A/N: This is my first accomplishment on fanfiction, so I hope it is enjoyed. I think Ronon and Teyla are meant for each other, and I was captivated by the finale, which were the two main factors that inspired me to write this. :)

Disclaimer: I don't own SGA, or the lyrics below. Also, the spoken words are from the episode, not my mind.


Death - a world of pain lies in this world.
Death - is eternal sleep.
Death - is a silent man.
But he conquers everyone.
Every step in life is a step towards death.
Nobody escapes death if he hadn't escaped life.
If there wouldn't be death, nobody would appreciate life.
Maybe one hasn't yet a name for it.

- 'Be Doomed' -

- Blood -


Pain.

Until that one strong sensation overshadowed the rest of Ronon's emotions, he had felt oddly energized and optimistic about the entire situation. He had drawn his strength from the heat of the battle, and struck out against his opponents with the ferocity of a savage bear. He had been temporarily endowed with the treasured gift of increased mobility, and he used it without hesitation. His muscular and tireless body seemed to be built to withstand the inevitable blows that rained upon him.

He might have believed himself to be momentarily invincible, under the circumstances, until he was naïve enough to turn his back on his enemy. When that small dagger pierced his skin from behind, he knew he had been foolish. His acceptance of that realization, however, did not numb the shock and acute agony that pulsed through his veins. The knife twisted as it was slowly removed, adding to the intensity of the fire that burned his torso and enveloped his mind. He let out a shrill scream of anguish.

Ronon's sense of feeling was heightened tenfold. His bones screeched in protest as his knees rammed into the cold stone floor, but the wound in his back drowned out the aftershock of the impact. The stinging in his legs was dull in comparison to his main injury. He forced himself to collapse on his side, knowing that his pain would rise to unfathomable levels if he dared to put pressure on his wound.

One of his shaking hands hovered over the area where he was stabbed, and he craned his neck in a useless attempt to inspect the damage. He spluttered, unable to catch his breath, and to his horror he tasted blood on his lips. He gasped for air once, letting his hand fall to the ground, focusing on staying alive.

"Ronon!" It was Rodney's panicked voice that reached his ears.

He heard rushing footsteps and was aware of the doctor's hands on him, lifting him so that his wound was accessible. Ronon tried to groan in protest, but the blood in his throat was choking him. All that came out of his mouth was an incomprehensible noise and red liquid.

A flurry of movement occurred, and his view of the ceiling was blocked by Teyla's frightened eyes. There was something more in her expression that he couldn't identify, something so soft and desperate that it was heartbreaking to see. He tore his eyes away from hers, almost afraid to discover what that unknown emotion meant. He thought, in the depths of his semiconscious mind, that it was pity.

"They hit his lung. He's bleeding out," Rodney noticed in terror.

"Ronon!" Teyla exclaimed, on the edge of hysterics.

He knew it would be pointless to try to lift his head, but he refocused on her face. He could tell from the worry written on her features that his own face must have been contorted in pain, simply due to the effort it took to briefly clear his hazy vision and look at her properly. Ronon fixed his eyes forward, looking up without really seeing anything.

"Just go. Just... go," he demanded through gritted teeth. It sounded so much like a guttural noise that he was shocked they understood.

"No! We are not leaving without you," Teyla vowed, her eyes glistening with tears and determination.

Ronon couldn't bring himself to respond. His erratic heartbeat was slowing, and he fought to breathe. It seemed to him that no matter how much air he inhaled, his lungs were never filled. He felt the blood staining his shirt and his chin, and he grew more uncomfortable as it pooled under him. Quick flashes of light flitted across his field of vision, and he knew he could no longer keep up the half-pretense of being alive. He could already feel himself fading.

When his eyes stopped blinking and he froze mid-breath, Teyla shook him frantically. "Ronon? Ronon!"


Alleviation.

Ronon heaved in a huge gulp of air, confused about how he was able to breathe once more. He glanced around him suspiciously, both astonished and dismayed to realize that he was surrounded by Wraith. Instead of concentrating on the specifics of how he could possibly be living, he dedicated his thoughts to how he could escape.

"I restored your life, human," a deep voice intoned. His eyes snapped up to the speaker. "I bound your wound."

He grunted, not fully registering the words. "That was real nice of you," he muttered sarcastically, distracted, his eyes scattershot.

"Now you will answer my questions. How many humans are on my ship?"

Ronon stared up at the Wraith defiantly. He would never betray his comrades, not to mention the fact that he didn't even know how many were on the ship. He had hoped the three remaining members of the team were all alive and off the ship at that point, but that was impossible because they would have detonated the ship as they left. Either way, the Wraith couldn't force information out of him by intimidation or brute strength – he had already died once, and he wasn't afraid to die again. It was for a good cause, so he accepted it.

He should have expected the torture and braced himself, but he was too focused on putting all his hate into one death glare. When a foot pressed against his wound, he was unprepared and helpless. The fire that spread through him was an enhanced repeat of earlier, and his chest tightened. He twitched and tried to suppress the urge to scream, but the burning sensation flowed through him until it reached his throat. He succumbed to the pain and yelled loudly.

"Where are they?" The Wraith was impatient and obviously unsympathetic.

His answer would never change, but he didn't remain silent this time. He snarled, drawing his lips back to reveal his teeth, although the sound was weaker than he would have liked. His unimpressive display of resistance was not was the Wraith desired, and it inched its foot towards Ronon's wound a second time. He breathed heavily and quickly, tensing in anticipation.

Gunfire was the miraculous intervention, and the Wraith tumbled to the ground one after another. Ronon clenched his fists, still waiting for the fire to subside, and tried unsuccessfully to regulate his breathing. The fog that impaired his vision lessened until only the edges of his sight were unclear, and he could see Teyla's face again. The shock and fear were still evident in her eyes, but there was also relief and that same nameless emotion from before. He decided to distinguish what it was later, when he had more time to ponder insignificant and trivial details.

John knelt next to him, which was a completely unexpected but welcome surprise. "How you doin', Chewie?" he whispered.

Rodney looked on in amazement. "You were dead," he pointed out in confusion.

He just groaned as John and Teyla hauled him to his unsteady feet, the fire returning to glide through his body. He ignored the burn as he pushed his muscles into action, leaning haphazardly on Lorne as he stumbled along. This time, though, he decided to embrace the pain.

At least if he was suffering, he knew he was alive.