I own nothing. What a spot of bother.
John wandered into the infirmary, curious as to what have put their newest alien there. As far as he could see there wasn’t much, unless McKay had suddenly developed super powers and tried to throw him off something. And really, this was Atlantis, so that wasn’t as improbable as it sounded.
Cue long-suffering sigh.
Ronon was a mess, or as much of mess as you can make of someone who’s six foot six if he’s an inch and built like you’re average top-end-of-the-food-chain-deadly-predator. He had a black eye, his lip was cut in three places, his left arm was in a cast and sling, and they’d had to cut up his trousers to apply numerous ace bandages to his right leg. As well as that, he was covered in multi-coloured bruises and a myriad of small cuts.
“Jesus,” said John, hoisting himself onto the opposite bed.
Ronon grinned, flapped away a muttering nurse and sat up, mimicking John and swinging long legs over the edge of his bed.
His eyes were glistening in a suspiciously excited manner. John vaguely wondered if he was drugged. Must’ve taken a helluva lot of morphine.
“Sheppard,” Ronon said, “have you ever sparred with Teyla and Faith?”
“Occasionally, yes.” He paused. “Holy shit! That’s what did this to you?”
“Yeah,” said Ronon, looking pleased. “It was awesome
“Wait a sec, both
of ‘em? At the same time
Yeah, and this conversation couldn’t be misinterpreted at all
“Dex! They put you through the ringer! You’re lucky they didn’t kill you!”
“I know,” was the answer, along with a faintly euphoric expression. John was suitably disturbed.
“Uh, Ronon, buddy…are you ok?”
“Sheppard, I think I’m in love.”
John wished there was a desk here, so he could face-plant it. Luck to beat all luck, the discovery of Ronon’s masochistic tendencies came after he was allowed to join Sheppard’s team. That just put the tin lid on everything didn’t it?
it did. This was Atlantis, and she wouldn’t have it any other way, the evil cow.AN:
Poor man, he just can't cut a break, can he?