“Will you both shut up?” Jennifer glared up at them, grabbed sock and shoe from Rodney and began to put them on. “OK, that’s — I’ve had it with both of you. I am sore and tired and my muscles keep trying to tie themselves in knots, and I don’t need to hear any more of this. From either one of you.” She knotted her bootlace, too tight, and half of it snapped in her hand. She flung it away, swearing, and hauled herself to her feet, leaning heavily on Rodney’s walking stick. “If you can’t say something useful, shut up. And stay shut up until we get back to Atlantis. I have so totally had enough!”
There was a ringing silence in the little grove. She took a step, and another, decided her feet would hold her, and started in the direction of the Stargate. She could hear the men following, silent except for the sounds of feet on leaves and grass, but she refused to look back.
The adrenaline had worn off long before they reached the Stargate, but she refused to slow down, refused to look at either one of them, just dragged herself to the console and pressed the symbols that dialed Atlantis’s gate. The chevrons lit and locked, energy whooshing out and then stabilizing in the lovely blue of the event horizon, and she touched her radio.
“Atlantis, this is Dr. Keller.”
There was a little silence, and then Banks’ voice spoke in her ear. “Dr. Keller! Are you all right?”
“We’re — essentially, we’re fine,” Jennifer said. “Ronon and I are here with Dr. McKay.” There was an indistinct noise from the other end at that, and she closed her eyes, trying to think of everything she needed to say before she allowed herself to collapse. “Dr. McKay is himself — well, mentally, he’s himself, he knows who he is, but he’s still physically pretty Wraithy —” Oh, very professional. She stopped, took a breath to steady herself. “So he’ll need to go into Dr. Beckett’s care right away.”
“Dr. Keller, this is Sheppard.”
“Yes, Colonel.” That sounded better.
“We were getting a little worried about you.”
“It’s a long story,” Jennifer said.
“We had to get out in a lifepod,” Ronon said. “And Keller —” He stopped, and she guessed he didn’t want to say anything about the retrovirus in front of the entire gateroom. “We’re good, Sheppard.”
There was a brief pause, and then Sheppard said. “Open the iris. Welcome back, guys.”
Jennifer took another deep breath, leaning hard on the metal rod as she climbed the three stairs to the open Stargate. Someone took her elbow as she stepped into the event horizon, and then there was the moment of disorientation and cold and she came out abruptly into the familiar gateroom. Sheppard was there, and Carson, bustling forward to check on Rodney — and Woolsey was there, leaning on the rail with a small, almost beatific smile creasing his face.
“Welcome home,” Sheppard said, to Rodney, who gave an odd little smile.
“I’m a little — well, I guess I’m the new poster child for ‘it’s not easy being green.’”
“OK, this is seriously weird,” one of the Marines said, under his breath, and Jennifer had to fight not to laugh out loud.
“Onto the gurney,” Carson said, to Rodney. “I don’t care if you can walk, you’re riding until we’ve had a chance to do a full check up. Don’t bother arguing, I’m not listening.”
He turned to Jennifer. “And you don’t look so good yourself. Were you hurt?”
Jennifer shook her head. “No. It’s — the retrovirus. The new version works.”
Carson’s eyes widened in comprehension, and he gestured for one of the nurses. Jennifer felt her knees give way, and Carson caught her as she fell.
Chapter Seven
Home
Sheppard stood for a moment in the shadow of the gate, watching as the gurneys carried away Keller and Rodney — Rodney still talking, arguing with Carson even as the doors slit shut behind them. To have him back, alive and himself again, at least mentally: he’d begun to fear that was impossible, that he might have to do the unthinkable, and he knew the smile he gave Ronon was tinged with relief.
“Good job, buddy.”
“Yeah.” Ronon didn’t smile back. He looked pretty beat himself, and John gave him an appraising glance.
“You OK?”
“Yeah,” Ronon said again.
Woolsey was coming down the steps, Zelenka at his heels, and Carter appeared on the balcony.
“Colonel Sheppard,” she called. “I heard —”
Sheppard couldn’t repress his grin. “We got McKay back. In one pretty Wraithy piece, but in one piece. And very much himself again.”
“Wonderful,” Carter said.
“A very good job,” Woolsey said, to Ronon. “Well done indeed.”
“It is good to have him back,” Zelenka said. “For so very many reasons.”
Carter came to join them. “What’s the prognosis?”
“You’ll have to ask Carson for the details, how long it’s going to take to get him back to normal physically,” Sheppard said, “but it certainly sounds like Rodney.”
“Doesn’t look so much like him,” Ronon said. “But, yeah, it sounds like him.”
“That’s really good news,” Carter said.
Sheppard looked at Ronon. He was looking — odd. More than merely tired and hungry and worried — he looked like he had when he’d first come to Atlantis, lines of stress making him look older than his years. “Ronon,” Sheppard said, and the Satedan’s eyes flicked toward him, and then away. Not good, Sheppard thought, and laid a carefully casual hand on the other man’s shoulder. He could feel the tension even in that touch, said, “Come on. We need to debrief.”
Carter gave him a quick look at that, and Sheppard risked a fractional shake of his head. Her eyes widened just a little, and she looked away.
“What?” Ronon said.
“Debrief,” Sheppard said again. “Let’s go.”
He hadn’t had much of a plan to start with, but by the time they’d reached the doors, he’d figured out the place he was least likely to be bothered. His office was in its usual state of disarray, but the city did its best to make it inviting, adjusting the lights and the heat and sliding back the shutter that closed the single long, narrow window. Outside, the sun was shining, striking sparks from the ice, and a stiff wind blew gusts of new powder sparkling past the window. Some of the stiffness eased from Ronon’s face, seeing that, and Sheppard swept papers from the spare chair.
“Sit.”
Ronon glanced at him then, but did as he was told. Sheppard reached into the drawer of his desk, pulled out the jar of moonshine that had found its way to him through unofficial channels. After a longer search, he found a clean-looking mug and poured a stiff shot, slid it across the desk toward the Satedan.
Ronon took it warily, sniffed at it. “Aren’t you drinking?”
Sheppard reached into the little portable refrigerator, pulled out a beer and held it up. “You can have a beer if you’d rather, but I thought you liked this stuff.”
Ronon took a sip. “It’s — smooth.”
“Yeah.” Sheppard twisted off the cap of his beer. It was earlier in the afternoon than he would have chosen, but he was pretty sure Ronon didn’t need to drink alone. “You want to tell me what happened?”
Ronon shrugged. “We couldn’t get out, so we found a lifepod, ejected in that. McKay got us down safely, and we walked to the Stargate.”
Sheppard lifted his beer as much in salute to the masterful understatement as to the actual actions. “Does that mean McKay had started to remember who he was?”
“Yeah.” Ronon nodded. “So I guess that whole Gaffen thing wasn’t a trap.”
Sheppard had guessed as much, but the confirmation still made a little warmth spread through him.
“That’s —” Ronon stopped, made himself go on. “That’s part of the problem. Was part of the problem, and still is. It’s McKay, or he thinks he’s McKay, but physically he’s still a Wraith.”