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When the rumbling and shaking finally stop, Ronon hesitates before opening his eyes. He draws a breath and coughs, choking on thick dust. Larger particles are settling now, pattering against his skin like dry rain. The air has a strange, hollow chill to it and carries the musty scent of heaved earth.
There’s another rumble in the distance. Ronon stays flat on his back, tensing in anticipation, but the sound stops instead of traveling. Nothing more comes down. He releases his fingers, feeling sharp-edged rubble fall away from his hands. He shifts his legs, slowly, welcoming the small pain in his left knee as proof he can move and feel. He’s still breathing. Aware. Alive. Lucky.
He opens his eyes and blinks into the hazy gloom. Dust hangs in the air like smoke over the wreckage of Michael’s collapsed compound. Ronon coughs again and sits up carefully, patting the ground, testing for stability. He feels bruised, a little stiff, but otherwise okay. He looks around and can’t even recognize where he is. It’s not a room anymore. There’s no ceiling, but no daylight either. Small fires seem to be burning here and there, but not spreading. At least not yet. Between the dim light and thick dust, he can’t make out more than his immediate surroundings. He doesn’t see Sheppard.
***
Keller is true to her word and Sheppard pulls through surgery without complication. It was serious, which they’d all known: something perforated, something else punctured, and a bunch of other stuff wrong that Ronon doesn’t really want to hear the details of. The important thing is that Sheppard’s going to be okay. Sooner or later.
Ronon goes by the infirmary to visit as often as they’ll let him, and sometimes more than that. Keller tries to give him a stern look, but ultimately shakes her head and lets him go in without much of a fight. Like Beckett before her, she’s given up on rules when it comes to their team.
Teyla is already there when Ronon arrives. She’s standing beside Sheppard’s bed, swaying rhythmically from side to side with Torren John bundled closely in her arms. She’s murmuring something in a soft voice, and whether it’s intended for Sheppard or the baby to hear, Ronon can’t tell, because they both appear to be sleeping soundly.
Teyla looks up when Ronon comes in. There are shadows under her eyes, but she smiles. It’s a new, joyous look she’s worn ever since her son was born, and he feels a little ache of happiness for her whenever he sees it.
“Hey,” he says quietly, not wanting to wake either of the sleepers. “Everything all right?”
“He’s more restful if I keep moving,” Teyla explains with a tired smile, tucking the edge of Torren’s blanket back around his shoulders where he’s wriggled out of it. Then she looks over at Sheppard, but Ronon can’t read the expression on her face. “John is... mending.” She glances back up with a funny, apologetic little smile, like she knows that’s not saying much. Sheppard’s head is turned on the pillow, showing healing cuts and a bruise softening to yellow on his cheekbone.
Ronon knows now that he was wrong, assuming what there was between Teyla and Sheppard to be romantic. It’s not that, he realizes, but it’s something. Maybe like what he feels for Sheppard, himself.
It’s not like things were on Sateda. That was powerful too, but not the same. From a different place. Maybe. He’s not sure. It’s all confusing.
***
Ronon pats around for his radio, but it’s gone. He turns over onto his knees and begins carefully crawling through the rubble, testing the way as he goes. His eyes are burning with dust and smoke, and he still can’t see more than a few feet in any direction. He stops periodically to listen for any sign of Sheppard, or anyone else, but there’s nothing. He tries not to think about what that might mean.
He blinks again and notices something at the edge of his field of vision. There’s a shape interrupting the visual pattern of the wrecked landscape, and even through the haze Ronon’s instincts tell him it’s organic: a body, a person. He moves toward it.
“Sheppard,” he calls quietly, not wanting to make noise that could bring more rubble down on top of them. Drawing closer, he sees he’s right about the shape’s identity. A small pile of wooden debris is burning near enough by to shed a little light in the area. It’s enough illumination for Ronon to see that Sheppard is not moving, is bleeding, his body half hidden under a beam of metal that looks like it came from the ceiling. Ronon scrambles closer, balancing care in his movements against speed in action. He gets his fingers in under Sheppard’s jaw, feels the pulse of life there, and lets out a deeply held breath.
All right. Now to think about getting out.
***
The next time Ronon stops by the infirmary to see Sheppard, McKay is there and they’re locked in a battle of something fast moving on their little handheld game consoles, thumbs flying over the controls and wearing looks of more serious concentration than either of them would probably want to admit.
After watching for a moment, Ronon bites back a grin and leans over McKay’s shoulder.
“Missed one,” he says, pointing at the screen.
“Wha...” McKay startles just as Sheppard lets out a triumphant whoop and yells, “Done!”
“Hey, that’s not fair!” McKay protests, turning in his chair to bat at Ronon’s hand, shooting him a red-faced glare.
“Better watch your blood pressure there, McKay,” Ronon says, continuing to reach past him to snag a handful of grapes out of the fruit basket someone has left on the rolling cart by Sheppard’s bedside. There’s a flowering plant too, and a stuffed version of an Earth creature called a teddy bear someone has dressed in a little black sweater.
“I’m two levels ahead of you anyway, Rodney,” Sheppard points out with a grin, turning his screen around so McKay can view it. Ronon doesn’t care much about these kinds of games, but whatever McKay sees makes him throw up his hands in disgust and set his own device down, muttering that he doesn’t know why he bothers.
Sheppard’s smile settles into an expression of quiet contentment as McKay’s monologue turns to other subjects: the criminal degree to which he’s overworked, the idiocy of bureaucracy, and the lack of chocolate pudding on the dessert menu this week.
From the sounds of McKay, they could be there a while. Ronon snags some more grapes and hunts down a second chair.
***
He knows he needs to try to wake Sheppard up. Needs to assess his injuries. Needs to start thinking of a way to free Sheppard’s body from under that thick beam and find a way out of here. But he can’t seem to get moving. He feels suspended, stuck in time.
“I never had a brother,” he doesn’t say, watching in the flickering light of the fire as a trickle of blood runs down the side of Sheppard’s face.
Sheppard does have a brother. Dave, Ronon remembers, but they’d seemed more like strangers, instead.
Sheppard coughs then, and groans in pain, regaining consciousness. Ronon snaps out of it.
“Hey, buddy.” he says, moving to Sheppard’s side.
***
It’s a full week before Sheppard is cleared to leave the infirmary.
“The only way to make sure he rests is to enforce it,” Keller says, unapologetic, arms crossed against her chest.
But the week finally ends, and Sheppard can’t keep the grin off his face as he gathers up his things, shoving the flowering plant and the stuffed bear at Ronon. He gives one final worried glance over his shoulder—like he thinks Keller might be in pursuit—and they make a break for it.
Sheppard is still favoring his left side, hand pressing below his ribs as they walk down the corridor.
“Wanna spar?” Ronon asks, giving Sheppard an elbow nudge from the right.
“Sure,” Sheppard replies, “I’ll pencil you in right after meditation with Teyla.”
“Excellent.” Ronon nods, making sure not to smile.
***
“I never had a brother,” Ronon doesn’t say. “But if I had, I’d wish he was like you.”
The End