Author's Note: This is just a wee bit of silliness written as a response to the Dex-Keller prompt of "not again…" on the lostcityfound community on Live Journal.

Many thanks to those who have read and reviewed my previous two SGA fan fics. I hope you enjoy this one as well.


Healing Hands

Next to the wound, what women make best is the bandage – Jules Barbey d'Aurevilly

Jennifer followed the droplets of blood trailing from the infirmary's entrance to one of the beds.

"Decker," she called to one of her orderlies. "Get someone to clean this up, please."

She didn't slow her stride as she passed a surgical table and grabbed a pair of gloves, sliding them on with an irritated snap. Her patient watched her approach with a raised eyebrow and the ghost of a smile.

"For God's sake, Ronon, not again." Jennifer eyed the dark stain that cut a bloody diagonal across his shirt.

Ronon's shoulders flexed in a careless shrug. "Sorry, Doc. I was fast today. Teyla was faster."

Jennifer shook her head, resigning herself to yet another suturing job on the big Satedan. A small voice whispered inside her head that the only hardship of this particular task was her ability to keep her demeanor professional. If she was honest with herself, she'd admit to the unequaled pleasure she took in being this close, touching him; even if it meant swabbing away blood and sewing up torn skin.

Lying to herself was a refuge, and she sought it eagerly. It helped her maintain an emotional distance so that she didn't blush, or worse, gawk in stupefied admiration each time he removed some article of clothing so she could examine him.

She turned away to sort through the equipment on the instrument tray. "You should know the drill by heart now. Remove your shirt and lie down." She 

distracted herself from the tantalizing whisper of cloth on skin by straightening her tissue forceps, needles and scissors in a precise line on the tray. The gurney squeaked in protest and the thud of shoes hitting the bedding sounded behind her.

When she turned back to him, Ronon was stretched out on the bed, bare to the waist with one arm crooked casually behind his head. He looked as relaxed as if he waited for her to give him a massage instead of treating a wound.

Christ, Jen, get a grip! Annoyed at her unruly thoughts, she scowled at the nasty laceration carving a path from the top of his ribs to the waistband of his pants.

The wound oozed dark blood, jagged edges of split flesh peppered with blood-soaked pieces of lint from his shirt. Her fingers rode the edges of the injury, pressing gently against skin that shivered and tensed beneath her touch.

"Bantos stick?"

"Yep."

The short response caught on a hitch in his breathing, and Jennifer glanced up at the odd sound. His handsome features were drawn into tight lines, lips flattened against his teeth. He stared up at the ceiling as if imploring the mercy of some unseen god.

Concern made her pause in her examination. "Ronon, am I hurting you?" She'd never seen him anything other than stoic or faintly amused when she tended him in previous infirmary visits.

"No." This time his answer was curt instead of breathless.

Puzzled by his mood, she shrugged. "Okay."

She straightened and pulled the tray closer to prepare a salt solution for irrigation. A sigh, tinged with obvious relief, whispered behind her. Jennifer looked over her shoulder again. Ronon still stared at the ceiling. As if sensing her gaze, he gave her a sidelong glance.

"No narcotic," he ordered.

She rolled her eyes. "Ronon, from what I've seen so far, I'm guessing adhesive strips will do in place of sutures, but I still need to irrigate and debride the wound. That's gonna hurt. A mild analgesic will numb the area and lessen the discomfort. "

"No."

She muttered under her breath about Satedans and stubborn males in general. "Fine. However, the second you so much as twitch, I'm administering a local. Understood?"

"You're the doctor."

"Let's try to remember that."

The tip of the wound disappeared beneath his waistband. She needed to see the entire laceration. Intent on starting the procedure, she unbuckled his belt and opened the clasps at his fly in quick succession.

Ronon jerked into a sitting position, jarring the instrument tray and rattling the gurney frame with his sudden movement. Jennifer swallowed a gasp when he clasped her wrist and dragged her hand across his groin to rest against the rise of his hipbone. An enveloping heat, tinged with the scent of desire poured off him with the strength of a blast furnace.

She stared, wide-eyed at her patient. Ronon's nostrils were flared, his pupils so dilated his eyes looked black. She looked down and just as quickly met his gaze once more. She'd have to be an untried nun not to recognize the erection tightening the fabric of his pants or the swell of it against her palm when he pulled her hand across his pelvis. Blood rushed to her cheeks and straight to the now tingling spot between her legs.

His raspy voice was even hoarser. "I've changed my mind, Doc. Give me the analgesic. In fact, double the dosage."