Secrets

Chapter Six Hunger

Ronon made his way back along the cliff’s edge at a trot, one eye on the declining sun. It was already brushing the tops of the trees, but if he hurried, there should be enough time to get McKay and Jennifer to the gap he’d found. And down, and across, and up again… But they could do it. He could do it. They wouldn’t be able to get very far once they’d crossed the river, not in the waning daylight, and it would be a long march the next day — probably too long, reasonably calculated, to reach the Stargate, but it was better than he had feared.

McKay was still sitting under the tree where Ronon had left him, but Jennifer had made her way to the stream, was filling the water container. That was a good idea — she’d come a long way since he’d first met her, and he couldn’t help an approving nod.

“Keller! McKay! I’ve found a way down.”

Jennifer looked up quickly, and Ronon saw the relief in her face.

“That’s wonderful,” Rodney said, sourly, and hauled himself to his feet. “Is it far?”

“Nope,” Ronon answered. Well, by some definitions, it wasn’t. He eyed the stream warily. “Better cross further back from the edge.”

It took almost two hours to reach the break in the cliff that Ronon had decided was the best place to cross. There was an easier slope another couple of kilometers further along, but here the opposite bank had given way, and it would be an easy scramble up to the other side. Rodney balked at the top, staring down at the rocks and the rushing water. The river came close under the cliff here, and water foamed around the heaped stones.

“You know, this doesn’t look like all that great a place to climb down. One false step, and you’ve got a sprained ankle, or worse.”

“You don’t have to worry about that right now,” Ronon said. He couldn’t help grinning at the look McKay gave him, offended and appalled in equal measure. Jennifer smiled too, and began to pick her way carefully down the rocky slope. Ronon watched long enough to feel confident that she was going to be all right, then looked back at Rodney.

“Come on, McKay.”

“This isn’t —” Rodney’s heel slipped as he spoke, and he flailed for balance. Ronon reached without thinking, caught him by the upper arm and held him steady. Rodney grabbed at his sleeve, and they stood frozen for an instant, Rodney’s handmouth against the coarse fabric. It took all Ronon’s willpower to hold still, not to shove him away. Rodney looked stricken, eyes wide and golden as if with shock.

“I’m good,” he said, in a strangled voice, and Ronon nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He let go, and Rodney scrambled down the slope in Jennifer’s wake. Ronon could feel himself shivering, as though he’d been out on Atlantis’s balconies unprotected. He stiffened his shoulders and made himself follow.

Jennifer was waiting for them by the water’s edge. She’d found a long stick — probably the trunk of a sapling — among the debris, and held it up at their approach. “I thought — you know how people rope together for things like this? Maybe this would work.”

“Good idea,” Ronon said. He was amazed that his voice sounded even close to normal. He tapped the wood against the nearest rock, decided it felt solid enough. “Let’s go.”

They edged into the river, holding tight to the sapling. Ronon took the lead, feeling for unseen potholes, the water rushing up past his knees, numbing his skin. Jennifer clung with determination to the middle of the pole, and Rodney brought up the rear, yelping as the cold hit him.

“Ow! Isn’t this likely to give us all hypothermia or something?”

“Suck it up, McKay,” Ronon said without thinking, and that felt strange and normal at the same time.

The riverbed was treacherous underfoot, stones the size of a man’s fist shifting uneasily in the current. No potholes, though, at least not in this relatively smooth stretch, and, though the current was strong, it was at least steady. Then Jennifer cried out, and Ronon whipped around to see her falling, her hands peeling away from the wood. She was light enough that the current took her instantly, rolling her over in the waist-deep water, and it took all Ronon’s control to keep from diving after her. Rodney lunged toward her, black coat billowing, ready to tangle them both. Ronon curbed the impulse to join him, instead kept tight hold of the stick, let the current take it toward them. Then Rodney had reached her, had her by the jacket and then her hand, and his other hand closed firmly on the sapling. Ronon braced himself to take their joined weight, held firm as first Rodney, then Jennifer dragged themselves to their feet and resumed their careful progress. On the far side, Jennifer collapsed onto the nearest rock, and Ronon gave her a worried look.

“Are you all right?”

She nodded, her wet hair straggling over her face, then grimaced and began to bind it back again.

“What happened?” Rodney asked.

“A stone turned under my foot,” Jennifer answered. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Rodney asked. “Because that’s the way people break ankles, not that I’m staying I told you so —”

“I’m fine,” Jennifer said again. “I’m a doctor, remember? I’m not hurt.” She stood up as though to prove it, and Ronon, watching carefully, saw no sign of injury. She might be sore in the morning, but for now she’d be better off if she kept moving.

“OK,” he said. “Let’s go.”

“Wait,” Rodney said. “Just wait a minute.” He was just as wet as Jennifer, the white hair plastered to his skull, water pooling at his feet. “We’re both soaked through. We should stop, dry out — maybe we could even camp here overnight, there’s lots of wood, and plenty of room.”

“It’s not safe to camp in a streambed,” Ronon said.

“Oh, come on, you can’t seriously be worried about flash floods,” Rodney said. “The sky’s completely clear.”

“Ronon’s right,” Jennifer said. “We need to keep going.”

Get as close to the Stargate as they could, Ronon thought. That effort would have taken it out of McKay. He said, “Not much further.” He pointed downstream to a spot where dirt and gravel spread in a fan from the collapsed cliffside. “Just there. Once we get to the top, we’ll see about going on.”

Rodney was profoundly grateful for the steel rod he’d salvaged from the lifepod, leaned heavily on its support as he followed the others down the streambed. They were going back the way they’d come — not that it made any real difference, and there’d been no way to get down the cliff on that side anyway, but it was somehow even more discouraging to have to retrace their steps. At least Jennifer was all right. She was limping a little, but she was going to be fine. A night’s rest was all she needed. He could feel his own body shifting, the bruises from where he’d banged against the rocks healing as he walked. It was a complete waste of energy, and he had no idea how to stop it, wondered if any Wraith did. Probably not — as far as he could tell, they had no compunctions about feeding, a Wraith in his situation would already have drained both the others, and be well on his way to the Stargate by now.

And that, of course, he couldn’t do, no matter what Jennifer said about this retrovirus. It was too much of a risk, she’d already said the first version hadn’t worked, and there was no way to test this one safely. And besides, she was Jennifer. He couldn’t think of her like that, any more than he could think it of Ronon. Though perhaps just a taste — just a sip, just enough to keep him steady on his feet, to get him to the Stargate so that they could bring him back to Atlantis. Ronon was strong, nearly as strong as two men, he could spare just a little —

Rodney stopped, appalled by his own thoughts. This was Ronon, Ronon and Jennifer; he couldn’t let his mind wander in those directions, not if he wanted to stay sane. No wonder Michael had gone crazy, he thought. It was simply too confusing to keep track of who one was.

“Come on, McKay,” Ronon called.

They were almost to the break in the cliff — Ronon was there, in fact, stopped with his feet in the red spill of dirt. Jennifer wasn’t far behind him, her hair loosening as it dried.

“Hurry up,” Ronon called again. Rodney bared teeth at him and dragged himself forward.

He wasn’t sure quite how he got up the last few meters — off-hand and stick bracing himself and Ronon shouting at him to keep going — but he knew when he reached the top that he wasn’t going any further. He staggered a meter from the cliff’s edge and sank down onto the grass, still warm from the sun. He saw Jennifer and Ronon exchange a look, and then Ronon said, gruffly, “OK. We stop for the night.”

“We need to talk,” Jennifer said, and Ronon shook his head, his hair flying.

“Nope.”

He busied himself collecting stones and wood, built a perfect stack of branches, kindling tucked neatly into the gaps, as though the right, the correct method, would keep them from having to have this conversation. Rodney watched him, feeling some of the weakness ease as his body finished healing his bruises and he stopped exerting himself.

“Yes, we do,” Jennifer said. “Rodney —” She stopped, bit her lip. “Rodney, you have to feed.”

“I’m fine,” he said, and knew nobody believed him.

“You’re out of your mind,” Ronon said. “He’ll kill — whichever one of us he feeds on, and if he doesn’t kill us, he’ll take years out of our lives. You remember what Sheppard looked like —”

“I’ve taken the retrovirus,” Jennifer said patiently. “I’m ninety percent — well, seventy-five percent certain this version will work. And assuming it does, Rodney can feed and nothing will happen to me.”

“Except you’ll suffer,” Ronon said. “Horribly. And if you’re wrong, you’ll die.”

“If I’m wrong,” Jennifer said, “Rodney will return what he took. Just the way Todd did.”

“Jennifer,” Rodney said, and she turned to look at him. The setting sun was below the treeline now, so that she was backlit, her face in shadow, her loosened hair catching the last of the light. His heart ached to see her like that, and his hand throbbed in time to his heartbeat. “I don’t — I told you, I never fed myself. I don’t know if I could return your — life. I don’t know if I know how.”

“And if you don’t feed now,” Jennifer said, “you will die.”

“You’ve been wrong before,” Ronon said.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I have, and you were right. I’m trying to learn from that. But — Ronon, look at him. Can you tell me he’s not dying?”

“I’m fine,” Rodney said, but couldn’t muster anything approaching conviction.

There was a little silence, and then Ronon’s face twisted, an expression that might have been laughter or tears. “Yeah. OK. If he wasn’t bad, he wouldn’t be trying to tell us he was all right.” He paused. “But, Jennifer —”

“Don’t,” she said. “I have to. I swore an oath, to heal the sick, and this is Rodney, and I love him. There’s no other choice.”

“God!” Ronon shoved himself to his feet. “All right. But you can’t — don’t ask me to watch.”

He stalked away between the trees, vanishing into the sun. Jennifer took a breath, came to sit beside Rodney, unzipping her jacket enough to bare the skin beneath. Rodney let her take his off hand, feeling for the pulse point.

“It’s not good, is it,” he said, quietly, and she shook her head.

“It’s now or never, Rodney.”

“Jennifer, I —” Rodney stopped. There were too many things to say, too many things he needed to remember, to mention, to be sure someone knew; a thousand thoughts, scattering like quicksilver, everything he would never see again. His feeding hand hurt, far worse than it had ever done before, and, looking down, he could see the handmouth gaping, see and feel the inner membrane pulsing, matching not the beat of his heart, but hers. Now or never, and no matter what he did, nothing would be right again — He lifted his feeding hand, saw her close her eyes.

“Oh, God,” he whispered, and let that stand for all the prayers he didn’t believe in: don’t let me screw this up, please let the retrovirus work, please don’t let me kill her… He placed his feeding hand against her skin and set his claws.

Her life jolted through him, sweet and clear and true, sharp and strong as the note of a horn. He pulled back, terrified that he would see her withered already, but her face was still young, even as it twisted in pain. Her fists were clenched, there were tears at the corners of her eyes, and still he fed, helpless, gulping life. He hadn’t known how far gone he was, neither Dust nor Ember had let him truly starve, and a thousand clichés flooded through him. Rain in the desert, silence after the storm — no, it was life and reprieve, and he released her, newly afraid.

“Jennifer?”

She hadn’t aged, her skin was smooth and her hair still golden, but her eyes were closed, and she sagged in his arms.

“Jennifer!” He touched her throat, trying to remember his first aid training — not that there was anything in it that would cover either being fed upon or some strange retroviral side effect — and gasped with relief to feel her pulse strong and steady under his touch. She shifted then, shrugging her shoulder the way she did sometimes in sleep, and he cradled her against his shoulder, smoothing her hair in helpless apology.

He didn’t know how long they sat there. Long enough that the air turned thick and purple in the twilight, the sun a distant ember beyond the trees. Ronon emerged from the wood, his face set and cold. His eyes narrowed, seeing them, and Rodney said quickly, “She’s sleeping. She’s all right.”

Ronon didn’t answer, came to kneel beside them, touched Jennifer’s neck with one big hand. He found her pulse and took a long breath like a drowning man, but pushed himself up and away to busy himself with the fire. He spitted the coney efficiently, set it to cook, all without looking at them again, and Rodney shifted uneasily, Jennifer a solid weight against his shoulder.

“Ronon, I —”

“If she dies,” Ronon said, “I will kill you.”

After a moment, Rodney dipped his head. “Fair enough.”

Jennifer rolled over, wincing as her muscles protested the slightest movement. OK, that’s the last time she would go out drinking with a linebacker, no matter how good-looking — She stopped, her surroundings registering fully. Not college, not a night of partying, not even residency, that permanent haze of misery and exhaustion. An unnamed planet, a shelter taken from a Wraith lifepod, and — Oh, God.

She sat up, flinching. She felt as though someone had beaten her with a stick, every muscle aching. OK, that wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t life-threatening, either. So, if she was remembering correctly — She looked down at her open jacket, saw the wound just below her clavicle, the puncture marks of the claws and the puffy scar where Rodney’s handmouth had fixed to her skin. It had closed more than the claw marks, looked more like an inflamed scratch than anything serious. Automatically, she checked her pulse, tipped her head to the side as she counted: normal; her temperature felt grossly normal, too. In general, she felt as though she’d just gotten over the flu. Not pleasant, but survivable. The retrovirus worked.

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!”

“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.