2.

Earth dwellers had such strange customs.

Ronan leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms and ignoring the curious glances—or outright stares—of the many guests at the funeral. Jennifer's father had apparently been well-respected.

The guests filled their drinks and laughed and chattered about nothing. The Earth climate, their newest possessions, their latest triumphs. They smiled and acted as if they had not laid one of their number in the ground a mere half-hour before, leaving his daughter without close kin in the world.

He clenched his jaw, evenly returning the hostile glance of a plump man in an ill-fitting suit. Without kin, perhaps. But not without family.

These people cared nothing for Jennifer. They might say so, expressing such fervent sorrow over her father's passing and patting her shoulder as they might a witless child. But their eyes and actions said differently, and Ronan had learned long ago to trust the latter.

They asked how her work was going and smiled at her non-committal answer, then talked on and on about their own accomplishments. Buildings raised, money earned, new clothes bought. Of what use were more possessions?

All while treating Jennifer with a kind of sympathetic arrogance, never bothering to discover what she actually did. Never realizing that the woman they treated like a fragile child saved more lives every day than they would in a lifetime.

He'd lasted ten minutes, before he had to step away. It was that or punch somebody, and he had no wish to dishonor her father's funeral. Ronan cracked his neck, eyes sweeping the room. Or draw attention to himself. He shrugged his shoulders, annoyed by the constricting fabric of the suit stretched across his shoulders.

Sheppard had talked him into buying it when they visited Earth for the funeral of Sheppard's father. Something about the suit helping him blend in. He somehow doubted any garment would deflect the furtive stares lingering on him.

Ronan's eyes found Jennifer, and he frowned. Her posture showed her weariness, her smile had long ago become fixed and her eyes held none of their usual sparkle. She shifted, favoring her ankle. No doubt her feet hurt from those ridiculous shoes she'd insisted on wearing.

The fact they showed off her long legs were their only redeeming feature.

Jennifer waved farewell to another guest and turned, looking like she might collapse, but was intercepted by the plump man from before.

Yup. Time to be going.

Ronan pushed off the wall and strode toward her, grim amusement slipping through his mind as the noisy crowd fell silent and parted before him like water. What did they expect him to do? Shoot them? If that were his intention, shrinking back wouldn't help them.

He came up behind Jennifer, who turned, distracted by the sudden quiet. He took her arm, careful to keep his grip light, and drew her toward the door. The plump man opened his mouth to protest, but Ronan shot him a look and his mouth snapped shut.

"Ronan—" Jennifer hissed. "What are you doing?"

He glanced down, realized she was nearly running in those shoes to keep up, and shortened his stride. "Time to go, Doc. You're exhausted."

"My guests—I can't—" She was tired enough to be almost incoherent.

"They'll live."

"But—"

Ronan crooked an eyebrow at her, and she sputtered into silence. He recognized the sparks of anger in her eyes, knew that in moments she would dissolve into tears. Melena had been the same way.

Women were so strange. And Earth women were the worst.

He swung the church door open, guiding her around a huddle of funeral attendees on the sidewalk and stalling any ill-timed condolences with a sharp look.

"Stop glaring at them, Ronan," Jennifer whispered. "They're friends of the family."

Ronan glanced down at her, startled and suddenly aware of the light scent that clung to her and her weight leaning on his arm. She hadn't called him by name in months.

He looked away, searching the city streets for one of the yellow vehicles Sheppard had called cabs. "They're no friends of yours."

Ignoring the indignation rolling off her, Ronan stepped forward and raised his hand in his best imitation of Sheppard's nonchalant gesture. With a shriek, a yellow vehicle slid to a stop a couple feet away.

Ronan regarded the driver—a squat man with a dirty cap and dangling cigar—with suspicion, but pulled open the door and helped Jennifer inside. He walked behind the vehicle and climbed in, slamming the door shut.

His knees wedged against the seat in front of him. These vehicles obviously weren't made for people the size of Satedans.

Ronan glanced at the driver. "105 S. Ash, Brampton."

He leaned back, ignoring Jennifer's astonished expression. He'd made note of the address of her family home when they'd stopped by earlier in the day to fetch her funeral clothes, thinking it might be useful in case of trouble. But then, most people from Earth were not very observant.

Jennifer leaned back as well, sighing. But the next moment the vehicle swerved and she gasped as his arm pinned her to the seat, his right hand already at his gun at his back before he realized he'd moved. Ronan unclenched his fingers, taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart.

"Ronan…" She touched his arm.

He flinched, her fingers burning, and he dropped his arm, sliding his gun back into the holster. Ronan rested back against the seat, gripping the door handle to brace himself as the vehicle once again swerved through traffic. He flung a murderous glance at the driver, forcing himself to relax.

Jennifer was his priority right now, and for that, he needed focus. He could sort himself out later. Sheppard's nasal voice rang in his head. Easy, Chewie. Shooting the guy won't get us there faster. It was one thing for a stranger to endanger him and Sheppard with reckless driving. It was something else to put Jen in danger.

She got in enough trouble without any help.

Ronan shifted his shoulders. He hated the confinement of these vehicles. He would have walked, but it was too far for Jennifer. And those shoes.

Nothing for it but to tough it out. He shot the driver another warning look. He'd rather face a hive ship of Wraith than trust Jennifer's life to this man.


Jennifer had fallen asleep. He wasn't surprised, considering. Ronan leaned an elbow on the cab door, studying her. She looked much younger asleep. Fragile.

The cab driver cleared his throat, impatient, and Ronan flung him a dark look. He leaned into the cab. He could carry Jennifer inside, but he doubted she'd take kindly to it. She'd made her feelings clear enough.

"Wake up, Doc," he said.

She stirred, then startled awake, her hand going to her purse and her head. "Did I—I'm sorry—"

"We're here," Ronan said.

"Oh." Her cheeks turned bright red and she dug in her purse, thrusting a wad of cash at the driver without bothering to count it. "Thank you."

The driver muttered something unintelligible and probably profane. Ronan took Jennifer's arm to help her out of the vehicle, not trusting the shoes, and walked her up to the porch. She fumbled with the keys and he took them from her, forcing the stubborn latch to turn and pushing the door open.

He cast a glance around the interior, which was just as they'd left it. He didn't sense any threat.

Ronan took Jennifer's arm and led her to the couch. "Sit."

"Really, I'm fine." Her cheeks were still flushed.

He moved to the kitchen and began opening cupboards, searching for something bland and filling to settle her stomach. She hadn't touched a bite of her plate of food at the funeral, though he'd devoured three full plates. One thing about Earth funerals—the food was good. Not up to Satedan standards, but good.

"Ronan."

He glanced back. She'd followed him into the kitchen. He took a package of crackers off a shelf and met her halfway, steering her back to the couch.

"Sit," he said, pulling her down beside him. "And take off those shoes."

"Really, I'm fine." She sounded almost cross, yanking at the buckles of the strappy shoes and tossing them onto the floor. Her spitting reminded him of an angry cub.

Ronan let amusement crinkle his eyes.

"Here." He handed her the crackers. "Eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"You need to eat." He gave her a look that allowed no argument, stretching out his legs and leaning back into the couch. She frowned at him, clearly annoyed, then began to munch the crackers. Half the package swiftly disappeared.

Jennifer settled into the cushions, finishing the rest of the crackers at a slower pace. She set the plastic wrapping on the low table by the couch, running her small, slim hands over its wooden surface.

"Daddy made this." She spoke softly, as if to herself. "He loved woodworking. Making beautiful things. He made the bookshelves in my room too."

Ronan eyed her, more intrigued by her thoughtful expression than he wanted to admit. The setting sun tilted through the house's windows and brought out the gold in her hair.

She looked up, remembering his presence, and snatched her hand back as if burned. Her cheeks reddened and she turned her face away, tucking her hair behind her ears. A nervous gesture.

"I'm sorry. Listen to me, blathering on like an idiot. I'm sure you must be tired-"

"You're not."

Jennifer glanced back to him, frowning. "I'm not what?"

"Not an idiot."

She blinked. Tucked back the hair again. "Oh."

Ronan drew up his legs and leaned his elbows on his knees, cursing himself. Other men would tell her what they really meant. That she was smart. Beautiful. Strong. Not weak or childish or simple, like those people at the funeral thought. So-called friends.

"Don't let them bother you," he said.

Jennifer's clear gaze once more showed confusion. "Who?"

"The people. At the funeral. They don't know you." Ronan crossed his arms. "What you do."

"Oh." She lowered her eyes, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "They don't bother..."

Ronan just looked at her. Another thing he liked about Jennifer. She wouldn't lie.

She sighed, pulling a pillow to her and hugging it. Ronan felt a stab of jealousy and turned his face away.

"They shouldn't bother me," Jennifer said. "I know that. But..."

"They do," he said.

"Yes," she whispered. "I don't know why."

"Because you feel like they're right. That you're weak. Awkward. Incompetent."

Jennifer turned a startled gaze on him, her astonishment evident. He suppressed the urge to laugh. She wore her feelings on her face, her body language speaking more clearly than she ever could. It was obvious.

"Yes." She studied the flower design of the pillow she clutched.

"You're not."

Ronan didn't remove his gaze, waiting until Jennifer looked up so she saw he meant it. She bit her lip, and some of the tension left her small frame.

"Thank you, Ronan."

His name again. It sounded so different on her lips. Soft. Gentle. Ronan stood, crossing the room to lift a blanket off a chair. He brought it back, dropping it on her bare feet to still her shivers. "Get some rest, Doc."

She sighed again and pulled the blanket up to her chin. "I should go to a real bed."

He crooked an eyebrow at her.

"Don't feel like moving." Jennifer's smile was sheepish.

"Don't have to."

Ronan moved to the front door, checking the locks. He did the same at the rear entrance and made sure the windows were all securely fastened. When he returned to the living room Jennifer's even breathing told him she slept soundly.

She'd curled into a ball around the pillow, blanket pulled up over her ears. Ronan removed his gun from the small of his back and set it on the hearth beside the cold ashes in the fireplace. He laid back, settling onto the thick floor rug.

The clock on the mantle chimed, and he tensed before he located the sound. He forced his muscles to relax and closed his eyes, listening to the creaking of the house and Jennifer's soft breathing.

Ronan's consciousness had almost blurred into oblivion when Jennifer's scream brought him to his feet.