Written for the LFWS Challenge

Many thanks to the usual suspects Jayne Perry and Ferryman for beta-ing duties. Any left-over mistakes are all mine!


After

"Ronon?"

Sometimes he hated his team. He wished they had let him stay the insufferable self-centered man that he once was, keeping the world at bay with his ego and arrogance, his emotions buried. Never having to worry about a friend.

"Ronon?"

Ronon just stood there, staring at the ground in front of him, his sword in one hand, a knife in the other. Rodney took a step closer, keeping his eyes on the silent man. Not daring to look at the carnage Ronon's sword had done to the bodies scattering the ground around them. Some had been ripped apart by his bullets and not Ronon's sword, he felt bile burn the back of his throat as he thought of the lives he had taken.

"Ronon?" he said again. "You're hurt."

Ronon moved, turning his head towards his arm, looking at the gash that slowly dripped blood. "It's nothing," he dismissed, finally looking up at Rodney. Frowning he moved forward, the sword and knife disappearing in a twirl of wrists. "McKay, your leg," he said, his voice concerned.

Rodney looked down, puzzled, gasping in surprise at seeing a crossbow bolt embedded in his thigh, blood soaking his pant leg. He stared in astonishment, he hadn't felt the bolt hit, had felt no pain. Then suddenly the flush of battle faded and the rush of adrenaline drain out of him, his legs started to wobble, his breathing becoming forced, pain flaring through him as reality hit.

He felt himself being hauled away, towards the shade, away from the dead, pain spiking as something was tightened across his thigh, dark spots threatening his vision.

"Stay with me, McKay," he heard Ronon rumble.

"Hurts," he gritted out.

"I know," Ronon said. "Take deep breaths, let 'em out slowly."

Rodney grabbed for Ronon's shoulders, a terrifying thought suddenly hitting him. "You're not going to pull it out, are you?" he gasped.

"Barbed," Ronon replied. "Can't push it through either, hit the bone," he explained.

Rodney looked down as Ronon finished bandaging his leg, stabilizing the bolt, his thigh a constant agony of pain.

"Come on," Ronon said, hauling Rodney to his feet, a hand gripping his vest, taking most of his weight. "Got to get you back to Atlantis."

Rodney was startled to see worry flicker across Ronon's face. Maybe having friends worked both ways, you worried about them and they worried about you.