She couldn’t help smiling at that. It was an answer, maybe, and at the very least they could use it on Atlantis, so nobody else would have to go home withered to a mummy, a corpse that couldn’t be explained. Assuming it worked for Rodney. She hadn’t thought of that, that the retrovirus might taint her like the Hoffan drug, and she crawled to the front of the shelter, panic nipping at her. She could see Ronon’s back, and the ring of stones that had held the fire — and Rodney, crouched like a black bird on the far side of the fire, head down but unharmed. She sagged in sheer relief, new pains running up her arms, and made herself crawl forward.
“Good morning.”
Rodney’s head snapped up, fear and relief and concern chasing themselves across his pale green skin. He was looking less thin, less starved, Jennifer noted; the feeding had worked for him as well. Ronon swiveled on his knees, held out his hand to steady her.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m —” She had been going to say fine, but decided to be more realistic. “I’m OK. I’m sore, though some of that could be from falling yesterday. And tired. But, yes, basically, I’m fine.” She lifted her head, looked at Rodney. “And you?”
He gave his lopsided smile. “Much better. Thank you. I mean, I know that’s not anything like adequate — but thanks.”
She smiled back at him, a dazed kind of satisfaction filling her. She’d saved lives before, many times, but somehow this was different, came from a different place. This must be a bit like what it was like to give birth, to bring new life out of your own body, life from life — She shook that thought away, recognizing that she was too tired, too attenuated to make it coherent, and let herself drop awkwardly onto the dirt beside Ronon.
“You were out for more than twelve hours,” he said. He didn’t look directly at her, glanced sideways, then away. “Passed out first, I think, but then it was like normal sleep.”
“That’s good to know,” Jennifer said. She closed her eyes, considering her body’s needs. She didn’t feel hungry — no, she was past hunger, at the point where she felt like a hollowed shell.
“Is there —” she began, and in the same moment, Ronon held out one of the last powerbars.
“You should eat.”
She took it gratefully. “Yes. Thanks.”
“There’s still some coney, too,” Ronon said, when she had finished, and she devoured that as well.
“All right,” she said, and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. The food had helped more than she had expected, and she hoped it wasn’t just a quick burst of energy that would vanish as she moved. “It’s — is it still morning?”
Ronon nodded. “We’re about ten kilometers from the Stargate.” His voice was even, without accusation, but Rodney flinched.
“Maybe we should have waited,” he said. “I don’t know, maybe you should have gone on and gotten help —”
“You were going to feed anyway,” Ronon said.
“I didn’t have a choice!” Rodney snapped. “Look, I don’t want to be overly dramatic here, but I was dying —”
“Ten kilometers,” Ronon said.
“I couldn’t have walked ten steps!” Rodney said.
Jennifer looked from one to the other. “You know? This isn’t helping.”
Ronon looked away. “Sorry.”
‘I didn’t —” Rodney stopped abruptly, flushing.
“We should get moving,” Ronon said, and reached for the first of the sticks that held the shelter in place.
It didn’t take long to break down the Wraith shelter and pack up their few belongings. Rodney insisted she take the rod he’d been using for a walking stick, and Jennifer accepted without demur. She was feeling better, certainly, but “better” was a long way from “well.” Her muscles still ached, and she only hoped the tightness would ease once she got moving.
Walking was better and worse: better because she could put the soreness aside, fix her mind on something else — the number of steps she’d taken, the tree just at the edge of the clearing, the coney tracks in the soft ground — worse because every so often a random muscle would knot into a cramp, and she had to stop, breath hissing through her teeth, to try to work it out. The first time, and the second, she thought no one noticed, but the third time, when it caught her below the rib cage so that she had to lean hard on her walking stick, fist pressed to the spasming muscle, the others stopped, turned back with uneasy looks.
“It’s just a cramp,” she said, and Rodney hurried to her.
“Try stretching,” he said. “Or putting weight on it. That is, if it’s a foot or a leg, that should help.”
“It’s not,” Jennifer said, through clenched teeth. It was hard to breathe; each movement of her ribs seemed to pull the knot tighter.
“Try — try leaning backward,” Rodney said. “That should stretch it.”
“Leave her alone,” Ronon said. His unspoken accusation echoed between them: if you hadn’t fed, none of this would be happening.
“Maybe you should go on to the Stargate,” Rodney said. “You could get help, send it back. Then Jennifer wouldn’t have to walk when she’s — like this.”
Ronon’s scowl deepened, but his voice was deceptively mild. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Oh, for — don’t you trust me?” Rodney demanded.
“And why should I?” Ronon answered. “If it wasn’t for you —”
Jennifer straightened, feeling the cramp ease at last. “How much farther to the gate?”
Rodney fumbled with the Wraith device, but it was Ronon who answered. “We’re more than halfway. Maybe four kilometers.”
“I can walk that,” Jennifer said, and hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. “Look, right now, the important thing is to get Rodney into the infirmary. I know he looks fine now —”
“I am fine,” Rodney said.
Jennifer ignored him. “But he has still missed several doses of the Wraith maintenance drug, and that means his transition is well underway. He needs to be where we can monitor him properly, and we need to get him there as soon as possible.”
There was a little silence, and then Ronon nodded. “OK.” He paused. “If you get worse, we’ll revisit this.”
“That’s fair,” Jennifer said, and made herself start moving again.
They had been walking for maybe another hour when the next wave of cramps hit. It was her feet this time, first the muscles of her toes, and then one in the arch of her other foot, so that she lost her balance and tumbled to the grass, trying to bend one set of toes back and the other forward. She’d never felt anything like this, a pain so sharp she couldn’t catch her breath, and she knew there were tears on her cheeks.
Ronon knelt beside her. “What and where?”
She blinked, the tears on her lashes starring her vision. “My foot’s cramped. Oh, God, so stupid!”
Someone drew her foot out from under her in spite of her gasp of pain, worked her boot off and wrapped her toes gently in his hand. Ronon? she thought, but, no, Ronon was beside her, so it had to be Rodney — And then he’d pressed her foot back, flexing it hard to stretch the knotting muscles. She gave a yelp of pain, but the worst was over, just the slow, bruised feeling of overworked flesh.
“I’m sorry,” Rodney said. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. Ronon said it would help —”
“If you’d done it right —” Ronon said.
“I did exactly what you told me to do,” Rodney said. “I do know how to follow directions, when they’re given properly.”
“Since when?” Ronon said. “McKay, you suck at taking orders.”
“I do not!”