For rhaddict - who needs a reason to believe.


"You ready?" Ronon spun the bantos rod around beside him and angled his head towards her.

Jen chewed her bottom lip. "No." She snorted, the quick shake to her head tickling the ends of her ponytail across her bare shoulders. She wasn't ready, and she probably never would be. But… she took a deep breath, lowered her center of gravity like he'd taught her, moved her own bantos rod away from her side and waited for him to move.

"Relax." He ordered, walking slowly around to her left. "You can't react if you're all tense."

"You're about to hit me with a stick." She muttered, shifting position so she could keep him in front of her. "Of course I'm a little tense."

"If you block it, you won't get hit."

"Well I highly doubt I'll block it so I'm going with Option B."

Ronon snorted. "That's not a very good attitude."

"It's practical…"

Ronon jumped forward and swung, Jen immediately let out a quick shriek and blocked him, the clack of the sticks resounding through the empty gym. He moved right and she quickly countered, then two more successive swings and she blocked both. He swung high, aiming for her left shoulder, and when she stopped his attack he spun and aimed for her right hip.

Jen knew he was aiming for her hip, and she automatically jumped back and to the side. But while she was fully centered on getting out of the way and blocking his swing, she forgot to remember to pay attention to what her feet were doing.

And topping off the whole moment - which she'd later refer to as the "incident" – the door to the hallway opened and in waltzed John Sheppard.

With her body off balance, her arm extended, and the heel of her right foot landing against the side of her left, she caught an edge and stumbled. Her eyes moved from the doorway, to Ronon, to the oncoming bantos rod. Her body subconsciously bent to right itself, while still attempting to hop left to avoid the swing. The awkward motion pitched her forward and placed her directly in Ronon's path.

Ronon checked his swing when she fell forward, but he still connected hard, scraping the end sharply across the swell of her hip.

"Shit!" She landed hard on her knees and rolled onto her uninjured side with a hiss. Lifting her arm to look down at her side, she could already see blood seeping through the hem of her tank top.

She would have moved the material for a better look but she was prevented from seeing anything by four hands – and none of them were hers.

Kneeling at her front, his right hand pinning her shoulder and keeping her on the mat, John used his left to hike the hem of her tank top up and away from the gash. Knees pressing against her backside, Ronon's right hand held her hip steady while his left thumb pulled down the edge of her track pants.

"Nice swing." John glared at Ronon.

"Way to distract her." Ronon glared back.

"Hey…" Jen muttered, trying to lift her upper body off the mat so she could see the damage. Her hip stung like hell.

Both men ignored her protest.

"That's gonna need stitches." John frowned, his fingers brushing the edge of the cut.

"Is not." Ronon growled, and Jen hissed when his fingers prodded the side of her hip, sending a shooting spark of pain down her leg.

"Ow!" She exclaimed, wriggling her arm in between theirs and trying to lift her head. She shoved John's hand off her shoulder and slapped Ronon's fingers away from the wound. Then she slapped John's fingers off the edge of her shirt and yanked Ronon's thumb out of her waist band. Lifting herself up onto her knees, with the added and unnecessary help of two sets of hands, she angled her head and tried to see the damage done. With the blood soaking her waistband she couldn't really determine anything other than the fact that she had about a three inch gash along the side of her hip.

A gash that was most likely going to need stitches.

"Crap." She muttered.

"Come on, Doc. Let's get you to the infirmary." John stood up hooked his arm under her left, while Ronon's fingers tucked firmly around her right. Together they guided her to her feet.

Jen tried to keep looking at her hip, but discovered the angle was almost impossible while she was being sandwiched between the pair of alpha males who were having a heated argument about carrying her.

"I a perfectly capable of walking on my own!" She insisted, yanking her arms away from them both, and limping slowly forward, with both hands clamped firmly against her side. She hissed through her teeth with each movement of her right hip, making it two full steps before Ronon had her up off the ground.

"Ronon…" She frowned, hanging her left arm over his shoulder and out behind him so she didn't drip any blood on his shirt. "Put me down. You're going to get all covered in blood."

His answer was something resembling a disgusted snort.

"I hope that doesn't scar." John jabbed his thumb on the transporter screen, shooting them towards the infirmary.

"It will not scar." Jen muttered, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "Although…" She nodded and angled her head down to where her right hand was still clutching at her side. "Might be kind of cool."

John walked sideways beside them, his scowl deepening as he looked pointedly around at the side and back of her head. "Did you crack your skull when you fell?"

"I did not fall." She snorted disgustedly, then glanced from Ronon to John, not bothering to hide the silly smile. "And I'm just saying that a little scar from sparring is kinda neat."

"Scars are not… neat." Ronon growled as they turned the corner into the infirmary.

"Pot to kettle…" John muttered, waving Marie over as Ronon carried Jen towards an empty bed.

"Party pooper." Jen answered. "I'm just saying… for me to tell people I got it from fighting…"

"We were not fighting!" Ronon exclaimed, lowering her onto the bed.

"Fighting!" Marie rushed around the bed, taking in Jen's blood soaked side with a gasp. "Who was… oh lord, what did you do!" The nurse glared from Ronon to John.

"Hey! I didn't do anything!" John held his hands up in protest.

"Ow!" Jen hissed, when Marie's fingers probed the injury.

"What on Earth were you doing?" Marie exclaimed, not bothering to raise her head from her examination. "Oh, you're going to need stitches."

"Told ya." John frowned, dropping his hands onto his hips, then changed his mind and threaded them across the front of his chest.

Ronon exhaled with a sharp hiss and turned the full force of his glare towards the Colonel.

"Testosterone outside, please." Marie waved them away, and both men stepped away from the bed, eyes on each other.

"Hey!" Jen sat up and pointed between the two of them with a blood smeared finger. "This is no one's fault but my own. Let it go."

John blinked then turned back to Ronon.

Ronon stared at her for a moment before turning to scowl at the Colonel.

Both men disappeared into the hallway.

Jen sighed and flopped back down onto the bed. She looked at Marie. "Better hurry up so you can restock that suture tray. I have a feeling you're about to have two more patients."