A breath caught in Beckett's throat and he fell silent. The Ronon he knew wasn't capable of it. But he didn't know this Ronon. One so consumed by desperation, so far within his own mind that he was threatening the life of a friend.

McKay inhaled sharply as the blade pressed against his neck again. Beckett tried to remain calm. McKay, however, was beyond any pretense of composure. Panicked was an understatement.

"Stun him!" McKay yelled frantically. "Stun him!"

"We're not going to shoot him —-No one's going to shoot you, son," Beckett said quickly to Ronon as he gave McKay a look. "Let's just all stay calm-"

McKay didn't take the hint. "That's easy for you to say!"

"You're not helping, you know that?"

"Well, excuse me for failing to see the hope in this situation. Maybe it's hiding behind the incredibly large, knife-wielding lunatic," McKay spout out before he caught himself. His eyes darted towards Ronon. "Ha, no offense. Little joke there. It wasn't even funny, way out of line. I don't know what I was thinking. Ha," he said quickly before dissolving into despair. "Oh god, I'm going to die!"

"Could you not antagonize him?" Beckett said in exasperation.

Fortunately, Ronon didn't seem to care what McKay was saying. His eyes moved sluggishly between them, trying to follow what was being said. He couldn't, or so Beckett assumed, because he would have realized they weren't telling him what he wanted to know. And the moment he figured that out, Beckett could only imagine what would happen.

A flash of movement caught Beckett's eye. He glanced toward the far door long enough to see it was Sheppard and Teyla but not long enough to draw attention to their presence. Sheppard slipped into the room cautiously with Teyla a step behind.

There was an intense look of concentration on Sheppard's face, which either meant he had a plan or had absolutely no idea what he was going to do. He gestured for Beckett to keep talking and for McKay to quit looking at them, or at least to stop being so obvious about it. Ronon hadn't noticed them yet and it had to stay that way.

Beckett took a deep breath, keenly aware that any false move would have disastrous results. "Ronon," he said, trying to get his full attention. To his surprise, Ronon looked towards him. It wasn't much, but responding to his name was a step in the right direction.

"Where do you want to go? When you get to the Gate," Beckett said, watching Sheppard and Teyla from the corner of his eye.

With each second that passed, Ronon seemed to become more aware of his surroundings. Enough that he knew there were more than three people in the room, but not enough to readily identify the direction of the footsteps he heard. But he was also breathing more heavily and Beckett could see him trying to keep his hands from shaking.

"Son, look at me," Beckett said quickly, daring to take a step closer if it meant keeping Ronon's attention on him. "I will help you get wherever you need to go."

Ronon considered him briefly. There was a flash of something in his expression. The dark intensity lifted, if only for a moment. It could have been recognition, it could have been nothing.

He rubbed his eyes with his free hand and drew in an unsteady breath.

The movement caused the scalpel to press closer to McKay's neck, causing him to stifle a pained gasp. Ronon looked at McKay before his eyes dropped to the blade, then his hand. He furrowed his brow as he looked back up at McKay.

"McKay?" he said slowly.

"Y-Yes! Yes, it's your close, personal friend, Rodney McKay, who you have absolutely no urge to kill," McKay said.

"You shouldn't be here," Ronon said, almost as if he was trying to convince himself what he was seeing wasn't real. "You shouldn't be here," he said again, this time more forcefully. He didn't know what was happening and his patience was fading.

Both Beckett and McKay looked to Sheppard in the same moment- Beckett subtly asking if he should do something, McKay not-so-subtly telling him to get a move on with whatever grand plan he had.

Sheppard would have, if he actually had a plan. So far, the idea had been to get as close as possible before Ronon noticed them. After that, he figured they'd wing it. Ronon wasn't predictable enough to anticipate.

He didn't know how they had gotten as close as they had and he didn't know what finally alerted Ronon to their presence. It could have been that McKay was widening his eyes increasingly in their direction or the fact Sheppard had caught his boot on the edge of a shelf but, whatever the cause, Sheppard had just enough time to brace himself.

Ronon whirled around, leveling the blade first at Teyla, then Sheppard.

It wasn't the best-case scenario, but he'd take it. If a knife had to be pointed at anyone, he'd rather it was him.

"McKay," he said, prompting him away with a quick nod.

"Are you insane?" McKay hissed, clearly not wanting to become a moving target with Ronon still within arm's reach. "Are you completely out of your mind?"

Sheppard spared him a sharp glare. McKay fell silent, clearly torn between staying put and making a break for it. Neither of the options was safe and Sheppard didn't fault him for the hesitation, but he didn't know how long they'd have.

"Move!" Sheppard ordered in a low whisper.

Finally, McKay took a tentative step sideways toward Beckett. When Ronon didn't stop him, he took another. The next step put him a safe distance away. Sheppard let out a small breath. So far, so good.

Ronon looked toward Sheppard, studying him with unfocused eyes. It took him longer to settle on a name. "Sheppard?" He was still uneasy.

"That's right," Sheppard said as he inched forward. He kept his eye on the blade as Ronon's arm fell to his side. His fist remained clenched around it, but at least he wasn't pointing it at anyone for the moment.

"Ronon," Sheppard said, holding his hand out to him slowly, "give it to me." It was a risk, but a carefully considered one. He didn't want to try and take it from him, that would have been akin to suicide.

Ronon tilted his head slightly at the request. He looked down at his hand and opened it enough to see what he was holding that Sheppard would want. He watched vaguely as the scalpel slipped from his palm and dropped to the ground.

Almost as quickly as it had fallen, Sheppard edged forward. With one quick movement, he kicked the blade away. It slid across the floor and clattered harmlessly against the opposite wall.

Sheppard cautiously held his ground, ready to back off at the first hint of hostility. "Easy there, big guy," he said, holding his hands up so Ronon could see they were empty. "Okay?" He took the fact he hadn't been punched in the face as a good sign. "Okay, good."

Sheppard faintly glanced toward Teyla and nodded. She moved around them slowly toward Beckett and McKay, careful to stay at a distance. Still, Ronon tried to back away from her. But what energy he had was utterly gone. Ronon staggered back only a step before his legs buckled. This time, when Sheppard reached out to grab hold of him, he let him.

Sheppard guided him to the ground as he sank to his knees. Crouching beside him, he put a cautious, steadying hand on his shoulder.

"You came back," Ronon said. The words weren't incredulous or grateful, they were a statement of fact.

"Yep, we did."

He could have sworn he heard Ronon laugh once under his breath. "That was stupid."

"You're welcome," Sheppard said, managing a bit of a smile.

With no warning, Ronon's face hardened. Any sign of familiarity drained away completely. He watched as Ronon looked up toward the ceiling, his eyes moving erratically. Sheppard felt him tense. He tightened his grip on Ronon, there was no way he was going to risk a repeat incident.

"No, don't," Sheppard told him. "Don't move, we're staying right here."

"Sheppard?" Ronon said in confusion, as if just seeing him for the first time. His expression was fading between recognition and realizing something was wrong. "We're in the open," he said. The undercurrent of fear was back in his voice.

"We're fine," Sheppard said quickly. "We're inside. Lots of cover. Nothing's going to see us." The way he was drifting in and out of reality couldn't have been good. But at least it was an improvement over being completely out of it.

"How we doing over there?" Sheppard asked in a not-so-subtle attempt to get Beckett to hurry up.

"Just a minute," Beckett said, going through his bag going as fast as he could. Teyla kept a hand on McKay's arm, reminding him to stay back, as she quietly relayed the situation on the radio.

"Run," Ronon mumbled. "Run. Get to the Gate."

Sheppard returned his attention back to Ronon, hoping Beckett's idea of a minute was considerably shorter than the standard definition. His eyes were closed, his head bowed. Sheppard had no idea if Ronon was talking to himself or them. Though, it became clearer when Ronon started to push him away. With effort, Ronon lifted his head to look Sheppard in the eye.

"Run," he told him. There was no mistaking his meaning this time. Whatever delusion was going on in his mind, he wanted them to live even if he didn't. His fingers dug into the material of Sheppard's jacket, not willing to let go even as he pushed him away.

"No," Sheppard said. "No one's going anywhere." Because they wouldn't leave, even if there were Wraith.

"They're coming," Ronon said, glancing up at the ceiling. His eyes moved in a quick line, tracking the flight of an imaginary dart above them. "Hold them off."

"I will," Sheppard said. "But you've got stay with me here, Ronon. Ronon?" He wasn't listening anymore, his eyes becoming distant as he watched the ceiling. Sheppard swore under his breath.

"Behind you," he heard Beckett say.

Sheppard shifted to the side as Beckett neared them. Not a moment too soon. The movement was enough to draw Ronon's attention. Beckett hesitated, not knowing if he would be seen as a friend or enemy. Sensing this, Sheppard strengthened his hold on Ronon, both as reassurance and to make sure he didn't attack Beckett in the process.

Beckett knelt beside them and set to work.

"Hide," Ronon said, attempting to push Beckett away to communicate the point. In that moment, it became clear. The fear in his eyes was not for himself, but for them. He was afraid for them, they didn't have the sense to leave.

"Go," Sheppard prompted him.

"I'll need his arm," Beckett directed as he uncapped the syringe.

"Hide," Ronon told him again.

"Aye, I've got an excellent spot picked out," Beckett promised him. "Don't you worry."

"Hurry," Sheppard said once he'd managed to twist one of Ronon's arms out toward Beckett, unsure of how long he'd be able to keep it that way.

Ronon realized what was happening a moment too late. He tensed against Sheppard's grip as the needle slid into his arm.

"It's alright, lad. It's alright," Beckett said quietly as he concentrated on keeping his hands steady as he worked. Even with Sheppard holding onto Ronon with all of his strength, it was a challenge. Still, Beckett had worked under more trying circumstances in the past. Routine wasn't exactly part of the job description.

"This is going to help you to sleep," Beckett started to explain.

Ronon inhaled sharply. "No," he said, trying to stand. He was too uncoordinated to get his feet underneath himself and Sheppard locked an arm around his shoulder to keep him from getting up.

"No, I can't," he said, struggling to speak between breaths. "Can't stop."

"Steady," Beckett said.

"I'm trying," Sheppard said through gritted teeth as he held Ronon's arm as still as he could. "This isn't exactly easy!"

"Can't stop," Ronon said again, trying to make them understand.

"Yes, you can," Beckett said, hoping it would give him a measure of reassurance. It didn't seem to. His expression didn't change. There was nothing but loss and defeat in his eyes. As if he knew he was going to die and they would die because of him.

Ronon was already starting to fight the effects of the sedative as Beckett withdrew the needle. Even though Ronon's hair was obscuring most of his face, Beckett could see him struggling to keep his eyes fully open. He was fighting to stay awake with the same determination he fought everything else.

Sheppard held onto him, speaking to him quietly, too quiet for Beckett to hear. His breathing gradually became calmer and less ragged. Despite his desperate attempt, he couldn't hold on any longer. All at once, the tension drained from him and his eyes closed. His head dipped down as he slumped against back Sheppard, unconscious.

Beckett put a hand to his neck, feeling for a pulse. It was still high. Sheppard shifted under the weight of holding Ronon up, but didn't let go of him.

"Are you alright?" he asked, glancing up at Sheppard.

Sheppard nodded, still faintly bewildered by what had happened.

"I'm fine too, thanks for asking," McKay put in, rubbing his neck absently where the blade had been. "What about him?" he added, nodding toward Ronon.

Beckett couldn't give him an answer.

The first thing he became aware of was the soft mechanical hum of the city. The sound was unobtrusive, slowly pulling him out of sleep. It was familiar and normal, so he didn't immediately realize anything was out of place.

He drew in a deep breath and tried to ignore the wave of nausea that hit him.

He heard voices, several disconnected conversations running together, both hushed and deafening. Voices that shouldn't have been there. Someone was in his quarters- uninvited. He reflexively moved to reach for the gun he kept near his bed, but didn't manage to lift his arm or even to open his eyes.

His body wasn't cooperating at the moment. Normally, that would have caused him concern, but he was having enough trouble getting his mind to cooperate. His thoughts were slurring together and he couldn't keep a clear train of thought. Drifting to the sounds around him, his attention faded in and out. The voices were overlapping and he couldn't understand a word. He soon gave up trying and instead concentrated on a slow, steady beeping sound that seemed to be in rhythm with his heartbeat. That was a strange coincidence.

He heard someone nearby. They were close enough that he could feel the air shifting as they moved by his side. He opened his mouth to speak, but all he managed was a pitifully indistinct groan.

There was more movement around him. The voices began to speak again, though everything had an oddly distant quality to it. Maybe he had fallen into a hole. That made sense. Dark, couldn't move, faraway voices. He knew he needed to call out again, they might not have heard him the first time.

Before he had the chance, he felt a hand rest lightly on his forehead. It was more than a little unexpected, considering he was stuck in a hole.

A moment later, one of his eyelids was opened. He heard a small click and a light suddenly flashed into his open eye. It was a rude awakening and one he wasn't prepared for. He squinted against the brightness.

"Look at me, son," he heard a voice say. "Open your eyes."

It sounded like Dr. Beckett, though why exactly Beckett wanted to blind him was beyond him at the moment. Probably had a reason. Ronon opened his eyes slightly and looked in the general direction of the voice.

"Good," Beckett said as the beam of light moved slowly from one eye to the other.

After what seemed like a painfully bright eternity, the light clicked off. Ronon blinked several times, trying to clear the spots from his vision. Gradually, he began to see that he was not in his quarters, but looking up at the ceiling of the infirmary.

That couldn't be. Yesterday, he was on Sateda.

He could still smell the stale emptiness of the buildings, the decay of the city hanging thick in the air. He could feel the dirt clinging to his hair, his face, his hands. His hands as he raked through the remains and rubble. His hands as he cut through the flesh of the Wraith. The dust cutting, stinging at his eyes.

"Try to stay awake, now."

Ronon cracked his eyes open again. He hadn't meant to close them.

His attention drifted slowly toward the doctor.

Beckett was watching him closely, taking in every move he made with a practiced eye. He didn't say anything immediately. Their eyes met and Beckett gave him a reassuring smile. It wasn't strained, so Ronon knew he wasn't critically injured, but there was some weight to it. He was concerned, that much was clear. Though, he'd told Ronon once that it was his job to be concerned.

"Can you tell me your name?" Beckett asked.

"What?" he mumbled. Why wouldn't Beckett know his name? Maybe he was in one of those 'alternate dimensions' McKay was always threatening to send him to.

Beckett didn't offer an explanation; in fact, he seemed to expect the confusion. "Take a moment, think about it."

"Ronon," he replied, if only to appease him. "Ronon Dex."

"Do you know where we are, Ronon?"

Maybe he was missing something. He glanced at the room again, just to make sure he wasn't so disoriented that he was imagining things. He wasn't. "Atlantis."

"Good," Beckett said. "And who am I?" He was speaking slowly, careful to say each word clearly as if he thought he might not be understood. It was a tone he usually reserved for children and people who didn't speak the common language. Ronon considered him for a moment, growing surer of the fact that either he was insane or Beckett was.

He finally settled on the only reason Beckett would be asking him questions he already knew the answers to. "I don't have a concussion."

"Actually, you do. But that wasn't the question." Beckett couldn't help but smile slightly. "Humor me."

"Dr. Beckett," Ronon answered wearily, hoping Beckett would go bother someone else. Even though he just woke up, he felt tired enough to sleep for a day. Maybe a week. A week would be good.

Beckett's smile widened as he looked down to make a note on the file he was holding. "Well, that's certainly an improvement, isn't it?"

Ronon didn't know what he meant. Didn't care to find out. He'd made it out alive, that was all that mattered.

"How do you feel?"

"Fine," he said. It wasn't exactly a lie. Besides the pounding in his head, the nausea, and the fact every muscle that wasn't sore was stiff, he felt perfectly fine.

"Oh?" Beckett said, not quite believing it. Their definitions of 'fine' had always been vastly different.

Ronon began to sit up, or at least he attempted to. Beckett didn't stop him from trying, probably because he knew he wouldn't take his word if he told him not to. Ronon hadn't done much more than lift his shoulders from the bed when a searing pain ripped down his back. He grimaced and tried to keep going, but he couldn't pull himself up any farther. He had no choice but to lay back.

Maybe he wasn't fine. Not that he was about to admit it. Besides, he had more important concerns.

"Is it gone?" he asked.

He knew it had to be. They wouldn't have let him back in the city if the tracker was still in. But he wanted to hear it.

"Aye, it is," Beckett said, pleased enough for the both of them.

He felt a small sense of relief, but the heaviness that weighed on him didn't lift entirely. Of course, he'd never expected to get off of Sateda alive anyway. He should have been dead. Three times over, by his count. He could still feel the adrenaline inside him, but he had none of the alertness that usually came with it. He had the feeling he should be moving, but knew he didn't have to. Anxious, but too exhausted to do anything about it. Didn't want to. Just wanted to sleep.

"Ronon?"

He flinched as the room came into sudden focus again. For a split second, he had forgotten where he was.

"It's alright," Beckett reassured him, picking up on his disorientation. He said it easily and with confidence, so Ronon let himself believe it. "Did you hear what I told you a moment ago?" Beckett asked.

Ronon nodded. He lifted his hand to feel for himself that it was truly gone, but his arm wouldn't move. He couldn't remember breaking it, but maybe he did. He couldn't exactly remember a whole lot at the moment. Lifting his head, he glanced down at his arm, hoping it wasn't too bad.

It took a moment for his mind to register what his eyes saw. He twisted his arms against the restraints at his wrists, not believing they were actually there until he felt them. His heart began to beat faster as he realized he couldn't move his legs either. He tried to push past the tiredness and force himself into alertness.

He didn't escape one trap only to find himself in another.

He looked at Beckett with annoyance.

Before he could even ask the question, Beckett was answering it. "It's policy. Just until you're cleared."

"Cleared for what?" The words came out harshly, but Beckett wasn't affected by it. He paused a moment to decide how best to phrase what he wanted to say.

"What's the last thing you remember?" he asked carefully.

"The jumper. Escaping," Ronon said. He searched his memory as he spoke, but that was the last thing he could be sure of. The rest was a jumble. "Why?"

"That's fine for now," Beckett assured him. "We can talk about it once you've had a chance to rest." He didn't answer the question, evading it.

There was something he wasn't saying.

Ronon wasn't satisfied.

"Take them off," he demanded with one final wrenching pull that didn't accomplish anything except to remind him how sore he was.

"I can't do that just yet," Beckett said.

"Get Sheppard." He would understand.

"It's my decision, not his," Beckett countered.

"So change it."

"No."

Ronon set his jaw, deciding whether or not it would be worth it to argue the point. Beckett had that look on his face, the one that was infinitely patient only because he was so entirely convinced that he was right.

Beckett waited for him to respond, as if he knew the silence wasn't acceptance.

"You're serious?" Ronon said finally.

"Very."

Ronon didn't say anything else. He had the feeling Beckett wouldn't change his mind and didn't want to waste the effort.

Beckett started to explain the situation was only temporary when he stopped abruptly and put a hand to his ear. "Yes?"

"Just a moment," he excused himself, turning away as he continued the conversation. "This is Beckett. Go ahead."

Ronon exhaled in frustration and ignored the exchange that followed. It didn't concern him. Idly, he worked his wrist against the restraint. Everything had a weakness, he just needed to find it. It might be a matter of minutes or hours, but he would.

There was a pause in the conversation and Beckett glanced to him briefly. "Awake and alert," he said quietly. Another pause. "He should be fine."

Beckett said a few more words Ronon didn't hear before he turned back towards him.

"I've got to see to a bunch of overzealous botanists," he said with a faintly amused smile. "I'll be back, though. Rest."

"Doc-"

"Rest," he repeated. He looked briefly, but pointedly, to where Ronon was still turning his wrist under the restraint. "And don't even try. I mean that. You won't be doing yourself any favors. Understand?"

Ronon stopped, but turned his attention to the ceiling.

"Is that a 'yes'?" Beckett asked. Ronon still didn't give him an answer. He sighed as he put a hand on Ronon's shoulder. "Just rest. Please."

Rest.

Right.

Ronon waited just long enough for Beckett to leave the room before he started working at pulling his arm free.

TBC

A/N: So sorry about the delay, I intend to finish this story as soon as I can. There will be two more parts. All feedback is welcome and appreciated.

Thanks for your patience and thanks for reading!