hands loosened their grip; his face lost that anxious expression. "This is kind of fun."

"I'm glad you're enjoying it." Teyla brought him closer, encircling him with her arms until his chin rested on her shoulder. "Thank you for sharing this with me."

They glided back to the edge of the clearing. "You're welcome," Rodney said.

Teyla looked over to her last partner, Rodney and Ronon briefly disappearing into the night. She knew there would be no invitation. "Would you do me the honor?"

John's expression was unreadable, but he stepped forward, placing his hands at the middle of her back without a word. She wrapped hers around his shoulders, and they stepped in and out of the shadows of the roaring flames. He kept her at a safe distance, but the space was purely artificial.

His muscles shifted and moved under her fingertips. Teyla allowed her hands to slip to above his belt line, and she nestled her head under his jaw to listen to his heart over the music.

It was slower than the trance-like tone around them, but it was strong and steady. And alive.

Teyla stopped moving, focused on counting every breathtaking beat.

"You okay?" John's voice rumbled.

Not yet. Not until she could vanquish the rest. "I'm getting there," Teyla replied.

"You know it's over now... what happened was close, but I didn't... I mean. I'm still here." John wanted to add more she could tell. "I... I don't know what else to say."

Teyla brought him closer, and he accepted the embrace instead of pushing back. Giving in just a little, but she would take it. She would hold on to the proof of his words, of warm flesh, and the pulse thriving between them.

Teyla's breath locked in her throat, panic spiraling out of control as John calmed to accept his fate. Only the colonel would use his last moments to ease the fear of another, use it to find a focus. Rodney deflated in his chair, unable to speak any final words. John soothed him the best he could, looking after his friend one last time.

She twisted in her seat, unable to control her anguish or stop the simmering rage of what was being done.

Her pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears. Povman took the resulting silence as his cue. "You can see and hear that our monitors record both heart and lungs to verify when death has occurred."

The man's words caused John's heart rate to jump. She found herself transfixed by the beeping sound and clung to the fluttering pulse point at his throat.

"Please," Teyla begged. "Stop this. We can find another way."

"He has accepted responsibility for the crime. We must adhere to the law." Povman looked at her in sympathy. "The first injection is a fast acting anesthetic. It should render unconsciousness in seconds."

The elder physician grabbed a syringe from the pristine instrument tray and inserted the needle into the right IV port, pressing the plunger.

Ronon's screams overwhelmed her own.

John watched the liquid flow down the tubing into his arm, staring it in the eye and fighting, always fighting. His eyes fluttered, battling the effects, hands fisting. He wouldn't look at them, and Teyla cursed the Galigorians for this torture.

Povman held out his hands. "Please, calm yourselves. We are very benevolent people. Colonel Sheppard will feel nothing at all. He'll fall asleep peacefully," Povman said, confused by their reactions. "See?"

"This is not peaceful!" Teyla shouted.

John went still, limbs limp. His body relaxed, his face lax and free of the stress of earlier.

Teyla seethed as John's vitality ebbed away.

"Now a muscle relaxant will be administered. I promise it will be swift, paralyzing all bone and muscle," Povman explained.

Ronon yelled and thrashed, the muscles of his arms straining and bulging from the restraints. "I will kill you! All of you!"

"I am sorry," Povman said. "This has been decided."

"You decided this!" Rodney snapped. "You and your archaic rules and sense of balance! What's wrong with you people? This is the furthest thing from right! Killing a man who had no part in what happened! Are you all so dumb and ignorant in your ways that you don't know when you're doing something wrong?"

"Don't make this any harder," Povman said.

Teyla allowed the leather to scrape and burn her wrists. The physical pain did little to distract her.

The younger physician walked over to the instrument tray, looking to his co-worker for a signal. The other doctor nodded, and the assistant took the syringe, pausing for a split second before injecting the contents.

The equipment that broke down John's life blared erratically. It was hard to tell what was going on. John's body showed no signs of distress, the display showing changes in an alien language she knew nothing about.

Teyla looked to Rodney, dreading and knowing what the paralysis was doing.

"It's going to keep his lungs from expanding," he said needlessly.

Asphyxiation.

Teyla felt the tears well up but would not let them go.

Ronon went rigid. Silent.

Both white robed doctors watched the deteriorating red symbols.

Povman's expression remained neutral. "The last drug will cease heart function."

John's chest had already stopped moving.

Teyla stared ahead, bearing witness to the colonel's final moments. She watched the last injection do what nothing else had ever been able to.

She honed onto the beeping, to machines that proved the war was not over. That John still fought. His heart still hammered in his chest.

Teyla held on to the blips... up until the poison entered his veins, flowing through his blood and freezing the very muscle that defined him.

Then the machine shrilled, and all those pulses and beeps were no more.

Rodney made some unspeakable sound deep in his throat, eyes glassy and unfocused.

Ronon glared, never taking his eyes away from John's body then finally averting his gaze.

Teyla allowed the tears to flow and didn't care who saw them.

Ronon stared at the volumes of books on his small shelf, scanning his people's history and lore longingly. The painting above his bed seemed so small and lost among the negative space of his wall. He wandered his room feeling empty; his weapons gave him no comfort. Sharpening all his knives felt hollow, the metal blades lacking the proper feel.

His nightmares were back with a vengeance after a year of being sporadic. This time they were filled with images of Sateda, the city in flames, her people burning in the explosions. Each night the dream became more vivid than the one before. The fires morphed into rivers, the rivers into oceans of red and orange. Overhead the sky was empty, and he stood alone before the inferno until the heat consumed him.

On the third night, all of Atlantis was in flames, her people screaming in the bursting fireballs. Ronon ran along the pier helplessly as the voices he cared for most of all screamed to him for help. The faster he ran towards them, the further the blazing towers became, and the cries died along with them.

Ronon screamed, bolting awake drenched in sweat during the fifth nightmare. He couldn't remember the images of terror anymore, but his hands still shook. He ran down the empty halls of Atlantis, knowing there was no escaping the terror until he faced it in the eye.

If he could only figure out how.

Teyla's bantos stick collided with his arm, dropping his weapon; she followed through with a strike to his shoulder that he didn't guard in time.

"Are you even focusing?" she asked, breathing even and steady to his harsh and heavy.

"Yes."

Teyla twirled her stick, circling him. "Really?"

"There's nothing to discuss."

"I do not need an escort. I have been going to PMX-625 for the past two years on my own."

"You won't take anyone with you."

"And I never have. The Sions only trade with family lines and alliances. They do not want anyone from Atlantis on their world. Only native people from Pegasus."

"Exactly."

Teyla attacked, and he dodged out of the way this time. Their rods clashed back and forth, the clacks echoing loudly. "I do not want you coming with me. It is not a dangerous mission."

Ronon didn't reply, using the edge of exhaustion as a weapon.

Teyla waited, taking her time, the answer dawning in her expression. "We cannot predict the outcomes of our missions. It is the risk we have to take," she said, shifting her weight on the balls of her feet.

Ronon thought of the oath sworn to her son, to the person he'd nearly failed only a week before. "I'm coming with you. That's the end of it."

Her eyes brimmed with anger, but he would not back down. That night he dreamed of sulfur and brimstone.

He swore the guy had a weapon; there was a glint of metal, odd hand movement, eyes that were twitchy.

"He's not dead," Ronon said matter of factly.

John Sheppard was boiling mad, eyes black liquid, face that slate of deadly ice. Yeah, he was really pissed. "Come here!"

Teyla dispersed the crowd. "Please, things are under control."

One of the traders was red-faced, hands balled up and shaking. The other one tended to his fallen friend, never taking his eyes off of them.

McKay. Well, he was shaken but getting it together.

"What did you think you were doing?" Sheppard hissed.

They were in a corner of an empty booth, the colonel in his face, that wild air about him. He could smell fresh gun oil and the starch of a new uniform.

"I overreacted," Ronon replied.

He wasn't sorry.

"Overreacted? You broke the guy's arm, busted his nose, and if Teyla and I hadn't stopped you--"

"I wouldn't have killed him."

"It wasn't a weapon, McKay's fine, and now we have a lot of explaining and kissing ass to do. This isn't some random flea market. We were invited to this trading event." The colonel did the thing where he wanted to press for more... go into dangerous territory he liked to avoid. But he didn't go there. He never did.

"Woolsey's not gonna be happy. Hell of a first mission back. Some cakewalk," Sheppard grumbled.

Ronon followed behind him the rest of the day. Never taking his eyes off a possible threat. Never giving an inch.

Sweat pooled down his back, his arms and legs muscles cramped and screamed unmercifully. He attacked the training dummy, trying to perfect a new type of left-handed twist. The other day it had all fallen into place, the answers to his nightmares in the bookshelves of his room. Tomorrow he would do what needed to be done. Tonight—tonight he would not give victory to his dreams.

"Wore out the Marines already?"

Ronon spun around at Sheppard's voice, wiping at his forehead. "Yeah."

His CO stood there waiting, but there wasn't anything to say.

"You've been here for six hours. Don't you think it's time for a break?"

"There are no breaks in the heat of a fight."

Sheppard nodded. "Yeah, but this is Atlantis the last I saw."

"No place is safe. You know that. It's all about preparation."

"We can't be prepared all the time."

Ronon rolled his neck, breathing roughly through his nose.

Sheppard stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Well, don't wear yourself out too much. I'm expecting you bright and early tomorrow."

"How did you--"

"I oversee all off-world requests, and you need a pilot, and it's my day off."

"But--"

"I'll see you at 0700."

The gate was on the opposite side of the tiny chunk of a planet; part of this journey required conquering the distance on foot. Unfortunately, Ronon didn't have the days it'd have taken to complete; it was cheating in a way, but that was the only the endurance part of the challenge.

"There a particular reason why we're going to this rock?" Sheppard asked.

Ronon pointed at one of the few flat places around. "You can land over there."

"You know this is an active volcano, right?"

"Yes."

"As in the ground is unstable and there are fires and lava all around us?"

Ronon unwrapped an old red cloth, pulling out a seven inch blade. "The jumper is safe here."

"You still haven't told me what we're doing." Sheppard peered out into the blackness. "I can't authorize a mission without--"

Ronon was at the back, opening the rear hatch. "This isn't a mission. It's a journey."

"Okay, but I still need to know the objective and possible dangers."

"Heat, lava, poison gas, constantly shifting ground. Then there is the threat from the large flying theftas that have nests in the cliffs nearby," Ronon explained, stepping onto the scorched soil.

"Now wait a minute. I don't think we should--"

"There's no we." Ronon stood tall, blocking his friend's path. "You flew me here; that's all. This is my test."

"Test? You still haven't told me what the point of --"

"It's a Satedan act of courage. It's said that this used to be a part of Sateda and it got broken off in some collision. Ever since, our warriors would come here to test their wits and instincts by navigating towards a special pit of fire. Dip their knife and cast the metal in the flames." Ronon cast his gaze across the black slate landscape, the sky a dark gray with an orange haze.

He took in a deep breath, his lungs burning from the acidic air. "I need to do this. I never got to growing up."

Sheppard shook his head. "No, I can't allow it. You have nothing to prove."

Sweat beaded on both their foreheads, the air cracking with small eruptions. Ronon could feel the flames from here, see them reflected in Sheppard's glasses. "I've lost something. I need to find it again."

"What happened last week was no one's fault. Rodney discovered the Ancient homing beacon. I activated it. Then the Wraith came and attacked." Sheppard stepped closer, slipping off his aviators. "Any one of our shots could have caused that explosion. The firefight was in the middle of town. One of the Galigorian civilians was killed. We all had a part."

Ronon gripped the blade between his fingers. "But you took the punishment."

"I'm the team leader. It was my--"

"Our responsibility. Like you said. We all had a part," Ronon growled, knuckles popping.

And I couldn't do anything. Could only stand and watch as your life was taken. Allowed it to happen.

Sheppard bit his lower lip, frustration clenching his jaw. "One of us had to right the balance under their legal system. No strike force was going to break us out of a mountain. It was either me or them choosing for us... I wasn't going to allow that to happen."

"You picked!" Ronon snapped.

"Yes! It wasn't up for a discussion."

"And neither is this." Ronon pinned him with a glare and turned around to face the fire pits. "Don't follow me."

He scaled the jagged rocks of the mountain until the jumper was a speck lost in the billows of vapor. His feet burned as his boots melted in bits and pieces across the never ending expanses of smoldering ground. The sky became a pit of ash, his face covered by raining soot.

The mountain shook to knock him down; when that didn't work, lava rained down to chase him away. But he continued on.

His skin felt flayed, and the smell of his own burnt hair assailed his nostrils, but it boiled and purified him. He could no longer see, blinded by the fumes, or breathe from the toxic air. It didn't matter. He stood before a small lake of fire. Ronon's legs gave out, and he crawled over and dipped his blade along the edge, smelting it.

He lay on his back, closing his stinging eyes in victory. Ronon smiled when his radio chirped, and he swatted at his ear.

"Need a ride down or do you have to do that by yourself, too?"

The trip back was completed in silence. Sheppard landed in the docking bay, and Ronon dragged himself to his feet. "You're going directly to the infirmary," the colonel ordered.

"Yeah." Ronon waited for Sheppard before exiting the craft. He stared at his friend. "Next time. It won't be your choice alone."

Sheppard met his intensity. "I...I could never watch one of you die like that."

"And none of us should have to watch you either." Ronon grabbed his friend's shoulder. "We feel the same about you Sheppard. It's a two way street. Don't forget that."

"I know," Sheppard swallowed. "I can't make any promises."

"But I will," Ronon stated.

That night he slept without any dreams.

Ronon wouldn't look at his friend's dead body, ignoring the droning of the machine.

"Death has occurred at quarter past the tenth hour."

He hoped the councilman would come near him, be the one to release his restraints. Ronon would kill him first. Snap his neck and silence that condescending voice. No one would stop him, not McKay, not Teyla. He could hear their grief in the way they both breathed, throats and chests hitching.

Ronon knew in what order to take out the guards, break through the door to kill those who murdered his friend. He'd show them about the balance of life all right.

"We will, of course, allow you to take his body home for whatever customs you hold in such matters."

The guy with the black robes stepped closer to offer more senseless words but stopped to listen to his radio. Ronon seethed in the metal chair, his bonds unyielding to all his strength. He should have knocked Sheppard out, taken his place. Should have been more careful where he fired his weapon or noticed the telltale sign that the natives would have them arrested.

It was his job to notice, to watch all of their backs. He forced himself to look at Sheppard's lifeless body still bound to the gurney. No one deserved to die like that. Strapped to a freaking bed, injected with drugs and surrounded by strangers at death.

Sheppard was a soldier; he should have gone down fighting.

"Hurry! Now!"

Ronon was so caught up in his anger he missed the commotion. The guy in charge was screaming, and the murdering doctors were frantic.

"What's going on!" Ronon demanded.

Teyla and McKay's eyes were glued to the glass window in shock. The room on the other side was filled with more white robed men with syringes, still more rolled in carts of equipment inside.

"Answer me!"

"We've been told the court has reversed its decision. We are trying to fix things."

"Fix things! You killed a man and realized, 'Whoops!' We were wrong! Let's see if we can just bring him back!'" McKay ranted. "Get our people here! Get us some real doctors!"

"Please, if you truly mean to help Colonel Sheppard. We have some of the best physicians," Teyla pleaded, her eyes red and puffy.

Things went real fast. People appeared out of nowhere. Keller and Atlantis personnel. Woolsey and Lorne. There was talk about agreements for medicines that would tip the scales concerning saving lives. Apologies for misunderstandings and crap about mercy and peaceful means of killing.

All that mattered was the other side of the glass barrier. Shouts for more drugs. Chest compressions. Airbags.

Then the familiar buzz of one those defibrillators. The sudden arching and jerking of Sheppard's body, jolt after jolt.

"350! And clear!"

He lost count after five. FIVE freaking times they shocked his friend.

Everyone was silent. And Ronon felt the rage cook and boil again at being forced through this again.

Then a beep. And another one.

"I have a pulse!"

"Oh, thank the Ancestors," Teyla breathed.

"His brain could still be fried," McKay snapped, but he was sat defeated and exhausted in his chair.

"Let us go now!" Ronon snarled.

The guards released his friends first, saving him for last. "Do not harm anyone," Teyla warned him.

He wanted to. Ronon followed his teammates into the overcrowded room. He shoved the white robed men out of the way, and they gathered around the gurney. Someone had already cut the restraints, and Keller was giving orders to her people.

Sheppard was pale and sweaty, his hair even crazier looking than normal. His eyes were bleary and slightly panicked.

Teyla held his hand, and Keller wiped at his face with a cloth. "Don't try to talk. Your muscles are going to be very unresponsive until the paralytic is out of your system. I also want you to keep the oxygen mask on. I don't trust your lungs right now. I might have to put a tube down your throat, but if your stats keep coming up I'll try to avoid it."

McKay gripped Sheppard's other wrist, both men too much in a daze to notice.

Ronon grabbed a knee. "You're going to be okay, Sheppard."

The frantic expression slowly faded away, and Sheppard nodded, eyes fluttering closed in sleep.

Richard Woolsey walked over, the diplomat behind him still blabbering. "As I have said, our deepest apologies. I am glad our people have worked out an arrangement that will benefit us both. Of course, with the amount of lives your medicine will save, we will have to find a way to equally repay that with some form of drug or cure you don't have."

"Fine. Yes, we'll discuss it during our next talks," Woolsey responded sharply.

Keller ushered people away. "We need to get him back to Atlantis."

"Again. We are sincerely--"

"Maybe later," Woolsey cut the Galigorian off. He cleared his throat. "I'm sure with what this team has gone through in the past, this whole incident will be put behind them in a few days with no ill lasting effects."

McKay still hadn't spoken a word, his eyes downcast and his hand still resting above the black wristband.

Teyla was equally reserved, fingers stroking above the pulse point of Sheppard's wrist.

Ronon followed behind the gurney watching his teammate's reactions, thinking that maybe it would be harder to shrug off this time.

Prompt:

While off-world, John very narrowly escapes (or is rescued from) being executed, and his team is a little freaked out about it.