SGA Fic - No such Thing as a Lone Wolf

[kriadydragon]

Title: No Such Thing as a Lone Wolf
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Ronon, Sheppard, Rodney, Teyla, some OCs
Warnings: Violence, language, spider-like creatures
Summary: Wrongfully imprisoned, team Sheppard is forced to rely on a gang of convicts to escape a hostile planet, and Sheppard is hiding something. Ronon POV. Beta'd by the lovely linziday . Written for obsessed1o1 for the sheppard_hc Secret Santa. Prompt at the end.

No Such Thing as a Lone Wolf

There had once been a time during Ronon's years as a runner when he hadn't run alone. It had been some time during the first year, when he was still stupid to the concept of being hunted and barely hanging on by a thread. He'd found Gelyle, a Runner of ten years (although, technically, Gelyle had found him: hardly able to stand and delirious from near-starvation). Gelyle had fed him, showed him the best places to hide, taught him how to use the tracker against the wraith by luring them into traps, and taught him that the only person Ronon had to rely on was Ronon.

Then Gelyle abandoned him. And that was okay. People are baggage, Gelyle had said. They're extra weight, and when extra weight is slowing you down you shed it. Don't rely on others and don't let others rely on you. Otherwise, you don't survive.

Were Gelyle here, he'd be laughing at Ronon. Either that or kicking his ass for not listening. Seven years surviving with a tracking device in his neck, then comes a year of freedom and he's caught. Yes, his captors were human, but being captured was being captured, denting Ronon's once perfect survival record. Adding another dent to it was his inability to escape - the locks in this place were electronic, covered in some kind of metal and impossible to sabotage unless you were McKay... with a computer, McKay kept adding every time Ronon glared at him.

It was kind of ironic. The prison was state of the art, McKay had said, and yet all that state of the art crap was mocked by the fact that it had been built in a mountain. Nothing fancy, not even close, except for the doors that kept them from vital areas and, oh yeah, escape. It was, as Sheppard had put it, a little Thunder Dome meets James Bond. Ronon thought it more Chronicles of Riddick and Resident Evil minus the zombies. Either way, it wasn't a place they were going to bust out of soon, not without help.

Help, however, would be currently clueless to their where abouts. The team had stepped through the ring into a place called Candera. Rumor had it that the Canderans were advanced. The definition of advanced varied widely depending on each gossip's personal definition, but Atlantis not being one to snub possibilities, decided to check it out.

Two minutes later on the other side of the ring and they were arrested for trespassing. For once, Ronon had agreed with McKay's whining. Trespassing, on property with no trespassing signs, no warnings of any kind to “keep off” anywhere. Just grassy fields dotted by trees for as far as the eye could see, and a security detail eagerly waiting to arrest any new comers. The team was hustled right back through the 'gate to another world, transported by some kind of tank-like truck to the prison. That had been a day and a half ago.

Today, about two hours ago (or what felt like two hours to Ronon) Sheppard had been dragged away, each team member pulled from the yard and locked in separate cells in order to keep them from causing trouble during the process. McKay had demanded, high-pitched but redundant, what the hell was going on.

It was obvious what was going on. You don't drag people away and lock up their friends for tea and biscuits. Sheppard was being interrogated, which meant he was being tortured.

Ronon, stretched out on the rough rock shelf serving as a bed, hands resting behind his head, clenched his fists in his hair. Exude an air of nonchalance so that when they came for him, they'd let their guard down. But it was hard, alone with only his thoughts, those thoughts hell bent on imagining every possible torture Sheppard might be going through, and how Ronon had been unable to stop it.

Gelyle would have shrugged and said “Oh well, that's what happens when people rely on each other.” But to hell with him. Sheppard had saved Ronon's ass dozens of times without giving a damn about survival, and Ronon had been helpless to do the same for him.

Ronon's lip quivered. The second the moment presented itself, Ronon was ripping every one of these bastard's heads off.

“Evening, there, bright eyes.”

Starting with the bastard currently leaning against the bars of his cell.

“Haver, unless you've got a death wish, I'd suggest you get the hell away from me,” Ronon growled.

Haver scratched the curled hair of his blond beard idly. He was a fellow prisoner, dressed in the homespun cloth and leathers of someone who had taken nonconformity to illegal levels. Talk had it that he was a renegade, a terrorist, part of a group who felt themselves the better option for governing their world. They would raid the weapons factories the Canderans protected jealously (so jealously they arrested anyone who came too close - close being within thirty miles. The 'gate, as it turned out, had been within thirty miles of a factory), then blow the factories to hell.

So, technically, one could say it was Haver's fault the team had been arrested and Sheppard was being tortured. But that wasn't why Ronon hated the guy.

“Ronon, Ronon, Ronon,” Haver sighed. “I'm not your enemy. If anything I'd be your future friend if you'd let it happen. There's safety in numbers, but your numbers are dwindling.”

“He's not dead yet,” Ronon stated.

“Yeah, well, unless he says what they want to hear he will be. The offer still stands; your buddy dies, my clan'll take you in. It's the deal of a lifetime, Ronon old boy. Trust me. It's either me, Fezzie or Gloke's group. Fezzie's clan are back stabbers, Gloke's group'll take that pretty little girl of yours eventually whether she can handle herself or not. We're your best bet.”

Ronon said nothing, drilling invisible holes in the ceiling with his gaze.

Haver clucked his tongue. “You'd better think long and hard on it while you still can. This offer won't last long.” He then sauntered away.

Haver was an ass because he acted like an ass. But the reason Ronon hated him transcended that.

Haver was the truth of this place.

The guards didn't give a damn what the prisoners did as long as the prisoners stayed prisoners. Food was provided, scraps of raggedy clothes to keep everyone happy and that was it. The result was a societal vacuum of chaos disguised as order, but still chaos. Not everyone here was a violent offender, but it was either team up with the offenders or die.

Been there, done that, got a scrawny little brainiac who still skittered around bugging the hell out of McKay for the effort. Only this time, there were guards, and the guards were paranoid over the safety of their precious weapons factories. If the factories were the reason you were captured, that made you of “special” interest. Offworlder - twice the interest. But they ignored you when you allied yourself to a group.

Ignored wasn't a strong enough word. Avoidance was more like it. The guards may have the weapons and the blue plastic-looking body armor, but they were afraid of their charges. Ronon could see it in their stance, their tension, even with their eyes hidden behind tinted helmets.

Like Haver said, pick a side or die.

Ronon turned his head enough for a brief look outside his cell into the immeasurable well that was the prison - like a hole that had been drilled into the mountain with a giant corkscrew, it spiraled up and up into the darkness, with barred cells following the narrow path, a rusting rail the only thing between you and a drop to your death. He could almost see a corner of Teyla's cell two cells away, and McKay's the same distance to the right. They had bruised their shoulders trying to press as much as possible into the bars just to see each other.

The cave echoed endlessly with voices: shouting, laughing, screaming - an eternal hum of noise that made Ronon's ears ring. Lights bolted into the rock provided a pathetic amount of illumination.

An alarm wailed like a dying machine. Prisoners moved like slugs to the nearest cells, because it was get locked up or shot when evening came. Once everyone was in, the bars slid shut with a clang and the lights dimmed to a jaundiced yellow. The hum of voices didn't stop, but it was tolerable. Ronon closed his eyes, clutching his hair until his head ached, only to clutch harder.

-----------------------

“Ronon. Hey, Ronon!” a familiar voice hissed.

Ronon thought for sure he was dreaming, hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep. The voice kept calling and Ronon opened his eyes to make it shut up.

“Ronon!”

Ronon bolted upright. “Sheppard?”

Sheppard was a silhouette against the pitiful lighting, but no one else in this damn place sported hair that short and spiky. Ronon rolled out of bed and two long strides brought him to the bars. Close up and with his eyes more adjusted to the gloom, Ronon was able to discern the details of Sheppard's face right down to an impressive collection of bruises.

“What the hell did they do?” Ronon growled.

“Nothing I didn't do to them right back,” Sheppard said, fitting an uncountable array of small, four-sided keys into the electronic slot on the cell.

Ronon knew how to shed sleep like a wet coat the moment he woke up, his head clear and ready for anything. Be that as it may, it was still a second before it fully hit him as to what was going on.

“You got away,” Ronon stated.

Sheppard grinned. “You do like to state the obvious. Barely got away would be more accurate. Long story, I'll tell you later.” He fit another key into the lock, the lock beeped and the cell slid open. “Finally! Let's move.”

With a feral grin, Ronon followed Sheppard in up the row of cells to Teyla's cage. As soon as Sheppard had the cell open Ronon walked quickly in and shook Teyla awake. She jolted, almost clipping Ronon's chin with her head. A gentle hand to her shoulder and a finger to his lips calmed her down.

“We're leaving,” Ronon said. Teyla didn't question their good fortune, she merely nodded her head and followed, eyes going wide at the sight of Sheppard. It was McKay's turn next, Sheppard opening the door and Ronon going in, making sure to cover McKay's mouth on waking him.

Sure enough, McKay's more frantic return to the real world was full of flails and squeaks of alarm until he finally registered his attacker as Ronon. Ronon didn't give him any time to lodge a complaint, pulling him to his feet then out the cell. McKay let lose another, but wisely subdued, squeak on seeing Sheppard.

“What the hell happened to you?” McKay whispered.

“Interrogation gone wrong,” Sheppard said. “Leave it at that and move out.” He started leading them down the spiraling path passed cell after cell of convicts too deep asleep to give them any trouble. Ronon was behind Sheppard, McKay behind him and Teyla at their six. Questions buzzed like flies in Ronon's head: how did Sheppard escape? How did he get the keys? How was he still alive? But now was not the time - as the Lanteans would say - to look a gift horse in the mouth. However it happened, obviously it wasn't easy, which begged another question: what did it take for Sheppard to get away? Maybe it was just the poor lighting trying to throw Ronon's sight off, but Sheppard was walking a little too stiff for being merely anxious to get the hell out of here.

No time to worry about it, only time to focus on the now. Get out, then assess. Wondering wasted time and worrying blinded you. It was good enough that Sheppard was up and moving, and no one had yet to impeded their escape.

“And just where do you lot think you're going?”

It was also stupid to speak too soon.

Haver stepped from the darkness of the cell right next to Ronon, hands in his pockets and a smile on his face.

“Are you really that desperate to leave our good graces?” He clucked his tongue and slapped his hand over his heart. “I'm wounded to the deep. I might just have to tell the guards about how you aren't sharing with the rest of the class.”

Sheppard joined Ronon to glower at Haver, which only amused the bastard more.

“What do you want, Haver?” Sheppard growled.

Haver blinked in mock surprise. “Sheppard, good friend. And here I was thinking you a pile of broken bones on the trash heap. They decide to give you a few more days to live for good behavior?”

“I didn't really give them a chance to think about it. Now if you don't mind, it's time we moved on.”

“No,” Haver said just as Sheppard started to leave. “It's time to listen. You either take me and my clan along on your little jaunt or I start shouting to wake the entire prison.”

Ronon growled.

Haver ignored him. “Think of it as being in your best interest, Sheppard. I know this world. My boys and I used to come here to scout the place back before we knew it was a prison. You'll need us if you want to make it out alive.”

“You mean alive until we're off the planet so you can stab us the moment our backs are turned,” sneered McKay.

Haver raised both his hands innocently. “I'd never. I've got nothing against your bunch, I just want out of here. I think that a small price to pay for freedom, don't you?”

The tight look on Sheppard's face betrayed just how much he wanted to say no. Instead, he unlocked the cell.

“We don't have time for this,” he said.

Haver stepped smugly out. “Much obliged. Now my clan or else.”

Ronon grabbed him by the throat and pinned him to the rock wall. “Or else nothing if you don't have the voice to scream.”

“Then I'll be his voice,” said the man in the neighboring cell.

Damn rocks and hard places. Sheppard really did have no choice, opening cell doors as they went. Ronon might have grudgingly admired Haver's loyalty for his clan if there had been anything to truly admire. Haver's clan was thirty people strong, the largest of the clans. Going down the path, they only released about sixteen of the members.

This wasn't loyalty, this was Haver making sure he had himself a small army for protection. They went silently enough not to wake the other prisoners save for three who Sheppard also had no choice but to release.

They reached the bottom of the pit, littered with clothes, rotten food and pock-marked with narrow cracks in the ground leading into darkness. They hugged the serrated walls where the shadows were thickest, staying out of sight of any more prisoners who might be awake. With everyone locked up, there were no need for guards on the premises, but they were close by in the upper and lower barracks, just a shout away through rusty metal doors, three in all, embedded in the rock. They passed one of the doors, walking slow heel to toe to minimize sound.

There destination was the fourth door on the other side of the chamber, clean and silver like the door of an Ancestor space ship. They gathered at the door, pressing so close Ronon felt like he was choking on the stench of bodies that hadn't been washed in weeks. He was getting soft like that.

“Hurry up,” McKay hissed.

“I am,” Sheppard hissed back, fitting one key after another into the lock. The group jostled each other, several bumping into Sheppard, making him grunt and fumble with the keys.

Then, finally, the tenth key slipped into the lock, the lock beeped and the door slid open momentarily blinding those at the front with bright light.

“What the--” a guard stammered, but one of Haver's men was on him, slamming an elbow into his face, knocking him out cold, then taking his rifle only to hand it to Haver.

“We're going to need weapons,” Haver said in response to Sheppard's stony expression. Haver checked the clip, then smacked it back into the M16-like rifle. “Believe me.”

“Good to know. And I just happen to know where they keep the weapons,” Sheppard said. He squeezed through, still leading but letting Haver stick close by since he was the man with the gun. They entered a long, wide tunnel heavily illuminated by round overhead lights.

“I saw it when they were escorting me to interrogation,” Sheppard said, pointing at each door they went by, no doubt mentally counting each one. “Kind of an accident we walk passed it just as it opened but like they had any reason to care what I saw.”

Ronon grinned. This was what he liked about working with Sheppard. What Sheppard lacked in hand-to-hand combat skills he made up for in brains and observation skills.

“Here!” Sheppard said. It was another moment as he sought the right key, taking less time now that he had the collection narrowed down. The chamber on the other side was wall to wall rifles and handguns. At the back, where Sheppard made a beeline, was a steel table piled with their gear. Sheppard quickly handed out their stuff while Haver and his cronies loaded themselves up on every gun they could carry.

The better lighting revealed Sheppard's condition more than the crap lighting of the pit. Sheppard's bruises were dark and fresh, one eye nearly swollen shut and a cut on his bottom lip only recently clotted. Again Ronon wondered about the injuries he couldn't see, but also once again, now wasn't the time. He made himself ignore the way Sheppard winced then grimaced as he struggled into his vest, instead silently helping Sheppard out.

“Thanks, buddy,” Sheppard said, breathing heavy.

Ronon nodded once and holstered his blaster.

They slipped out of the gun room after checking that the tunnel was clear. They hurried on past ten more doors before the tunnel ended at a large service elevator, big enough to hold them all and then some, but so big that there was no doubt it was going to make a lot of noise, alerting whoever was guarding topside. The prison went into full lock down during the night - the warden had said so to kill any thoughts of escape.

Sheppard sifted through the keys, the third being the charm.

“You have the master set?” Ronon said with awe. “You took down the warden?” All guards had a collection of keys, but only the warden had the master set that opened everything even during lock down. This had been made common knowledge thanks to the warden's weakness for a good gloat.

Sheppard grimaced. “Yeah, like I said, long story.” The elevator doors moaned slowly open but no one waited for them to widen enough to let them all through. They squeezed in, pushing against each other. Sheppard and team went last and the doors were forced to groan back shut before they had a chance to finish the journey. The ride up, as guessed, was loud, gears grinding and squealing in protest.

“Get ready,” Sheppard said. He leaned in toward Ronon and said under his breath. “Try to get the first shot off, if you know what I mean.”

Ronon nodded and readied his weapon, changing it to stun. Gelyle probably would have laughed at this, too - sparing lives, especially the lives of those looking to hurt you. There were times it frustrated Ronon, but there were also times he got it. Too much death did things to you after a while, like leaving a taint. You moved on, learned to live with it, understood the need for it. But those times when you could avoid it, spare a life instead of take it, seemed to take some of that taint away.

Something Ronon hadn't really noticed until working with Sheppard. Sometimes you didn't have to kill, and it was better when you didn't.

Several long minutes later the elevator shuddered to a halt. The doors groaned open, just an inch, enough to show Ronon the flash of light off of plastic-looking body army. He let off two shots when there was space enough through the gap, and heard the satisfying crumple of two bodies hitting the floor. The rest of the tunnel remained empty.

“Is it just me or is this proving to be a little too easy?” McKay muttered.

An alarm shrieked, the lights winking out to be replaced by flashing yellow ones. Sheppard and Ronon glared at McKay.

McKay glared back. “What? Not my fault!"

“Move it!” Sheppard shouted. They ran up the corridor, keeping close to the walls. A small squadron of four met them coming the other way, rifles raised. Bullets and Ronon's stunner filled the tunnel, ricocheting off the walls and metal doors. Two of Haver's goons went down while a third was winged, but their numbers were too much for the guards who all inevitably dropped.

They met no further resistance in the hall. They reached the door at the end of the hall that took them into a massive hanger a maze of crates and tank-like vehicles, ample cover against those guarding the place. Bullets were exchanged, chipping at the crates or bouncing off the tanks, not one hitting the intended targets. Haver, his people, Teyla and McKay laid cover fire while Ronon watched Sheppard's back while he figured out which key to use.

“Got it!” Sheppard shouted above the chaos after the second try. The door slid open buffeting them with dry, cold, gritty wind. They piled out at a mad dash into a narrow canyon curving like a ribbon and eroded glass smooth by water that was long gone.

“Follow me!” Haver said, taking the lead. Sheppard let him. There was no stopping as they followed the only course through the winding, striated rock varying shades of black, white, red, brown and tan under the moonlight. Now they were in a real maze, darting down turns and forks in the road without a moments pause to figure out where the hell they were supposed to go.

Ronon didn't know how long they'd been running: seconds, minutes, hours. Long enough for each of them to start flagging, Sheppard and the wounded guy especially. They slowed from a run to a trot, then from a trot to a walk until they came to an overhang of rock blotting out most of the starry sky.

“We rest here,” Haver said. “But not long. The path we're taking will bring us to the ring in a day's time, so let's not make that longer by dawdling. We've no supplies, and believe me when I say you don't want what this land offers.”

Everyone nodded and murmured in nervous agreement.

“Oh, just great,” McKay moaned miserably.

“Relax,” Sheppard whispered to him breathlessly. “We've got our gear. Powerbars, remember?”

“And our canteens still have water,” said Teyla, holding up hers.

“Yes, all well and good until Mr. 'let's share with the class' and his buddies find out,” McKay said, his eyes darting to what remained of Haver's clan.

“Then we make sure they don't find out,” Sheppard said. He sounded tired, more than just winded from the run. He dragged his feet to the back of the “cave” and eased himself to the floor with a pained grunt. Teyla followed to crouch beside him.

“John, are you all right?” she asked, placing her hand on his shoulder. With the overhang shading them from the planet's moon (or moons, Ronon couldn't tell) it was impossible to see each other's faces, but not to miss Sheppard shaking his head.

“I'm good. Just sore.” He rolled his shoulder. “Interrogations are a bitch like that.”

“So are impossible escapes,” McKay chimed in. “How the hell did you even managed it?”

“Misdirection,” Sheppard said. “After the first couple of hits I pretended to start sobbing, then pretended to pass out. I acted the moment they untied me. There were only four of them - two guards, the guy beating me and the warden.” He chuffed. “You would've loved it, Chewie. All that sparring actually paid off.”

“Yeah,” Ronon said, sitting himself next to Sheppard. “That or these guys rely too much on weapons instead of hand-to-hand.”

He couldn't see it, but Ronon knew Sheppard was giving him a withering look. “Gee. Thanks.”

Ronon smirked and clapped him on the shoulder. Sheppard sucked in a pain breath.

The crack of a gun made them jump and scrabble to their feet, Sheppard bumping into Ronon in the process. They hurried over to Haver's group and Haver standing over the heap of a dead body.

Ronon recognized the guy, his eyes adjusted enough to see the through-and-through wound in his shoulder, with another now in his forehead.

“What the hell, Haver?” Sheppard barked.

“Live with it,” Haver replied easily, shoving his gun into the waistband of his pants at his back. “Can't afford to lug the wounded around. They'll slow us and attract predators. Time to move out, children.” With that, he started walking away, the rest of his clan following nervously.

Sheppard lingered, staring at the body. Ronon couldn't see his face, but he didn't need to.

--------------------------

Morning hadn't been that far off. It slipped over them like diluted ink, black easing into angry red that made the few strips of clouds bloody and dark. It was only after the sun rose that they slowed down, creeping carefully through the narrow passages between the high walls of rocks. Haver's group was tense, always searching and listening, barely making any sound.

As much as Ronon hated to admit it, it probably wasn't a bad thing after all that Sheppard had set them free. Maybe they'd lost the guards in this maze, but there were still predators and tricky terrain. Even worse to admit, Haver did seem to know where he was going. And as long as that was the case, it was one less thing to think about.

Half of Ronon's focus was currently being monopolized by Sheppard. The run followed by the endless walk was taking its toll, but there was something about Sheppard's flagging energy that was bugging Ronon. Sheppard's shoulder's were sagging but he was anything but limp. There was tension, a lot of tension, that Ronon was close enough to see it send periodic and almost imperceptible shivers through Sheppard's back and cording his neck. Something was wrong, something more than their situation.

Haver's clan didn't start to relax and let up their guard until the passage widened. It eventually opened up into a kind of round amphitheater with even more pathways to choose from - about eight in all at various points on the compass. Rocks jutted from the ground like clusters of teeth that would provide excellent cover should they be attacked.

“All right, then, children,” Haver said, speaking low but his voice carrying far. “Break time. Not a long one so don't get comfortable and don't wander from this area. That is, unless you want to die.”

“So what is it exactly we're supposed to be so afraid of?” McKay challenged.

Haver's smirk was humorless as he rested his rifle against his shoulder. “You'll know it when you see it, but by then you'll be dead.”

McKay balked. “A 'you don't want to know' would've sufficed.”

The rock clusters also provided cover for more personal matters and the sounds of urine slapping the stony ground echoed all around them. Ronon took care of his own body's business - not that he needed to, conserving the little water he had - then wandered around checking on the others. McKay was with Teyla, both behind a cluster and sharing a Power Bar between them.

Sheppard Ronon located by following his grunts and hisses of what sounded like pain. He rounded a wall of the tooth-like rocks, hoping to catch Sheppard by surprise.

Sheppard had either been faster or finished doing whatever it was making him groan. He was leaning against the rocks, his face pale and clammy and his eyes glassy. He still managed a crooked, if weak, smile.

“Hey, buddy. Just... taking advantage of the respite.”

Ronon folded his arms, radiating just how much he didn't believe that, and for Sheppard to cut the crap.

Sheppard's smile crumbled. “I'm fine. Getting the crap beat out of you tends to leave you a little more winded than usual.”

“Show me,” Ronon said.

“There's nothing--”

“Show. Me.”

Normally, this would have been the point where Sheppard fought, his stubborn resolve solidifying like cooled metal backed by the chain of command that would have him pulling rank and ordering Ronon to back off. And Ronon would back off, bide his time until Sheppard was no longer in a position to be able to refuse. Sheppard wasn't an idiot, and wasn't stubborn for the sake of stubborn. But it was difficult, sometimes, knowing when to give in and when to hold out, not being able to realize when your own best interest was just as important as everyone else's. Sheppard only went stubborn like this when he thought he was doing what was best for his team.

So it said a lot when Sheppard's expression collapsed, taking his resolve with it. It actually scared Ronon. Sheppard turned, slipping out of his open vest that he let drop to the ground and presenting his back to Ronon.

Ronon lifted Sheppard's jacket and both his shirts, and widened his eyes.

“So I kind of... sort of... may have left a few minor details out,” Sheppard rasped.

Five cuts marked Sheppard's back, some the length of a hand, some longer, one extending from shoulder blade to the bottom of his ribcage, parallel to the spine, and none of them remotely shallow. Yet neither were they bleeding, not profusely. They oozed thin rivulets of a yellowish liquid, the skin around the cuts bruised, raw, and branching out with thin red veins of contamination.

“I was on a table,” Sheppard said tightly. “They kept dipping this knife into this stuff, wouldn't say what it was, only that it wouldn't kill me. I thought it was to cauterize the wounds, keep me from bleeding out. Except it still burns like a bitch.” Then he pulled away, facing Ronon as he adjusted his shirts back around his body, the act making him cringe and bite his lip to keep from moaning. For such a simple action, it drained him considerably, dropping his shoulder against the rocks.

“You can't tell the others.” Sheppard gasped, huddling in his jacket. It was then Ronon realized Sheppard wasn't only in pain, he was freezing.

“Why the hell not?” Ronon hissed. “They need to know.”

But Sheppard shook his head. “Rodney'll just panic and Teyla'll want to have a look, try to fix it. They don't need to know, okay? And if Haver finds out--”

Ronon's fist tightened until it shook. “We won't let him do anything.”

“Yeah, that's kind of the problem. He outnumbers us, big guy. You try and stop him then we're all dead. Don't get me wrong, I really wanna live, but not if it means you guys going down with me. So mums the word.”

“Huh?”

“The less everyone knows the better. You weren't even supposed to know... but...” Sheppard went quiet for a moment, biting his lip. It wasn't often Sheppard betrayed blatant fear but the look on his face was pretty damn close.

“It's getting bad,” Sheppard admitted, an edge to his voice. “And I'm... probably gonna need some help.”

“Pause time is over! Move it on or get left behind!” Haver called.

Ronon looked at Sheppard, Sheppard at Ronon. Ronon gave him a curt nod. He didn't like this, but he got it. Better to keep quiet than to chance Haver getting wind that something was up, and to keep from giving McKay and Teyla another reason to worry. They could be pissed about it as soon as they were home safe.

Ronon helped Sheppard back into his vest. They stepped out from around their hiding place, Sheppard forcing himself to walk tall and casual, Ronon sticking close by. It was impressive how Sheppard managed to dismiss the pain enough to act normal, but Ronon couldn't begin to imagine the toll it must be taking on him. Even cold, sweat still trickled down Sheppard's temple.

They took the path on the north-west side (or what felt like north-west) of the area. Vigilance snapped back into place as they crept along, keeping close to the wall. In some places the way was wide enough to let them walk side by side, while in others they were forced to move single file. Ronon kept so close to Sheppard he could hear his teeth chattering from the chills and see his shivers.

Ronon couldn't get the image of Sheppard's mutilated back out of his mind. He wasn't a man to regret, but he wished they had taken the time to at least try to clean the cuts. Myabe it would have bought Sheppard more time, maybe not, but it would have been better than doing nothing.

Unless cleaning would have made it worse.

Ronon frowned thoughtfully. Who the hell uses a toxin - lethal or otherwise - that took its sweet time causing pain? Or maybe it had been to cauterize, with the bonus of a little added discomfort as the interrogation dragged on, increasing minute by minute. Back on Sateda rumor had run rampant of interrogation sessions that would go on for days. Specialists who knew people who knew people who worked in the prisons talked of Wraith worshipers walking in on their own two feet then two days later were dragged away bleeding, stinking of burned flesh and barely alive.

More beads of sweat ran down Sheppard's face and neck, vanishing beneath his collar. His throat was in constant motion, Adam's apple bobbing, muscles knotting. Wrong as it felt to say, it was a good thing Sheppard's face was so bruised, hiding most of the blanched coloring of his face.

But it was the smell coming from Sheppard that was adding to Ronon's unease. A sour stink, like rotten fruit with a little rotten meat thrown in. Try as he might not to think about it, Ronon thought about it, wondering if it was the chemical he was smelling or if Sheppard's wound was going septic.

He wanted to ask so badly it hurt how Sheppard was holding up, but the pains Haver's clan was taking to keep noise to a minimum said how much of a bad idea that would be.

They came to a crossroads of a kind, with five different paths to choose from. Haver held his hand up in the air to halt them. It was a wide enough area for them to gather close and form a defensive circle. Ronon and Sheppard managed to squeeze themselves close enough to see Haver studying the path directly in front of them. There was no indecision on his face - Haver knew exactly where he was going - but his expression was intensely focused, as though there was something there only he could see.

Ronon stared at their destination intently. There was something different about it. The walls, they were... pebbled was the only way Ronon could think to describe it. Where as every other path continued on with river-smoothed walls, the way ahead was textured by flat bubbles of stone about as large as a man's splayed hand.

“Do you see that?” Ronon whispered in Sheppard's ear.

Sheppard blinked as though waking up and wiped sweat from his brow. “Huh?”

“The walls. Look at the walls.”

“Wha...? Oh.”

Ronon gave Sheppard a reassuring clap on the shoulder, making him jump in alarm.

“What are we waiting for?” one of Haver's men demanded, a tall gangly guy, all arms and legs with long ratty hair and a pinched face. “Haver, let's just go.”

“Not yet,” Haver said calmly. “Gotta time this right. When I give the word, all those at the front fire into the passage - short bursts. Don't waste ammo. Then we all run. Got it? You run like you've got a Wraith on your end.”

Everyone nodded and murmured their assent.

“You got that offworlders?” Haver said loud enough for Sheppard's team to hear.

Sheppard cleared his throat and replied with a hoarse, “Yeah.”

“Good. We may make it out alive just yet. Ready?”

The people at the forefront aimed.

“Fire!”

They let lose a short volley, the explosion of rifles and pinging bullets deafening in the small space. High-pitched shrieking added to the ear-stabbing torment. Then the walls began to move. The bubbles of stone shivered then hopped up unfolding ate spiny legs from underneath. They skittered in a wave up and over the lip of the canyon, clamoring over each other in their mad desperation to get away.

“Move it!” Haver yelled. They ran into the passage. Sheppard stumbled with a gasp, almost falling if Ronon hadn't caught his arm and hauled him forward.

“They're gone!” called tall guy. “Why are we still running!”

There was a shriek louder than the previous wailing. A rock-spider the size of a large earth dog leaped from the top of the canyon wall onto tall guy and he went down with a scream, cut off abruptly when the spider's dripping fangs sank into his back. Haver's clan freaked, firing at the thing. The bullets bounced off the hard round shell but the thing only panicked, screaming and scuttling back up the wall, leaving it's prey behind.

“That's why!” Haver snarled. “Keep going!”

More adult spiders scurried up and down the rock face, a few of the more daring ones taking a leap at them. But the constant gunfire and people ducking too quickly kept the spiders confused and spooked. Hunger warred with self-preservation in the things, giving the humans the advantage.

An obsidian dark spider landed on a woman, never giving her the chance to cry out. It managed to drag her away despite the noise and the bullets. A copper spider took one of the men. Hunger was winning out.

A tan and cream spider landed directly on top of Sheppard. With a cry of rage and fear Ronon fired at the thing over and over. The spider reared up with a shrill cry like the squeal of a swamp boar. It scuttled backward, ignoring Ronon even when he kicked at it to get it away from him. As soon as it was back up the wall Ronon ran to Sheppard, checking him for punctures in his clothes. Finding none, he yanked Sheppard to his feet and kept him upright as they ran.

“McKay, Teyla!” Ronon hollered, unable to see his team mates in the chaos.

“Here!” came Teyla's voice from somewhere ahead. “We're here!”

Sheppard stumbled. Ronon tightened his hold on his arm. He felt more than heard Sheppard's grunts of agony as vibrations that traveled all the way through his limbs, felt his shuddering and rock-hard tension. But the constant attacks wouldn't let him look at Sheppard. The spiders kept jumping, kept trying, and one managed to drag one more person off up and over the lip of the wall.

Then their group dashed out of the passage into open space, another amphitheater larger than the last, with few rocks to hide behind. The group gathered in the center, huddling close with their weapons pointed out but Haver off to the side doubled over with his hands on his knees, catching his breath.

When he straightened, it was with a crooked smile on his flushed face.

“Woo! Now that's what I call an escape. No worries here, children. Those rock spiders don't like open spaces. Too loud for their sensitive little ears.”

“What were those things?” someone bawled. Haver went over and cuffed the guy on the back of the head.

“Told you. Rock spiders. I've dealt with them plenty. Keep running, make a lot of noise, they mostly leave you be. Guess they have a weakness for large packs. But they won't come into the open spaces.” He pointed back the way they came. “Look.”

Sure enough the spiders scurried just within the entrance as though some unseen barrier wouldn't let them through. Haver stepped around the group and fired a few quick shots at the bugs, sending them scattering topside.

“Take note should you ever find yourself back on this world,” Haver said, swinging his rifle up against his shoulder. “The majority of wild things are blind. Their hearing is their strength as well as their weakness, and these open spaces have excellent acoustics. Get to an open space, make a lot of noise, and the spiders give up. Why go deaf when there's less noisy prey out there, am I right?” Haver finished, elbowing McKay.

McKay sidled away, joining with Ronon and Sheppard, Teyla doing the same on their other side.

“We'll need to wait a bit but. . . . ” he trailed off when his gaze landed on Sheppard.

Ronon finally looked at Sheppard sagging in his hand, his breaths loud and rasping as though he were congested, and the parts of his face not bruised were so white he was practically glowing. No longer was he shivering but all out trembling. Sweat slicking his skin.

Glaring, Haver strode quickly over to them, stopping short in the face of Ronon's gun. Haver's people aimed at them, Teyla and McKay aiming back, McKay's gaze flicking fast between Sheppard and all those rifles pointed his way.

“He's hurt.” Haver said it like an accusation.

Sheppard was becoming a dead weight, fighting to stand and add his P-90 to their pathetic defense but failing fast. Ronon slowly, carefully, without taking his eyes off Haver, lowered Sheppard to the ground.

“Yeah he's hurt,” Ronon spat. “He had the hell beat out of him then one of those damn spiders landed on him. You got a problem with that, you take it up with me.”

Haver's eyes narrowed. “A spider got him? How is he still alive? The venom acts instantly. They should have dragged him off.”

“Didn't bite him,” Ronon gritted out.

“How? Why?” Haver demanded. “What's wrong with him? It's more that just being smacked around because no way does a spider leave its prey alive. Show me.”

Ronon gathered Sheppard to him as he tried to push him behind. Haver swung his rifle into his hands.

“Do it or you're dead.”

“W-we do it and he's dead,” McKay stammered, but Ronon admired his audacity in the face of so much fire power.

“Guys,” Sheppard breathed, barely above a whisper. “Kind of... moot point now. Just... show him.”

Letting loose a low growl, Ronon switched his blaster to his other hand to help Sheppard get out of his vest, lift up his shirts and turn him enough to let Haver see.

Teyla gasped, McKay paled, his face twisting in disgust, but Haver merely arched an eyebrow. Sheppard's wounds were dripping yellow fluid that was staining the skin of his back. The stench was even worse, as though lifting Sheppard's shirts had released it in full.

Haver crouched for a closer look, but not too close with Ronon's gun steady even in his left hand.

“I know this,” Haver said, scratching his jaw and nodding. “Xaver juice. Good for making people honest. You got something you ever wanted to ask him, ask him now. He's good and out of it enough not to lie. Except they usually inject this stuff right into the blood. Never heard of them doing it the hard way.”

“Why did they?” Ronon asked. Sheppard was a bad influence on him like that, making him think to gather information instead of just shoot first, no matter how bad the situation.

Haver looked at Ronon, his smile grim. “They like to experiment. By the looks of your boy, here, I take it there's more to the juice when applied by... other means.”

“Burns,” Sheppard slurred.

Haver gestured at him. “There you go. Good news is, it won't kill him but I suppose you already know that. The warden likes to make sure people get that through their thick heads. Bad news is, your boy's a dead weight. He'll slow you down. You're better off putting him out of his misery and leaving him here. But I get the feeling that you refuse to see that as an option so, if you want,” Haver pulled his hand-held gun out from behind him and pointed it at Sheppard. “I could do it for you, save you the trouble.”

“Not if you want to live,” Ronon snarled.

Haver clucked his tongue. “Oh, not gonna happen, big man.” He swept his hand at what was left of his clan. “I would think that obvious.”

“W-wait, wait, just... just hold up,” McKay said when the sound of guns cocking echoed through the space. “Wait a second. You don't have to do this. I mean, he's our guy, not yours so it's not like he's going to slow you down. And... and... and... Ronon's strong enough to carry him and...” Then he brightened, snapping his fingers rapidly, and Ronon had never been so glad to see that look on McKay's face or hear that sound as he was now.

McKay pointed at Sheppard, his other hand's hold on his nine-mil suddenly a lot more steady. “The spiders left him alone; they knew something was wrong. But how? How did they know if they can't see? Well, my money's on the smell because whatever that juice crap is, it stinks. That makes Sheppard immune to them. And now that the smell is even stronger--”

“The scent will carry,” Teyla finished, since it was obvious where McKay was going with this. “If we were to position John upwind, the scent would carry.”

“Namely, carry to the rest of us,” said McKay. “Keeping the spiders away--”

“And us safe.”

Ronon's lip twitched, wanting very much to smirk. It was morbid, disturbing...

And it just might work.

Ronon felt Sheppard's body convulse, and realized he was laughing.

Haver gnawed his lip as he considered this.

“It'll only get worse,” he said. “Headaches, nausea. Hope you're willing to get that nice coat of yours dirty.”

“Don't care,” Ronon said.

“Try to puke on you... n'stead of him,” Sheppard slurred.

Haver chuffed dryly, then wagged a finger at them. “You... you lot are good. Pity we didn't have time to make you part of the clan. Fine. You win. Make it happen.”

Ronon felt a fourth of his tension leak out of him, letting him ease off the death grip on his gun.

“McKay, Teyla. Get him on my back,” he said.

“Should we not clean the wounds, first?” Teyla asked, wan with worry, but she set about helping McKay move Sheppard onto Ronon's back.

“And why the hell didn't you tell us you were hurt?” McKay grunted as he maneuvered Sheppard.

“Not if we want the smell,” said Ronon. “It may make the pain worse, and will talk about this when we're home - alive.”

“Good point,” McKay said.

Ronon holstered his weapon then slipped his arms under Sheppard's legs. Sheppard wasn't so out of it that he couldn't hang on, and wrapped his arms loosely around Ronon's neck.

“What happens in Vegas--” Sheppard said.

Ronon grinned. “Yeah, this never happened.” He took the lead, Haver adjacent only a foot behind him to give directions, and McKay and Teyla directly behind in case Sheppard started to slip. Once back in the passage they could hear the click of spider legs and clatter of loose pebbles tumbling down the wall. The spiders were following, some being so bold as to take a peek over the wall, but not one dared to make an attack.

“How much farther?” Ronon asked.

Haver glanced up at the red sky. “Not long. Days are short, here, and we're heading into midday. We had a good start. Definitely not long.”

Not long felt like an eternity, in which Sheppard's grunts of discomfort escalated to moans. Then he was puking, as promised keeping it in the general direction of Haver who had to skip out of the way or get splashed.

“Nasty brute much, Sheppard?” Haver sneered.

Then, finally, the end of their current situation, giving way to an entirely new situation all together. The passageway turned, widening, then ending at the largest of all open spaces with multiple pathways of various width to choose from. And dominating the center, the 'gate.

Guarding the 'gate, two hulking tank-trucks and about thirty guards crawling all over the place like armed insects. The group had to quickly back peddle before being spotted.

“Why didn't you warn us!” Ronon hissed.

“Only revenge I had for your boy puking on me. No worries, though. It's only thirty, we can take 'em.”

“And get slaughtered in the process,” McKay whimpered.

Haver clapped his shoulder. “Hey, if some of us make it, McKay.”

“You're sadistic.”

Haver smiled wickedly.

“No,” Sheppard grunted. He gulped audibly, fighting another onslaught of heaves. “Gotta... be a... better way.”

Ronon studied the area carefully: the men, the tankers, the mens' reverberating footfalls and the machines rumbling making his ears ring. Above them, the spiders scratched and skittered.

“I've got an idea,” he said. “Everyone start backing up, around the turn. Now.”

“Care to share your little idea?” Haver asked even as they all did as Ronon said.

“No,” Ronon said. He grinned at Haver's icy look. “Revenge for not warning us about the protection detail.”

Sheppard snorted and chuckled softly.

Once they were around the bend, Ronon slipped Sheppard off his back with McKay and Teyla's help, freeing him to handle his blaster better.

“Everyone ready?” Ronon said.

“For what?” Haver demanded.

“You'll see. Fire into the air, one quick burst, and start shouting.”

Rifles and P-90s went off joined by everyone yelling nonsense.

“Stop!” Ronon bellowed. He could only hope the noise hadn't gone on for too long. He heard footfalls and shouting pounding their way toward them, closer and closer. Ronon tensed, aiming his blaster, and waved at the others to do the same.

“Don't shoot until I tell you,” he said.

The first wave of guards came around the turn, three of them running side by side with more following behind. They lifted their rifles preparing to fire, making the group behind Ronon shift nervously.

Then the spiders leaped in a rain of shells and limbs. They overtook their prey easily with them distracted by the sight of the escaped prisoners. Soldiers screamed, rifles fired, spiders shrieked. It happened in moments, it seemed, in the time it took to blink or for the heart to beat. The spiders swarmed then scuttled back up to the surface with dinner clutched in their mandibles.

Haver chuckled. “I like the way you think.”

Ronon ignored the comment, staring grimly at the empty path. Necessity or not, it had been a cruel advantage. Gelyle would have laughed and called Ronon soft. Sheppard, Ronon knew, if still lucid enough, would be harboring the exact same feelings.

“There will be some left guarding the ring,” said Haver.

“We can take them,” Ronon said soberly. He had McKay and Teyla carry Sheppard so he wouldn't be a target.

There were only four guards left, twitchy from the screams of the dying echoing their way. Ronon stunned them easily before even stepping out into the open, and the way was clear.

“Well I guess this is where we part,” said Haver, heading straight for the DHD. After dialing, he turned, leaning his hip against the device and smiling. “I don't suppose there's a chance we'll meet again? You bunch were quite useful, even your boy there.”

“Oh, crap, I hope not,” McKay whimpered, sagging dejectedly.

The 'gate burst to life. Haver shrugged. “Oh, well. It's been fun, children.” And with that, he stepped with a flourish through the 'gate, his clan scurrying quickly after.

“It is not often I say this,” Teyla sighed. “But good riddance.”

“Amen,” McKay said.

Sheppard vomited and muttered an apology. It made Ronon smile. Better a puking Sheppard than a dead one.

“Let's get out of here,” He said, and McKay gladly dialed.

-------------------------

“So, explain to us again why Sheppard felt it in our best interest not to let us know he was injured?” McKay asked around a mouthful of meatloaf. It was a late lunch, the mess mostly empty and the noise a gentle hum that was heaven to Ronon's still-ringing ears.

“I told you,” he said around a mouthful of potatoes. “After what Haver did to that one guy, Sheppard didn't want him finding out.”

“And, what, he thought we were going to just rush right over and tell him or something?”

“He also didn't want you guys to worry.”

McKay and Teyla exchanged look. A night and a day of being home hadn't softened the blow that Sheppard had been severely injured, and Sheppard writhing in pain that the usual drugs couldn't alleviate (Carson hadn't wanted to risk mixing medicines with the toxin) seemed to have only made matters worse. Ronon had tried to explain, but he'd never been one for explanations.

Ronon understood why Sheppard had felt the need to do what he did. Problem was, he had no idea how to convey that understanding into words that would make it an easier concept to grasp.

“And what happened?” McKay said. “We worried anyway.”

Ronon closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with a sigh. “McKay. It wouldn't have mattered if he told you. There wasn't anything we could do about it.”

“Yeah, well, it's the principle of the thing. We're his friends, and when a friend gets hurt, that he's been hurt is need to know information. Keeping it from us makes it seem like - like - like he doesn't trust us.”

Which Ronon got, he did. That was the problem with this conversation, you were damned if you did and damned if you didn't.

“It's because he's our friend he didn't say anything,” Ronon tried. “It sucks to worry. It sucks even more when there's not a damn thing you can do about it. You know that.”

“Yes, well--” McKay said, stabbing at his meatloaf. But that he trailed off, either tired of arguing or mulling Ronon's words over, Ronon took as at least a truce.

Teyla, on the other hand, was looking thoughtful and Ronon hoped that between the two of them he could finally eat his lunch in peace.

His comm crackled. “Ronon, Teyla, McKay?”

With a dejected sigh, Ronon tapped the ear piece. “Yeah, doc?”

“You wanted me to let you know when Colonel Sheppard was awake. Well, he's awake....”

Ronon burst from his seat at a fast walk, Teyla and McKay barely able to keep up and Carson's voice left hanging in his ear.

The toxin hadn't been lethal just as the warden and Haver said, but it was still hell on the body. Twice the hell when exposed to air, it seemed. The juice was made from a plant that could be found on several worlds, a couple of specimens currently residing in the botany lab. A number of tests had shown the chemical to be a kind of shape-shifter depending on the chemicals it was combined with. While mixing it with human blood resulted in one composition, exposing it to open air while mixing it with human blood created something slightly different, just enough to produce different results. That it had been administered through open wounds rather than a needle had made it slow acting. The botanists had been all kinds of ecstatic, Carson disturbed and Ronon pissed.

Sheppard was lying on his side, his exposed back to his team as they entered. The wounds had been cleaned and no longer oozed or looked raw, but because they were still sensitive and needed periodic cleaning - and the better drugs still off the table - they had to remain uncovered. It was the only positive about the juice that they had kept the wounds clean and from bleeding freely.

But it was gross to look at, those angry red cuts and dark bruises. The team made their away around the bed to see Sheppard's equally bruised face pain free and his eyes closed, but slowly open when his team gathered around him.

“Hey, guys,” he said, his voice tired and quiet. He stretched carefully. “Wasn't sleeping. Honest.”

“Well it's not like we can blame you if you were,” McKay said, smiling wide.

Teyla, just as happy, took Sheppard's hand and gave it a squeeze. “We are just happy to see you doing much better.”

“I feel better, now that this crap is out of me,” Sheppard said. He then cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Listen, guys. About - about what happened on the planet. I didn't really mean not to tell you about...” he gestured weakly with a limp hand toward his back. “About what was going on. I know I probably should have said something, but it seemed like a good idea at the time--”

“Do not worry about it, Sheppard,” Teyla said.

McKay added. “Not that we're happy about it. It probably could have made things worse if none of us knew. But Ronon found out. And I suppose you knew what you were doing. Or only thought you knew but really you were so out of it you probably couldn't think a straight line. But, yes, don't worry about it.”

Sheppard chuckled quietly. “Yeah, probably something like that.” His eyes fought a losing battle to stay open.

“I suppose we should go to let you get some more rest,” said Teyla. She patted his hand. “Get well.”

McKay pointed at Teyla. “What she said.” He then followed Teyla out. Ronon started to follow them.

“Ronon?”

Ronon stopped and turned back. “Yeah?”

Sheppard waved Ronon over. Ronon closed the distance between then.

“I'm pretty sure I had a good reason for not saying anything,” Sheppard said, his expression unsure and troubled.

“You did,” Ronon assured.

“Thanks for finding out, though. And, you know, for everything. Including that one thing we're not supposed to talk about.”

Ronon smirked. “What thing?”

“Exactly.”

Ronon gripped his shoulder. “Always got your back, Sheppard.”

“Yeah, same here... figuratively speaking.”

Ronon chuckled as he left Sheppard to rest. Gelyle would have shaken his head at the whole exchange. But, then, Gelyle had pretty much been full of crap. People aren't baggage. They aren't dead weight. They're a reason to stay alive, and the reason why Ronon was still alive today. Ronon would carry any one of his team any day, and they would carry him.

That's how you survive.

The End

-----------------

Request: I would like Sheppard hiding an injury from the team. Not because he's being an idiot, but because their lives depend on it. Go crazy! . I like lots of angst and an infirmary scene. Maybe some Ronon/Sheppard commadry as in Ronon knows but helps Sheppard and doesn't tell the others. Offworld please.