"You're not fine," she told him, her doctor-voice--which she hadn't used in a while, given there seemed to be about a 1-to-5 ratio of doctors to general islanders, or at least that's what it seemed--creeping to the surface. She took one of his hands between hers for a moment, then shook her head and made a disapproving tsk noise and closed the door. "Your hands are freezing," she informed him, "and your lips are turning blue. It's not like you're dressed for the weather."

The furniture in her little hut was sparse and rickety but it got the job done: a bed, a rough dresser for her clothes, a couple of rickety chairs and a table, and a bookshelf that went almost to the ceiling. She pulled a neatly folded blanket off the foot of the bed and handed it to him. "Wrap up in that," she told him, "and later we'll go to the compound and find you a coat, at least." Not that Ronon would probably be caught dead wearing Earth-style clothes, but it would do him until he could kill something and turn it into a coat.

She put aside for the moment the mention of him having to 'convince' Kaylee--she'd ask him about that later--because the idea of Ronon having to save her from the Wraith had all her attention. "What do you mean, saving me from the Wraith?" she asked, confused. "I don't remember that... oh." It dawned on her then, and again she felt silly. "You must be from some time after me."