A/N: This is just a little one-shot, in three chapters, (does that mean it's not a oneshot anymore?), more character than plot focused for a change (for me anyway). Nothing spectacular... but enjoy and let me know what you think!

A cloud of mist rose before Ronon's nose with each breath he blew into the damp, chilly air. He was panting in time to the urgent pace of his feet, and he grunted slightly as he yet again shifted his hold on the man limping along next to him – yet again taking more of Sheppard's weight. Ronon felt the slight tug on his shoulder with every hopping step Sheppard took, and saw the man's equally quick breath also puffing out slight clouds of fog into the silvery moonlight around them.

The ground they were jogging over was soft and powdery and his heels sank slightly into the tilled earth. The crisp swish of their footsteps through tall grasses and the squishy feel of the dirt under their feet suddenly reminded Ronon of walking in the friendly Athosian settlement, listening to Teyla praise her people for hard work well done. This was good soil, good land…but there were no friends here.

Sheppard stumbled on a thick tuft of hay and pulled on Ronon's shoulder as he regained his footing, then kept going. Ronon couldn't help but glance down with worry, quickly looking away again as Sheppard sucked in a hissing gasp and cursed quietly in a low mutter.

Ronon gritted his teeth. "Sheppard, we need to go faster."

"We need to find shelter." Sheppard's voice was little more than an annoyed growl.

"The 'gate is only 4 Kliks from here…"

"Too far."

"The moon is setting, if we stop, we'll lose the light until morning."

"All the…more reason…to find a defensible spot…now."

Ronon seethed for a few silent paces. Defense sounded like surrender to the runner who'd survived on offense alone for so many years. There WAS no defense against the Wraith. But Sheppard's people were more careful, more reserved, and Ronon again found himself chafing under the restraint. As much as he admired his friend and team leader, Sheppard could drive him crazy with precaution. Ronon bit back his irritation.

"I don't like sitting around." Going to ground like some damned grass-runner and hoping the thesta doesn't find the hole…

As if he were reading Ronon's thoughts, Sheppard went on in a wry rasp, "Don't worry, Big Guy. You'll get your chance to blow some of those bugs back to hell before the night is over. We can't hide from them forever."

Ronon almost scoffed in annoyance when the full impact of Sheppard's subtle phrasing sank a knot into his gut. You'll get your chance…?

"Sheppard?"

"I really hate those bugs…"

Before Ronon could decide to press further, the hand on his shoulder tightened as Sheppard hissed again and sagged a bit further into Ronon's support, hinting at the answer to the unasked question. Ronon glanced down once more at the sweat-slicked face of his friend, but Sheppard limped doggedly onward, his expression determined and unafraid, his gaze keenly scanning the gloomy fencerows around them. The moon's silver glow lit the path they jogged between tall, well-groomed fields of grain. Those fields would never be harvested, Ronon thought, thinking again of the Athosian way of life. The realization felt like an ill omen.

"There!" Sheppard said at last, waving the P-90 he held clutched in the hand he wasn't using to cling to Ronon. "That'll do."

Ronon followed the gesture and finally spotted the small wooden doorway set into a low sloping hill that Sheppard was now leaning towards. In the strange white moonlight, the door seemed to simply grow out of the hill itself, but with a closer look, Ronon realized that the farmers had most likely dug a shallow cave out of the earth and wedged a simple square frame into the space. Time and erosion had embraced all but the front walls with earth, offering the home a natural way to regulate temperature year-round.

Reluctantly following Sheppard's lead, Ronon approached the dwelling with wary caution. Within a few steps of the door, Sheppard let go of Ronon's shoulder and shrugged out of his supportive embrace. Ronon stepped away to peer behind the flowery bushes growing up all around the front of the house while Sheppard dug in his vest, pulling out his life signs scanner.

"No one's home," he said shortly thereafter.

"Too bad. Let's go."

"Let's go in."

Ronon stiffened, feeling trapped. He really wanted to just keep moving, to get to the 'gate. For a runner, survival was about getting to the 'gate! "John!" he snarled, gearing up for an argument. Sheppard's people also liked to talk – a lot. Another difference between them that Ronon often found irritating.

"Specialist!" Sheppard snapped back, glaring Ronon down.

Damn him. Ronon hated it when Sheppard pulled rank, but he did it rarely, and only when he was either in haste or about to get exasperatingly heroic. Glaring back, Ronon suddenly wondered what Sheppard was hiding. He held Sheppard's eyes a beat or two longer than was comfortable, then raised his eyebrow. Sheppard broke the contact first, chuckling.

"Fine," Ronon snapped, feigning acquiescence while, in truth, feeling another surge of worry. There'd been something in Sheppard's eyes…

They approached the door even more cautiously, despite the empty readings on the scanner. Sheppard managed to hop the few steps unassisted and propped himself heavily against the frame, his weapon secure in his hands in ready position. Ronon took a deep breath and pulled on the brass handle, throwing the door open and sweeping the dark interior of the little house with the muzzle of his own weapon in one smooth motion. Nothing met them but the slight scent of earthy air, and Ronon took another step inside.

A click at his shoulder was followed by a small glow of light, and he looked at the silver lighter Sheppard was holding up. "Funny," said Ronon with a sigh. If Sheppard was playing games, he must be pretty sure the house was empty.

Sheppard chuckled again and switched on the flashlight attached to the P-90. The small room was flooded with bright white light, and Sheppard swept the beam over simple furnishings – a cot, a table and chairs, a cabinet and sink – bare wooden floors and walls. There was a door in the back of the house that led deeper into the hill and Ronon edged towards it as Sheppard fixed the beam through into the blackness beyond.

"Still nobody home," Sheppard murmured, glancing again at the scanner.

Ronon poked his head through the door and confirmed his suspicion that the room beyond was little more than a dirt closet. Tools and vegetables were stacked in untidy piles, a basket of grain was in one corner, half-covered by a wad of burlap bags. "These people haven't been gone for long," he told Sheppard. "There are no rodents in the food, the floor has been swept."

"Probably took off with everybody else."

Ronon nodded in agreement at the bitter edge to Sheppard's voice. The beam of light over his shoulder suddenly wavered a bit, and Ronon heard a soft gasp before it steadied again. Satisfied that the hut was secure, for the moment, Ronon returned his attention to Sheppard, and quickly re-crossed the room to offer his shoulder.

"Think I'll sit down for a bit," Sheppard breathed softly as he accepted the help, nodding at the polished wooden table in the center of the room. Ronon lowered him into the adjoining chair, noticing that his friend was nearly unable to put any weight at all on the damaged leg.

"Let me check the bandage again."

"I got it," Sheppard grunted, setting his P-90 carefully on the table – within easy reach – and already leaning over to light the small candle that sat there with the silver lighter. "You go check the door, clear the perimeter." Ronon watched him next set the scanner beside the P-90 where he could easily see the screen. He flicked off the flashlight, the room seeming darker for a moment, then brightening again as the candle stuttered to life.

Ronon narrowed his eyes, "Then what?"

"Then we order pizza and pay-per-view." Despite the glare Ronon continued to bore into Sheppard's skull, he wouldn't meet Ronon's gaze and just started rummaging in a vest pocket. "I got your six," he added, tapping the scanner and dismissing him with indifference.

Ronon stalked to the door, grinding his teeth. He leaned against the frame for a long moment, peering into the deepening dark beyond the candlelight that spilled faintly over the threshold. The moon was out of sight behind him, hidden by the hill that the house sat underneath. His hands worked restlessly over his handgun, and he felt anxiety closing in. Unable to stand still any longer, he quietly closed the door behind him and prowled the perimeter as ordered, then climbed the hill in a low crouch to get a better view of the surrounding fields.

Only a glow in the West hinted at the moon sitting below the horizon and the fields stretching out around him in all directions were merely black against black shadows. Ronon sat on the hill for a long time, his eyes straining at the black nothingness, his ears roaring with silence as he listened for the sounds of growling or hissing that plagued his waking imagination. Despite the stillness, the air felt thick with tension; it vibrated through Ronon's body like a rumble of thunder – brooding and anxious. He scrubbed his face and cursed Sheppard again for forcing him to stop.

Ronon knew a healthy portion of his annoyance came from lingering anger at being disregarded during that first wacko experiment that had created Michael. And Michael had created the bug things. I hate those damn bugs, too, he thought, suddenly unable to shake the terrible image of the monster savaging Sheppard's leg as he struggled in its scaly grip. Sheppard had thrust his knife into the beast's belly and Ronon had been able to blast it aside as the thing reared up in fury at the wound.

With a sigh, Ronon closed his eyes briefly and willed the anger and frustration back into the past. It was interfering with his task in the present: getting them home alive. The local survivors had fled through the Stargate after realizing that ratting out the Atlanteans to Michael had only brought destruction and death among them rather than the prizes they'd been promised. The 'gate was over 2 miles away, Sheppard was injured, there were at least a half dozen more bugs on the planet, and he was sitting on a damn rabbit hole just waiting around for them to show up!

The radio in his ear clicked softly twice, interrupting Ronon's grousing. He touched his earpiece, "What do you want Sheppard?" Ok, so he hadn't exactly mastered ALL his frustrations…

"Get off the damn roof and get in here for a minute," Ronon chuckled, allowing himself to be amused. Sheppard was good to his word and clearly had been keeping his eyes on the scanner. There was a slight pause, then Sheppard continued more soberly, "They're coming."

A jolt of adrenaline shot through Ronon's chest and he raced down the hill, leaping the last few feet onto the path to the door, slamming it open and quickly closing it behind him once he was inside. He froze a moment later, swallowing back the smart remark he'd been about to crack. Sheppard sat slumped at the table, his head propped heavily on one hand, his elbow leaning over the scanner. His other hand was resting in a clenched fist on the bandaged leg that stuck out away from the table.

Feigning annoyance to cover his concern, Ronon rushed to Sheppard's side, and dropped to one knee, checking the bandage for himself and muttering, for Sheppard's benefit, about pain-in-the-ass do-it-yourselfers. The entire thigh was soaked in tacky blood, the fabric still damp and glistening. Dark droplets were splattered on the wooden floor beneath the chair. A saturated and discarded pressure pad lay wadded in the corner, the fresh one on Sheppard's leg already stained through.

Ronon peeled the edge away slightly and wrinkled his nose at the raw and still oozing flesh underneath. The beast had sunk its fangs in the leg as if to carry Sheppard off – it was no wonder the leg looked like a hunk of meat gnawed on by a canine. Ronon tutted over the wound, but found nothing more that he could do here. It would take some of Beckett's magic potions to ease the swollen redness and fight the heat beginning to radiate from John's sweaty head.

Sheppard spoke first, raising his head with effort and sitting up straighter in the chair, "So, it's like this: Atlantis isn't expecting us until morning, they won't be sending help for 6 more hours at least." Sheppard flicked his eyes at the scanner and Ronon, following the glance, frowned in mild confusion when he saw no glowing dots but their own on the screen. Sheppard went on with a slight smile, "You were right after all. You need to get to the 'gate."

Ronon suddenly stood up from his crouch and planted himself firmly in a mutinous posture. He'd been expecting this, he realized. "Of course I was right. WE need to get to the 'gate, WE should shut up and start moving Sheppard..."

Sheppard just shook his head and interrupted mildly, "My leg is shot, I'm down a few pints, blood pressure's low...feel like crap, actually."

"Stop whining. I'll carry your lazy ass."

"You won't make it if I'm with you."

"You don't know that!"

"They're after me. It's me that Michael's pissed at. And it's me that Michael wants. To study."

"You can't know that either!" Ronon was raising his voice, impatient with the arguing. He spun in a tight circle of agitation. Screw debating. He'd tried it Sheppard's way before, and he had freakin' bug monsters on his ass because of it. Ronon was seriously considering simply throwing the man over his shoulder and heading out the door.

"I fucking know enough!" Sheppard bellowed back, startling Ronon motionless again. Ronon glared and watched Sheppard warily. His superior's voice grew low and dangerous, "I know that Michael blames me for double crossing him at the settlement. I know that damn monster took a chunk out of my leg trying to take me with it when it could have just killed me. And..."

Sheppard suddenly broke off, looked quickly away swallowing hard. Ronon narrowed his eyes. He knew Sheppard well enough to recognize that the man was struggling with emotion. If it hadn't been so out of character, Ronon would have thought he was concealing fear. "Still doesn't mean we shouldn't go, now." Ronon was nothing if not stubborn.

Sheppard's eyes snapped suddenly up, held Ronon's with a desperate ferocity, "The damn things can sense me somehow and...I can sense them."

"...What?" Ronon felt disoriented as his mind spun with the revelation and the implications.

"I'm a goddamn homing beacon and they're on the way. I can...feel...them coming."

Sheppard was panting slightly from the intensity of the conversation, his eyes searching Ronon's face keenly. Ronon blinked, then grimaced as Sheppard's expression slowly slid into a smirk. Sheppard had him backed into a slicebill's nest, and knew it.

"You'll be able to make it to the 'gate while they're drawn here. You bring back a team of Marines with RPGs. Bugs get fried. We go home."

"You can't hold them off on your own. I should stay." Ronon couldn't quite believe he had just said that. This was why he should never argue with Sheppard.

"Look, we're talking hold them off together for 6 hours, or hold them off alone for 1. I'll take the cavalry any day over a last stand."

"How do you intend to hold them off alone for even one hour?"

Sheppard raised his eyebrow. "I have a plan," he said solemnly, picking up the P-90 and laying it pointedly across his lap.

"Bullshit," growled Ronon and turned his back on his friend to pace across the room. He felt trapped again, but this time by logic. Sheppard's plan made a certain amount of sense; except that it was more likely that Ronon would be returning to recover a body than rescue a friend. If they had just kept running from the start, they'd have made it to the 'gate by now. He wouldn't be having this conversation, and he wouldn't be choosing between a hopeless standoff and a longshot hair-brained scheme.

A thought struck him and he whirled suddenly, jabbing his finger accusingly at the still smirking Sheppard. "You knew all along. You planned to use yourself as bait from the moment we stopped here."

Sheppard shrugged, making Ronon want to slap the smug look off his face. "We weren't going to make it to the 'gate, Ronon. This way, at least one of us has a chance to." His voice grew pleadingly soft.

Ronon choked a harsh curse and punched the air with frustration. "Dammit, John!" he began, stepping forward aggressively with a scowl that usually intimidated all but the most idiotic of opponents. Sheppard, however, only narrowed his eyes and drew his chin up in the way he did just before pulling rank. Ronon braced himself, for once eager for the fight when…Sheppard hesitated.

Ronon was stunned. Sheppard opened his mouth again to say something, then closed it, and sat glaring.

For just a moment, Ronon felt like a first-year footman that had been scolded for shirking kitchen duty. He felt shame burning on his cheeks and something deeper burning in his chest. The man glaring at him with a shredded leg and fever glittering in his eyes was his friend AND his commander. Sheppard didn't want to pull rank. He wanted Ronon to trust him, to trust the course of action he'd set into play. They'd been friends, now, long enough for Ronon to realize how important that kind of trust was to John.

If he forced Sheppard to make a direct order, it would be as good as a slap in the face.

Sheppard's jaw was working, and he looked away as the silence stretched out.

"It's a stupid plan," Ronon said finally.

Sheppard's mouth twitched, "Which? The one where you run to the 'gate, or the one that'll hold off the bugs for an hour?"

"Pick one," Ronon spat. He moved determinedly to the door and opened it a crack, preparing himself to leave. He might choose brute force and direct action over precaution and a tricky plan, but, Michael aside, Sheppard hadn't let him down yet, he realized. He just hoped the man had enough luck to pull off one more hair-brained scheme.

"Good luck," Sheppard murmured from his chair at the table, echoing Ronon's thought.

Ronon turned back for one last look at his friend, trying to burn an image of confidence and bravery into his memory should he need it. Sheppard just looked tired and vulnerable.

"You too," he said, and slipped through the door into the deep night.