Ronon paced like a caged tiger before the silent Stargate as the noise and bustle of controlled chaos swirled around him, late morning sunshine catching the colored panes of the tower windows and casting strange shapes and sparkles of light onto the cool deck of the gateroom. After the dark and cold night he'd fled from, the brightness seemed harsh, unnaturally warm.

Teyla and six heavily armed Marines led by Captain Anderson were nearby, hastily throwing on their gear and wrestling weapons into readiness. They would go through the 'gate on foot and clean up any bugs between there and Sheppard's position. Two would remain to secure the group's eventual retreat, and hold off any more bugs Michael decided to send through. Another group of soldiers plus McKay and Beckett would fly a jumper through and head directly for the cottage, surveying the situation at they went.

All this Ronon was aware of, but his mind was trapped back on the planet. Every pacing step he took was another step the five last creatures were gaining on Sheppard's position…and Sheppard had played his last card. Like an alarm going off, Ronon suddenly realized that exactly an hour had passed since he'd left the warm candlelight of Sheppard's hideout.

"It's a stupid plan."

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

"Pick one,"

Sheppard couldn't hold them off much longer…if he'd managed this long. "Can we go already?!" he shouted with a snarl, every second feeling like a precious gem being stolen from him.

"We're ready," Teyla replied firmly, her own expression no less anxious or determined.

Ronon sprang into motion, "Then go, and good hunting!" He leaped up the stairs, bellowing the order to open the 'gate as he passed through the control room, then continued up more stairs to the jumper bay.

The second group was milling around the nearest jumper, but scurried inside with efficient speed the moment they saw Ronon. The hatch closed even before Ronon had made it into the cockpit and he felt the jumper lurch slightly as the pilot, Lt. Jones, brought it off the deck and towards the opening iris in the center of the bay. Ronon nodded to himself in silent appreciation: these people were well trained, well disciplined.

And they were all Sheppard's people, he thought with new insight: Jones hadn't waited for a formal command to launch. They knew what had to be done, and they did it. The trust Sheppard held in those he commanded was as deep as the trust he asked from them.

"Sheppard's transponder should guide us straight to him," McKay was muttering from his spot in the co-pilot's seat. Ronon just nodded. He knew that. He also knew he could guide the jumper to the cottage without any scanners at all. Smooth grey walls slid by the cockpit window as it descended until it was filled with the flickering glow of the active Stargate. Jones hovered just off the 'gateroom floor and there was a collective breath of expectant silence inside the little ship.

The radio clicked. "This is Anderson. The 'gate is clear. We got Ronon's last little friend, come on through jumper 2."

"Acknowledged," replied Jones and flung the jumper into the event horizon.

On the other side, night seemed to swallow the little ship and Jones dimmed the interior lights to reduce the glare against the windshield. He circled the 'gate once to get his bearings, then headed over the grain fields, roughly following the road. McKay burst into activity and the heads' up display came to life with data and the blinking dots of the life signs detector.

"We got Sheppard," he said, pointing to a glowing red dot on the screen. "There are two life signs in his immediate vicinity, three more gaining on his location fast, and two straggling behind on the road."

Anderson replied via the radio, "Got it. We're right behind you Jumper 2. My LSD confirms the two on the road. How'd you like some target practice, Jones?"

Jones grinned, "Love it, sir!" The pilot took the craft a bit higher, then the display on the screen zoomed to focus on the two straggling creatures far below them, hidden in the shadows of the dirt path. A streak of light suddenly leapt away from the jumper and a satisfying explosion of sound rumbled mutedly through the tough shell of the tiny craft. The two dots in the target zone faded…and winked out.

"Kill confirmed!" Jones shouted with enthusiasm and Ronon shook his head at the exuberance of youth, feeling only worry and weariness. They still had 5 to go.

"Thank you jumper 2. We'll see you at the extraction coordinates. Anderson out."

"Is Sheppard moving?" Ronon asked McKay suddenly.

"What? No. No, he's just sitting there," replied the scientist sounding haughtily surprised at the question. He brought the LDS back to a wider view then zoomed in a bit on the red dot. His voice was suddenly low and concerned. "These guys are awfully close to him, though." Five white dots circled the red one, seeming to overlap it on the display. McKay exchanged an uncomfortable look with Jones. The transponder would continue broadcasting even if Sheppard were dead...

The beasts were probably too close to Sheppard for an air strike, Ronon thought, quickly pushing aside the gloomy thoughts hanging in the air and turning to the issue at hand – he needed to stay focused on destroying the last of the bugs. "Jones, go to stealth and take us over Sheppard's position. The cottage was built into a hill…" He would worry about rescue or contemplate revenge once the creatures were taken care of.

Jones nodded, "30 seconds sir."

"I'm switching the display to night vision," McKay added, and the windshield shifted to display a slightly green and overly bright version of the landscape zipping by below. The dots remained, overlaid with the scenery. Ronon leaned closer to the screen, squinting ahead and vainly trying to catch a glimpse of something – the path to the cottage, perhaps? Or maybe a hint as to what Sheppard had decided to blow up? He finally noticed that he was bracing himself, mentally and physically – preparing for the worst. Images of Sheppard being torn apart by 5 bug beasts kept flicking into his mind, no matter how forcefully he flung them aside.

30 seconds never felt so long, and the ground slid slowly by underneath them.

"There," Ronon pointed at the screen at last, "the house is in that slight ridge, facing East."

They were approaching from the West, so Jones pivoted the ship to keep the nose facing the ridge even as he was slowing down and sinking lower ever so slightly. When the craft finally stopped to hover directly over the hill, McKay gave a low whistle.

"What happened here?" he wondered aloud.

Ronon stood speechless. A great, raw wound of bare dirt was gouged out of the grassy Eastern bank, just where the door to the underground cottage had been. The door itself Ronon could see lying alone, a few feet from the uprooted flowering bushes that had once bloomed beside it. In the strange green-glowing display, it looked as if someone had simply decided to build a wide, sloping, dirt ramp from the path to the top of the hill.

A small clump of earth rolled down the oddly regular slope of the gouge and Ronon's head began to steam as he spotted a grotesque figure, digging into the freshly torn soil like a dog searching for a bone. Another creature scuttled over the hilltop, and stopped to dig, too, for a moment, then moved in another random direction to dig somewhere else.

"Sheppard, you crazy bastard," he said softly to himself. He took one last long look at the destruction, shaking his head at his friends' handiwork, then, in a tone of command he turned to address the group of soldiers sitting alertly in the back. "Sheppard buried himself in the hill, he's safe for the moment," Ronon began, fervently hoping the statement was true. He's either safe or dead… "There are 5 bugs to get rid of, then we can dig him out and go home."

"Shall I use the drones, sir?" The question came from Jones.

"Negative. They're too close to Sheppard, the hill might come down on top of him. We get to do this the hard way."

The Marines exchanged steely looks of eagerness, tinged with revenge. Ronon suddenly remembered the team of Marines that had been killed in Michael's lair. These men had a score to settle with the bugs, too. "Yes sir," the commander of the group replied. "You've been fighting these things all night, sir. Any ideas on the best approach?"

Ronon smiled his feral smile again and borrowed a page from Sheppard's book. "I have a plan," he said.

The bugs didn't have a chance.

15 minutes later, Ronon gave the command to assault the creatures that continued to dig and scuttle around Sheppard's hidey-hole, unaware of the stealthy deployment of pissed-off Atlanteans around them. The battle was over almost before it began. The three creatures that were unfortunate enough to have wandered far enough away from the crumbling hill to be targets for the RPGs exploded spectacularly, lighting up the ground under them with hot, white flashes.

The remaining two were cut nearly in half by simultaneous M16 fire and Ronon roared a hoarse cry of relief along with the other joyful shouts and victory gunfire around him as the last bug fell. There were advantages to numbers and superior weapons, he thought, realizing that both were a luxury he'd forgotten during his time running alone.

Ronon was so pleased with the quick success, that he decided he'd even leave the task of chewing out the younger team members for wasting ordinance to Sheppard. The perimeter was suddenly lit with bright beams of multiple flashlights, and the Marines quickly jogged together to regroup in front of the slide of bare ground. Victory joy quickly sobered into subdued contemplation.

There was a long moment when everyone just stared at the ground and waved their lights over the slope, optimistically hoping they'd simply see their CO poke his head out and wave at them. When he didn't, nor did he respond to repeated queries over the radio, Ronon felt anxiety sour his stomach again.

"We'll dig!" he finally ordered, struggling to remain composed.

4 or 5 collapsible shovels were brought out of the well-stocked jumper and flashlights and flares were scattered all around to light the area. The Marines attacked the pile of dirt with as much energy as they had attacked the bugs. McKay and Beckett soon joined them from the recently re-settled jumper and took charge of the effort, Rodney scanning the hill for air pockets and guiding the mud-flinging free-for-all into a coordinated effort slightly higher up the slanted slide. Beckett fussed until one Marine was given the task of trying to poke a pole as deep as it would go to try to open up an air vent or two.

Ronon found himself pushed back from the activity as the work organized itself and ended up standing alone next to the broken, discarded cottage door, pressed between the harsh artificial light of the flares and the deep blackness of the night at his back. Left with nothing to do for the moment, and unsure of the outcome despite Beckett's continued reassurances that Sheppard's life sign was still in there – if a little faint and worrisome -- Ronon was something at a loss. He knew how to run, he knew how to fight. He had poured every ounce of his strength into bringing back help…and now that he'd done so? He waited.

He walked in a tight circle of frustration and kicked at a clod of dirt, watching it explode into a puff of dust at the contact. Everyone else was too busy to notice the outburst, and that made him all the more annoyed. When Teyla joined him a quarter hour later, jogging out of the darkness with her team from the 'gate, he was practically vibrating with tightly strung tension and stood grinding dirt into dust under his boot.

Teyla seemed to size him up, taking a good long look as he cocked his hip and returned her scrutiny with annoyed amusement. "Well done, Ronon," she said finally, nodding at a dead bug that lay nearby and touching his arm briefly in reassurance. "I know it must have been very difficult to leave him behind."

Ronon looked down and kicked the dirt again. "He said he had a plan," he began, realizing the words sounded like desperate justification. "I didn't know he meant to bury himself alive, the idiot."

Teyla smiled, although her eyes remained troubled. "John often has an overly optimistic opinion of his own plans." She suddenly twisted and reached for something stuck into the loops on her pack. "Here," she said, pulling out the sword Ronon had left at the 'gate embedded in the guts of yet another dead bug. "You can threaten him with this when he's recovered."

Ronon took the sword and held it lovingly up to the light, watching it reflect the strange orange glow of the flares, then smoothly slid it into its scabbard at his back. "I will."

McKay joined them a couple of minutes later, brushing dirt off his hands and jacket and complaining briefly about the Marines' inability to aim the dirt they were flinging. "They can shoot a fly out of the air at 100 yards, but they can't keep track of where a whole shovel full of dirt is going?" But even Rodney's muttering died out and the three friends stood for a while in anxious companionable silence, watching Sheppard's men dig, wondering if they would find their team leader or a tomb.

When a sudden outburst of shouting and waving finally snapped Ronon out of black speculation, he hurried to the edge of the excavation in three long steps, demanding an explanation. The rest were hard on his heels, and McKay pushed past to climb the hill a bit further and wave his scanner about.

Captain Anderson caught his eye and called down, "We've got something sir. It looks like we've hit a board or a wall or something, but it sounds hollow underneath. There's a void here."

"It's the roof," Ronon called back, suddenly understanding Sheppard's intent: he'd blown out the front wall of the house, hoping the roof would remain intact and create something of a lean-to effect against the sliding dirt. Apparently that part had worked. He just hoped Sheppard had had enough air.

"Do we have something to cut through it?" yelled Beckett, hovering always at the edge of the activity and startling Ronon with the worried urgency on his face.

"I'll check the jumper…" one voice answered to the sound of running feet.

Ronon abruptly drew his energy weapon and touched the controls. A satisfying whine of readiness and a faint red glow brought a tight smile to his face – the weapon had finally cooled off and reset. "Move!" he bellowed, scrambling up the slope to the spot of roof Anderson had cleared. Anderson and the rest slid to the bottom and watched as Ronon pointed the muzzle at the aged, brittle wood and fired.

The red-hot beam charred a wide circle and the wood sizzled a bit, damp from its long contact over the years with the hillside. A second blast chewed through and left blackened edges still slightly smoking. Ronon bellowed for a light that was quickly tossed up to him. Swallowing hard, he lay on his belly and leaned over into the dark space beneath him, terrified of what he would find yet unable to allow anyone else to look first.

"At least the Colonel has some fresh air, now. That'll help the lad, whatever condition he's in."

Ronon looked up in surprise at the voice that had spoken practically in his ear. Beckett was kneeling a few feet away, just opposite the hole. The man's presence was incredibly reassuring and Ronon looked down again to swing the flashlight around the void.

The roof was only about 5 feet from the wooden floor of the cottage at this point in its slope. The floor itself was covered in thick layer of dirt and dust, and Ronon could see the destroyed remains of the simple wooden chairs and the cot, crushed under the edge of the roof that had fallen. Ronon sucked in a breath as the light swept across a damp puddle of something sticky pooled in the dirt…then exhaled in relief as a second look revealed the squashed remains of a bug monster.

"Anything? Do you see anything?" Beckett pestered.

"Not yet."

Ronon next angled his beam away from where the roof met the ground, back towards where the little door and the dirt closet would have been. An odd sight fell under the beam's glow and he twisted his head awkwardly to try to get a better look. He gave up in frustration – the hole just wasn't big enough and the air was thick with dust and dirt trickling through widening cracks in the roof – but he was pretty sure he'd seen the cottage's wooden table standing lengthwise on its end, propped against the far wall.

"I'm going in," he announced, standing abruptly.

"Me too," said Beckett matter-of-factly.

"Not yet, doc. Place looks pretty unstable. I'll call you if Sheppard looks like he shouldn't be moved."

Beckett glared, but finally nodded, stepping back from the hole that Ronon was preparing to widen with more blaster shots. The group at the bottom of the hill stood quietly watching, some wiping sweat off filthy faces, all looking pale and anxious against the velvet backdrop of the night.

When Ronon dropped into the space through a now-gaping hole, and knelt into a crouch to get his first good look around, he felt his heart pounding in his ears. His face felt hot and flushed, and he fought down an uncontrollable urge to leap out of the cave-like cottage and run. He'd seen too many peers, colleagues and friends, die in holes just like this one on Sateda. The ghosts of his past were pressing in on him, and he took a few deep breaths to hold them at bay. The air smelled stale and stuffy.

Pulling from deep reserves of a different kind of courage, he finally snapped his flashlight up and probed the beam into the darkness at the back of the cottage. A steady rain of powdery dirt poured down from top of the back wall like a flat waterfall, making a constant shushing sound and filling the air with dust. Ronon coughed slightly and raised his arm to cover his nose and mouth. In a slow crouching creep, he moved towards the back wall and the table that was indeed propped upright.

As he drew closer, Ronon realized that the table was, in fact, holding the roof itself up. The cottage had shifted as the hill slid, separating the roof from the back wall. When all was said and done, the roof had come to rest on the end of the table that Sheppard had propped up for some reason. Suddenly guessing that the table had been placed there to protect Sheppard from the blast of C4 he was going to set off, Ronon hurried towards it and flung his light into the space behind.

It took him a moment to recognize the form on the ground as his friend, so covered in an even layer of fine dust that the shape looked more like a sculpture than a man. Sheppard lay slumped behind the table, curled into a defensive ball and looking like he'd simply fallen over from sitting with his hands wrapped around his knees. One hand was clutched around his P-90, the light on its scope dim and orange with the feeble look of batteries nearly drained.

Heart pounding, but determined to see it through, Ronon gently felt at Sheppard's neck for a pulse. At the strong, but fast, flutter under his fingertips, Ronon sank onto one knee and hung his head, relief burning in his eyes. Sheppard was alive. And, Ancestors help him, Ronon would keep him that way now he'd been given the chance.

He slapped the unconscious soldier on the shoulder in a sudden expression of happiness, sending up clouds of dust that swirled like mist in the flashlight's harsh beam. Sheppard groaned and coughed, but remained unconscious, panting in shallow gasps. Ronon's jaw set in determination.

He first returned briefly to the hole and poked his head up above the dirt rim to relay the happy news. Once the spontaneous cheers and whistles died down, Ronon hastily ordered one man only to join him inside the hill, pointedly excluding Beckett from the acceptable volunteers, then returned to Sheppard's side as the doctor fumed beside the opening.

The wooden planks above him creaked ominously and bowed even further into the remaining space as someone walked up the dirt slope. The waterfall of dirt thickened and the shush grew to a noisy, constant hissing as the crack widened. Captain Anderson dropped lightly down to join him, burdened with some kind of medical pack, and immediately lit a flare, tossing it into a corner where it lit the room with orangely glowing brightness. Anderson took a quick look around, the let out a low whistle.

"Nice place the Colonel's got here," he said, the attempt at humor falling flat as another waterfall of dust burst through yet another crack, this time at the North wall. The young officer quickly scuttled over to join Ronon.

Between them, they slapped as much dirt as they could off of Sheppard's body and face and Anderson quickly fit an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. "Beckett insisted on the O2," the Captain explained as Ronon raised an eyebrow at the medical pack and his efforts. "He was having kittens about it, actually, so I promised I'd bring it to keep the doc from coming in himself."

Ronon only grunted in agreement and gathered himself to heave Sheppard up from his slump into a position they could lift him together. A quick yank, and a gentle arm for support, and the Colonel was neatly out from behind the table. As Ronon lowered his head to the ground to reposition, Sheppard twitched and began to groan, working his way back to consciousness. Either the oxygen, or the motion had revived the man, Ronon supposed, and so he waited a moment until Sheppard's eyes opened a crack and focused with difficulty on Ronon's face.

'What…took you…so… long?" Sheppard croaked, flopping a hand onto Ronon's arm and squeezing slightly. Ronon just beamed.

"I thought you wanted a dry cleaner," he grunted.

Sheppard smiled slightly, then nodded, closing his eyes again. Ronon nodded to Anderson who was also grinning and they began to shift positions, planning to drag their burden the rest of the way out of the hole.

A sudden groan and the abrupt hissing of more and more fissures dropping springs of dirt snapped their heads towards the roof. The stressed planks were bowing even more deeply and the edge caught against the end of the table by a row of jagged, rusty nails was pulling it slowly towards the middle of the void, tilting it to an unsteady angle. If the table slipped, the rest of the roof would flatten down on top of it – and anything else down there.

Leaping to his feet, Ronon threw his shoulder against the very top of the table, pressing into the artificial joint and holding the table from tilting any further. "Take Sheppard!" he snarled. "Get him out, then bring me a brace."

Anderson scrambled. He knelt into a crouch, then smoothly yanked Sheppard into a fireman's carry over his shoulder and heaved himself to the hole, carefully angling his shoulders up and through. Together, he and Beckett awkwardly wrestled the man onto the dirt above, and Ronon could hear the creaking footsteps of the doctor on the roof as he dragged Sheppard down the hill to safety.

Ronon's thighs began to tremble as the roof groaned again and the table slipped a terrifying inch. Ronon growled and prevented it from slipping another with brute strength. Then Anderson was back with a long 2 by 4 board from the splintered cot. He drove one end into the increasingly deep layer of dirt on the floor, then wedged the other end next to Ronon's shoulder against the scarred face of the table. It wouldn't hold for long, but it would give Ronon a head start towards the exit.

"Go, now!" he grunted, his shoulders shuddering now, too. "I'll be right…behind you."

For a split second, Ronon saw a flash of concerned defiance cross the loyal Captain's face, but then he nodded crisply. "Yes, sir. I'll get out of your way!" And he bent over to scuttle to the opening, pulling himself up and through with an agile leap. Ronon smiled as the man disappeared; Anderson was Sheppard's man, through and through.

The roof shrieked with weariness, and the table trembled against the pole at Ronon's shoulder. Taking a final, deep preparatory breath – through his nose, so as not to inhale the dust that hung thickly in the air – Ronon suddenly bolted away from the table and ran for the opening, bending low as the roof sagged further and further and more waterfalls of dirt hissed into the void. With a crackling snap, the dry, brittle brace snapped in two and the table fell, just as Ronon launched himself through the hole and landed in a bruising heap on the dirt above.

Sprawled in a filthy heap, Ronon rode the roof down as it settled against the floor in a muffled whoof. A geyser of dust was blown through the exit hole to sprinkle him with stinging bits of debris.

With a low groan, Ronon rolled onto his back and threw his arm over his face. The cool night breeze finally blew the dust away and he rested in its chilly freshness. When he at last threw off the arm and opened his eyes, he was surprised to see half a dozen Marines standing quietly around him.

"Well done sir," Anderson said with heartfelt solemnity. He stuck out his hand, and Ronon took the offer gratefully, pulling himself up to stand on still quivering legs. He felt slaps on his back and shoulders as several of the other men expressed their respect.

"How's Sheppard," Ronon panted, rolling his shoulders to stretch out the tension. The long-forgotten scratches from the long-dead bug stung a bit with the motion. He moved slowly towards the clump of people gathered at the bottom of the now gentle slope.

"He's OK, sir. He's asking about you." The grin on Anderson's face told Ronon the rest. Nevertheless, Ronon still needed to see for himself that his friend was truly well.

He was greeted just as warmly by Teyla and McKay, and it took him a few minutes of nodding and grunting "no problem"s to push his way through the crowd for a glimpse of John.

Sheppard sat on the ground, wearily hunched and leaning heavily on an arm that trailed an IV line. The bag of fluids was slung over Sheppard's shoulder, looking somewhat precarious as Sheppard listed slightly to one side. Dr. Beckett was field dressing the mangled thigh, and Ronon saw ripples of pain shudder through his friend's long frame, although John allowed only an annoyed glare into his expression, and only creative expletives to escape his lips.

Suddenly feeling exhausted himself, Ronon flopped himself in front of Sheppard, and wrapped his arms around crossed legs in a comfortable slouch. Sheppard watched him get settled then grinned. "You OK?"

Ronon nodded slowly, considering the question more seriously than it was intended. He had some things to think about, some new insight into Sheppard and Sheppard's people that he would need to reconcile, but… yeah, "I'm OK." He answered finally. "You OK?"

At that moment, Sheppard winced, sucking in a sharp breath. He glared at Beckett, who was murmuring an insincere apology, before saying sharply, "No. Not really." He paused and nodded at his leg, but Ronon had seen his eyes flick to a nearby bug corpse and knew that he was really thinking about the disturbing realization that he had some lingering connection to the beasts.

Ronon waited and eventually John met his eyes, "But I will be," he added with fierce determination.

Ronon nodded in companionable agreement.

Half an hour later, Ronon sat comfortably sprawled on a rear bench of the dimly lit Jumper, wrapped in a wool blanket and seriously considering a nap, despite the short trip. Sheppard slouched opposite him, equally wrapped up and comfortable, looking like he'd already dozed off. Beckett had banished everyone but McKay and Teyla from the jumper, leaving the rest of the Marines to hoof it back home, and was currently rummaging in his medical kit up front with the other two.

A sudden thought, brought Ronon out of his slouch to lean forward and chew on his lip in agitated contemplation. For a while, he just stared at Sheppard wondering if he should disturb the man and if he was really asleep. Just as he was about to give up and try to find a quiet moment some other time, Sheppard cracked open a sleepy eye.

"What!" he snapped crossly, although Ronon could see that his eyes were amused.

"We wouldn't have made it to the 'gate." Ronon folded his hands together, and spoke the confession as solemnly as if he were laying his life down before a judge. There had been too many on the road; they would have been drawn to Sheppard like moths to a flame; Sheppard would have been unable to avoid them with his injury… You were right my friend.

Sheppard chuckled, then sighed. "You made it to the 'gate," he said, reminding Ronon of what he'd accomplished, and in doing so, shrugging off the implied apology. "You made it to the 'gate. You brought help. Bugs got fried. We're going home." This time when he sighed, it was with satisfaction.

Ronon sighed too, finally able to relax completely. He was beginning to realize that Sheppard prioritized for life. When he took crazy risks, it was balanced with the hope of a bigger payoff and fewer casualties…even his own. "It was still a stupid plan," Ronon muttered sleepily.

"Which? The one that got you to the 'gate, or the one that took out five – I repeat five – damn bugs and held the rest off for over an hour?"

Ronon snorted, "Pick one!" He said.

They were both asleep before the jumper reached the Stargate. Behind them in the East, the first pale blush of morning crept over the horizon and warmed the backs of the sturdy Atlantis Marines as they marched cheerfully towards home.

A/N: I'm truly surprised and gratified at the interest and pleasure in this little ditty. I wasn't sure it was working at the beginning, but I've been pleased with the way it turned out. Thanks for all the encouragement. Let me know what you think! Warm regards...