John tried not to pace. Ever since he'd gotten a place of his own, he'd found these quarters a little too confining. They would've been fine if he just had a window or a balcony or something, but he couldn't stand the blank concrete. He needed the open sky. Here he just felt closed in.

Rodney was late. This wasn't unusual. He always found something in the lab that absolutely had to be checked or got distracted by the Jell-O offering at the mess, or simply lost track of time. But two hours? This was ridiculous. And why was John still waiting instead of just going to the lab and dragging him out? He'd done it a thousand times on Atlantis and just as many here when they were just friends. It couldn't be suspicious, though a small paranoid part of him was convinced that it was.

He tossed General O'Neill's well-worn tennis ball against the wall one more time and stood, just as the door swung open, revealing a familiar silhouette against the harsh light of the corridor. John closed the door behind him as Rodney went to sit on the bed.

"It's about time . . . Jesus, Rodney, how long can it . . ." John's voice trailed off when he caught the slump in Rodney's shoulders, the forlorn distant look in his eyes. He was at his side in a second. "What's wrong? Did something happen?" He massaged Rodney's shoulders, though the man remained unresponsive. This was bad. Quiet Rodney was end-of-the-world bad. "Hey, talk to me." He straddled Rodney's lap, cupping his face in his hands.

Rodney turned away from his touch, and it stung, just a little. "Sam's pregnant," he said.

"Shit," was all John could think of in response. What were you supposed to say when your married gay lover tells you that his wife's got a bun in the oven?

Rodney laughed humorlessly. It was John's least favorite of Rodney's laughs, even worse than the sarcastic 'har har' he used to belittle people.

"I'm not ready for this. I'm not . . . I thought . . . but . . . what the hell was I thinking? I'm not supposed to have a family. I have cats. Cats are about my speed. Cats and really comfortable couches and ancient technology. Not kids. I hate kids. I hate white picket fences and bright green lawns and swimming pools."

"You hate swimming pools?"

"Almost drowned as a child. But that's not the point. The point is that this is way over my head. I can't . . . I can't . . ."

Rodney was hyperventilating now. "Hey, hey, calm down." John reached out to embrace him. "It's not like we're about to go up against an armada of hive ships, or the universe is going to end or anything."

"No, it's much, much worse." John smiled a little. A bitching Rodney was a calmer Rodney.

"You dealt with all those things. You'll deal with this too."

Rodney pulled back and his eyes were wide, pained. "What if I don't want to?"

"You don't have much of a choice. You'll . . ." Rodney wouldn't be a great dad. That would be a lie and they'd both know it. "Hey, imagine a kid with you and Sam's combined brainpower. Can't deny the world such a gift."

Rodney laughed. "No, couldn't do that."

"Might even get lucky and get Sam's looks."

"Not like I hear you complaining."

"No, you don't," John leaned in for a kiss automatically, but caught himself just before their lips met.

Rodney came to the same realization at about the same second, judging by the way his body stiffened. "We have to stop." His voice was filled with horror. John knew that voice. It was the same voice that said, 'I've got nothing,' a long time ago and a galaxy far far away.

John didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to think about it. Maybe if he just ignored it, he'd never have to feel it. He could just be numb, numb like he was in Antarctica, like he was when they first came back from Atlantis. He changed the subject. "Hey, why aren't you with Sam right now? Doesn't she want some sort of reassurance . . .”

Rodney smiled sadly. "I was freaking out. She told me to go talk to you. Said you'd make me feel better."

But John hadn't made him feel better. He'd made it worse. He'd made everything worse, and now there was no way out. He felt trapped. He felt like pacing. Instead he gave Rodney another hug, but even that was too tight, choking.

John could get over Rodney. Really, he could. He could have Rodney in every way that mattered. Sex wasn’t that important. It wasn’t like he had to go cold-turkey, completely Rodneyless, or anything. He could deal. So what if there was no more amazing sex? He and Rodney’d gone long periods of time without sex. It’d be okay. And it wasn’t like Rodney was the most attractive guy anyway. John’d had better. He’d had lots better.

Except more attractive had always left him with vacuous bimbos he ended up dumping anyhow. Then again, maybe it was the man thing. Scientists (the squishy kind) said that there was actually no such thing as true bisexuality, that you were either one or the other. Maybe he was just truly one hundred percent gay and so fucked up by the military that he’d convinced himself into bisexuality.

Yeah, that had to be it. He’d just have to get himself a boyfriend, and Rodney could have his family and they could still be friends and it’d all work out.

That was the day that John went to the gym for the first time in years, and though he was getting older and starting to show a little grey in his hair, and could barely do a mile on the damn treadmill due to his stupid lung problem, he still had it, because by the end of the day he had a twenty-seven-year-old muscle machine fucking him through the mattress, and Brian was just enough to make him forget Rodney, if only for a few minutes.

“You’re fucking amazing, John,” Brian said, already up and ready for another round. God, John missed twenty-seven.

“So are you.” Twenty-seven was a medical miracle.

Brian nibbled at his neck. “You’re gorgeous. And smart.” Brian’s vision of smart was being able to correct him when he tried to pick John up with misquoted Hemingway. “And, man, with all these fucking scars, I can’t believe you’re still, you know . . .”

“Alive?”

“Working out, man.” It was called physical therapy. “What’d you do anyway?”

“Military.”

“Cool. Did you leave before they changed the thingy?”

“Thingy?”

“You know, the rules? About being gay and all?”

“I’m still in, actually.”

“They let you?”

“I’m not on active duty.”

“Oh. Don’t you like have to be like really senior for that?”

“Um . . . I’m a Colonel, if that’s what you mean.”

“Awesome. I fucked a Colonel.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Cool.”

That seemed to be the limit of Brain’s vocabulary. John wondered if he was that stupid at twenty-seven. Still, Brian was pretty and spectacular in bed, and Rodney was even more jealous of him than he’d been of Natasha, so it was kind of worth it. Except it totally wasn’t.

And just when he thought he was finally getting ahold of things again, that was when O’Neill came back.

“I can’t believe this . . . Sam goes back to the lab and bye-bye supervising position.” Rodney grouched.

“You’re still a supervisor.”

“Bye-bye big corner office.”

“You don’t even know where your office is.”

“Bye-bye highest level research projects.”

“You haven’t lost any of your projects.”

“Bye-bye the power over labs full of idiotic minions to terrorize and make do my bidding.”

“Rodney, supervising training and head of personnel and resource allocation is, by definition, terrorizing minions and making them do your bidding.”

“Yeah, but Sam gets the final word.”

“And when has she ever said ‘no’ to you when you really wanted something? She lets you stockpile enough canned sausages to restart civilization after a nuclear winter.”

“Yeah, but professionally . . . you’ve never seen us really go at it . . . we were . . . well, we really . . .”

“Yeah, that was back when she hated you. I think you guys’ll manage. It’s not like it’s any harder than marriage.”

“Oh, and you would know, Mr. Chronic-Case-of-Bacheloritus.” Rodney sounded resentful, but how could he when he was the reason, or at least one of them, for John’s inability to settle? It wasn’t like Brian or Natasha, or Cindy, or that waitress whose name he couldn’t remember, or Jessica, or Hope, or even Jonas Quinn could hold a candle to Rodney.

“I like my freedom.” He said it a bit too harshly.

Rodney frowned. “Oh.”

John refused to look at him when he sounded all hurt like that. “Besides, you get to break in newbies every day. Do you really think Sam could do a better job?”

“Sam? She’ll mother them right into a supportive little generator meltdown.”

“So, good thing O’Neill had the foresight to choose you.”

“Oh please, my Palm Pilot has more foresight. It’s just that I’m so brilliant at what I do, how could anyone fail to notice?”

“Gee, I don’t know . . .”

“Neither do I.” John knew Rodney well enough to know that he wasn’t really serious about all the egoisms. It was half deserved, half sarcasm. “I guess, no matter how unsavory, I’m needed . . .”

“Yes, how heroic of you.”

Having O’Neill back in charge felt a lot like going to the circus, only without the elephants and the popcorn. As much as John hated Rush, he had to admit that the man sure did know how to run a tight ship. Forms were signed on time, requisitions arrived without strange packing material like bouncy balls and copies of the Wormhole X-treme fan magazine. Science wasn’t having a lab equipment bonanza. And, best of all, John never had to do any additional paperwork that didn’t directly involve him.

Now, Sam would hand him a personnel roster and a mini mountain of forms every other week and say, “You fix this. You’re a Colonel too.” They both got pretty good at forging O’Neill’s signature.

Not that there weren’t other perks. O’Neill was a fun guy to serve under. He trusted John, which felt wonderful for a change. Most questions John asked were answered with ‘Yeah, sure, whatever, Sheppard. Don’t let the geeks do anything stupid.’ And there was the football pool and the ‘who will McKay make cry next’ pool (though John got banned from it for insider trading) and the Wednesday bicycle race around the outer corridor.

John didn’t dread going to the General’s office anymore, though rank still kept a small barrier between what John would’ve thought would be a solid friendship otherwise. Still, O’Neill was amiable, and a constant fixture in John’s social life as he spent a good deal of time hanging out with him and Sam and Rodney.

And God, was he protective of her. He gave strict orders to everyone in the lab to not so much as let her lift a finger before the baby was born, unless they wanted to be shipped off to Siberia like Hammond’d done to McKay all those years back. John just shrugged and told them, ‘Well, Rodney survived it okay.’

Outside the mountain, O’Neill was nice enough, and did a mean barbecue, but he seemed a little cold sometimes, wistful and distant. He’d seen a lot in his career, done a lot. And, even then, a lot of that could possibly be attributed to his apparent dislike of Rodney. John didn’t blame him really - Rodney was a hard guy to get to know and O’Neill wasn’t the most patient of people.

“No, no, Carter, I’ll get it,” O’Neill could be heard from where John and Rodney sat on the porch. “This doesn’t have to be another one of your little feminist tiffs. It has nothing to do with the fact that you have breasts and everything to do with the fact that if you try to reach that, you’re going to fall over.”

“Jack, I’m the physicist here. Trust me . . .”

“Un-uh, no way, Carter. Here, you sit yourself right down there . . . that’s a good girl.”

Rodney turned to John and rolled his eyes. “She never listens to me like that.”

“It’s a rank thing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, I’m not. Just glad someone’s here to do it. Your move.”

John looked down at the well-worn chessboard, the one from Atlantis. The white pieces were starting to yellow, and there was a smooth patch on one of the knights where he rubbed his thumb while thinking. “How do you think they’re doing?” He didn’t have to say who. He and Rodney’d had this conversation a hundred times before.

“How the hell should I know? What do I look like, a magic eight ball?”

John reached over to poke Rodney’s stomach. “Maybe a little.”

“Ha ha, very funny, Colonel. You wound me, you really do.”

“Ford’s probably named half the galaxy Planet-Mean-Natives by now.”

“And if she’s managed to stick it out under Henderson, I’m sure Teyla’s found herself a harem of devoted admires.”

“Naw, I think she’s settled down by now. The Athosians have a traditional age for arranged marriage if you don’t find anyone.”

“Oh. I’d forgotten that. Maybe she and Bates have finally given in to the attraction and jumped each other.”

“You’re crazy; you know that?”

“Fine line between genius and insanity, but in my case, the genius has definitely won out.”

“Whatever you say, Superman.”

“What are you waiting for, the next ice age? A reasonable form of American government? A sign from God?”

“Sorry, but us non-geniuses need some time to think.” He moved his rook. “Checkmate.”

“You did not . . .”

“Yes, I did.”

“I don’t . . . wait, let me think . . .”

“Rodney, we do this every single time I win, which is what now? 945? Could you call it off this once?” It was a familiar complaint.

“I . . . okay.” Okay? Then again, Rodney looked exhausted and drawn, circles under his eyes like John hadn’t seen since Atlantis, since the siege.

They heard O’Neill’s voice from inside. “I always used to give Sarah an ankle rub.”

“No, thank you, Jack.”

“Just like that . . .”

“Oh, wow, okay, maybe.” Sam half-groaned. John thought it almost sounded obscene.

If it had been any other man, if it had been John, he would’ve marched in there and done something ridiculously macho like punch someone or take his shirt off for no good reason.

Rodney just sighed and picked up his fallen king. “Two out of three?”

“Sure,” John said, allowing himself the small luxury of stroking Rodney’s hand as he reached over to grab a couple of his pawns. Rodney half-smiled, but didn’t meet his eyes.

“Ryan. Duncan. Landon. Luke. Owen. Chris.”

“No. No. No. I’d rather Chewbacca. No. And . . . no. God, can you be any less original? We’re not trying to name the next Ken doll.”

“Sorry, I just don’t want the kid to be traumatized. He’s destined for geekiness already. Why make it worse?”

“Well maybe I don’t want my son to be a football-playing, French-fry eating, guy-who-kinda-plays-the-guitar, all-American.”

“How about ‘John?’”

“Yeah, because that’s not at all confusing. Besides, that’s got to be some sort of weird Freudian something-or-other, naming your kid after an ex-lover.”

“It’s better than Ana’phebala.”

“Hey, not my fault Sam made some weird promise to the princess of P4X-432.” Rodney shrugged. “Though apparently she actually became a pretty good ruler, despite the name. Besides, it’s going to be a boy so that’s a moot point.”

“And you know this through divine prophesy?”

“No. Let’s just say that you shouldn’t put much stock in the electronic systems they use to enforce all those medical privacy laws.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You hacked into your doctor’s filing system just to find out the sex of your own kid?”

“Well, Sam wouldn’t let me and I . . . got curious. That kind of stress is bad for the blood pressure, you know . . .”

“I’m glad the two of you have such a relationship based on trust.”

“Oh come on, like she expects me to wait all this time. She just doesn’t want to know, herself, which is ridiculous, anyhow. I don’t want to give the kid a sexuality crisis later in life by confusing him with both pink and blue.”

“You could just go with purple. Gender division’s over-rated anyhow.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Rodney said, distractedly. “What do you think about ‘Asrael?’”

“Isn’t that the name of some demon or something?”

“Instantly commanding, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, maybe for an evil overlord . . .”

“He was probably the leader of something . . . lots of misguided little minions . . . not misguided because of him, of course . . .”

“Precisely . . . Rodney, demon.”

“Oh, relax, it’s not like you put too much stock in voodoo and cult worship and all that.”

“Rodney, whether you like it or not, a large portion of the world this kid grows up in is going to be religious. Hi, Toderov.” John waved as they rounded the bend.

Toderov gave him a lopsided salute and slouched a little more.

“Hi,” Rodney murmured without sparing the lanky Russian even a glance. “Fine, fine. I know . . . ‘Copernicus!’”

“Rodney, you named your cat ‘Copernicus.’”

“Smartest feline I’ve ever seen. He was . . . wow, he was . . .” Rodney’s voice started to choke up just slightly the way it did when ever he was reminded of pets, the history of astrophysics or deaths.

“You can’t name your son after a cat.”

Rodney sighed, pouting. “Fine. But it can’t just be any old name. It has to be . . .”

"I always liked Maxwell," Toderov said with shrug, tapping his illicit cigarette against one of the power units in the completely nonchalant Toderov sort of way that pissed John off so damn much.

Rodney didn't even bother to yell at him. He had this fascinated look on his face. "Yes . . . Maxwell . . . like Maxwell Plank . . . ."

"Don't you think that 'Max' is a bit plai . . ." but John caught the look on Rodney's face and knew that there would be no persuading him.

“Which do you like better, John? The black or the white?”

John rolled his eyes. Agreeing to go shopping with Brian was probably one of his stupidest ideas ever, up there with leaving Atlantis, that really drunken night with Rodney’s sister and investing in 8-tracks.

“I don’t know. The black.” He picked randomly.

“Why?”

“Well, with the white I can see the pink on your nipple rings.” Maybe while they were here he could find Brian some less . . . gay ones. “And isn’t black supposed to be . . . um . . . slimming?”

“You think I’m fat?”

“No, no . . . I don’t know.”

Brian pouted. It was not cute.

“Look, why don’t you just get both? My treat.” Anything to make it stop.

Brian’s face brightened and he kissed John lightly on the lips. “Aw, baby, you’re so sweet.”

John tried to look around casually. He felt like someone was watching them. “Yeah, no problem.”

“Hey, look there’s a furniture store over there. Maybe while we’re here we can get you a new couch.”

“Or not.”

“But baaaby, yours doesn’t match anything!”

“It’s comfortable.”

“Jesus, John, just because you’re in the military doesn’t mean that you can’t have a sense of style.”

“Look, Brian, I like my couch, okay? How about we go to . . .” what was popular nowadays? “The Gap?”

“Please, John, I’m not a teenaged-girl too frightened to show her non-existent breasts to wear anything risqué but still desperately needing to be trendy.” Huh. Teenaged-girl was actually a fairly accurate description of Brian.

“John?” an incredibly familiar female voice behind him.

John turned with an overwhelming sense of dread. “Sam?” She was dragging along an airman with an armful of shopping bags. John didn’t need the uniform to recognize the nervous at-attention stance.

“Hey, what are you doing here by yourself?” Usually Sam dragged both him and Rodney out clothes shopping. She said John had a fashion sense that died when Michael Jackson stopped being black. Rodney said it was a good excuse to reward himself with a trip to CompUSA. John didn’t mind all that much – Sam was a more efficient shopper than Rodney was.

“Um . . .”

Then he felt a muscular arm clench around his waist possessively. “He’s not here by himself. Are you, baby?”

“No, I’m not,” John practically sighed.

“Oh . . . I see.” Sam looked bewildered, with a hint of questioning in her gaze. He really should’ve told her.

“Well, aren’t you going to introduce me?” Brian asked, batting his eyelashes ridiculously.

“Sure. Why not?” It’s not as though (barring alien takeover of the Earth) his day could get all that much worse. “Brian, this is Sam. Sam this is Brian.”

Brian’s smile brightened. “Sam?! Oh my god, John’s told me so much about you!”

Sam gulped, trying to be diplomatic. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Brian.”

Brian swatted John’s arm, putting absolutely none of his considerable muscle into it. “Oh, you fag, why didn’t you tell her about me?”

“You know, it seems like we’ve been together so long, I must’ve forgotten that she didn’t already know.”

The sarcasm was just as lost on Brian as John knew it would be. “Oh, baby!” Brian kissed him a little less chastely than John would’ve considered polite. “Isn’t he a sweetheart?”

“Yes, he sure is.” Sam looked confused, but she didn’t need to work hard to hide it from Brian.

“I’m the luckiest man in the world to find a catch like him . . .”

Sam looked just about as uncomfortable as John felt. “So . . . um . . . how long have you and John been . . .”

“It’s our three month anniversary in two weeks,” Brian almost giggled. John hoped he wasn’t supposed to be keeping track of that.

“Oh . . . that’s nice.”

The silence stretched. John felt claustrophobic, like he hadn’t felt since that chopper crash in Afghanistan, trapped between walls of twisted metal. “Um . . . Sam, it was great running into you. But Brian and I were just on our way to look at couches.”

“Okay. See you Monday. It was nice meeting you, Brian.”

“The pleasure was all mine.” Brian smiled as John dragged him over to the sales counter.

John paid as quickly as possible and steered Brian out of there.

“Jesus, John, what’s with you? It’s like you’re dying to get out of there.”

“Just can’t wait to get a new couch; that’s all. Can’t stand the old one for another second.”

“John?” The pouty voice.

John turned slowly. “Yeah?”

“Are you ashamed of me?”

“No. Of course not, Brian. You’re . . .” not intelligent, or funny, or deep, or nice even. What was the word he was looking for? “You’re . . . hot.”

“Thanks, baby. You’re so sweet. I just, you know, want your friends to like me.”

“Well, maybe, if you could . . . you know, act a little less . . . gay.” It wasn’t that John was ashamed of his sexuality. He didn’t think it was something that needed to be public, but he wasn’t in the closet. He liked to fuck men. There was nothing wrong with that. But it wasn’t really something to be proud of either.

“But, John, we are gay.” Actually, John was bisexual, which was totally different. He didn’t go to parades or hang out in West Hollywood or listen to Cher devotedly or have anything approaching fashion sense or you know . . . protest or anything like that.

“I know, but . . . why are you always like this when we’re in public?” It was like Brian was trying to provoke homophobes or something. John just wanted some good sex and to fade into the scenery. He’d just done complicated. Complicated broke his fucking heart. Now he wanted something simple . . . simple like he and Rodney had back on Atlantis.

“Maybe because I’m proud of who I am. God, John, after like fifty years you’d think you’d get that.” But John didn’t have anything to be proud of. After that black mark in Afghanistan, he’d done nothing but make mistakes, and he didn’t just hurt himself when he fucked up either.

“I think we should stop seeing each other,” John said. Even with his scant amount of brain cells, Brian was getting to be too complicated.

“Siler can handle it, don’t panic. I’m sure it’s not . . . you know, good for things.”

“Shut up, John.” Sam was in a foul mood. It was bad enough she was so ready to pop that she could barely stand, bad enough Rodney and Teal’c and Daniel were all off-world fixing Paulson’s latest fuck-up and she was stuck with John, who didn’t know his ass from his head in terms of pregnant people, and really damn bad that they were experiencing a power drain on the goddamn base electricity system and nobody knew why.

“I’m just saying . . .”

“I need to get down there.”

“Well, you’re not going.”

“If I don’t . . . and it really is some sort of drain on the Gate system itself, any team trying to dial in could trigger a catastrophic overload!”

“Well, let’s hope it’s not then, because you’re not going.”

She made a really pathetic attempt to get out of her rolling chair at the conference table. John sighed and stood to brace the back and help her up.

“Look, I know Rodney told you to watch me like a hawk and make sure I didn’t lift a finger, and I appreciate it, really. But he’s not going to be very happy with either of us if the base blows up along with you, me, the baby and his only way back to Earth.”

“Like I said, Siler can handle it.” He hoped Siler could handle it.

Sam rolled her eyes, something she seemed to have been doing more and more since beginning a relationship with Rodney, and tapped on her headset. “Siler?”

There was nothing but static.

“Siler?”

John tried his. “Siler, this really isn’t funny, leaving me with an upset pregnant woman like this . . .”

Sam’s glare quickly turned into a concerned frown when Siler didn’t answer. All the hairs on the back of John’s neck stood on end, his senses going to full alert, ready for battle. “There’s something rotten . . .”

Sam looked down at the readouts on her laptop (the narrow stairs to the control room had proven too much for her). “We need to get there. Now.”

“But . . .” if she couldn’t make it to the control room, how the hell did she expect them to make it to Sub-Basement 5 where the damn power drain was originating?

“Do you really want to die today?” She turned the laptop to face him. John was no expert, but a big red spike most likely wasn’t good.

“Not particularly, no.”

“Then help me down the stairs. Now.”

“Sam, it’s not safe. Who knows why Siler isn’t answering his . . .”

“That’s why you’re coming with me.”

Yeah, the hormones must really be messing with her head, because in no book of military strategy were the instructions to send an invalid and a pregnant woman after an unidentified threat.

She thrust her laptop into his arms and waddled off.

John sighed reluctantly and tapped his radio. “Security teams 1 and 2, meet me in Sub-Basement 5.” Sam sure as hell was stubborn – she and Rodney were made for each other.

They headed for the nearest elevator at a snail's pace – plenty of time for Marines and airmen to get into position to welcome them. Except, the second John pressed the button for the lower levels, the power went out.

“Shit,” he said.

“Get out your flashlight,” Sam responded.

He shifted the laptop to one hand and pulled out the pocket light on his keychain with the other. It was disconcerting, not marching around in full gear most of the time anymore.

Sam looked strange and deformed in the blue tinge coming off the small light, face too round, shadows highlighting the furrow of her brows and the determined glare. She pulled a cable out of the wall and snapped her fingers at him for the laptop – too much like Rodney.

John stood and held the light. He was helpful.

Five minutes later, they had coaxed enough power out of the system to get down to the basement. The Marines weren’t there.

“Fuck,” John said.

“Not in front of the baby,” Sam responded.

John just drew his handgun and scowled. They still had to get down three levels and Sam was too far along to manage that without his help.

“I don’t like this.”

“And you think I do?” Sam said, resting her hands on John’s shoulders as he started down the first flight of stairs, gun up in front of him and senses hyper-alert like he’d almost missed these past two years.

She only stumbled once, but he had to let his guard down way too much in order to help her.

Halfway down the third flight of steps was where they found Siler’s body. Something was definitely very wrong – people’s heads didn’t get to be facing that way from technical difficulties. John didn’t need to tell Sam to be quiet as they descended the rest of the way. She looked like she wished she had her gun. Hell, he wished she had her gun.

He left her at the base of the steps, hands protectively covering her belly. John moved closer to the wall of mark-5 naquadriah generators, senses thrilling, but not seeing a goddamned thing.

His only warning was a rush of air as something slammed him hard against the wall. He heard the gun clatter to the floor, but only had time to bring his arms up protectively against the next barrage of blows. He felt a boot connect with his forearm, heard bones shatter as he lunged, grappling with the nothingness with one hand until he felt flesh and . . . he grabbed ahold of something . . . felt a familiar tickling at the back of his mind the moment his fingers connected with the metal and thought ‘off.’

It wasn’t a Goa’uld, or a Genii or a Rit’u. It was an ordinary human being. John had just a moment to marvel at that before the ordinary human brought Siler’s heavy metal toolkit around and . . .

Someone was crying. Someone was crying and screaming his name. It was dark, but they needed his help. He had to help them. It was the right thing to do. He just had to open his eyes first.

The screaming was making that incredibly difficult. Each and every yell felt like it went directly into his skull. If they would just stop . . . the pressure . . . the pain . . . and, come to think of it, his wrist didn’t feel so hot either.

He would’ve liked to crawl back into that peaceful darkness, but someone needed him. Someone was calling . . .

“John!”

He moaned. “Quiet.”

Except the screaming didn’t stop. “Oh, thank God, John!” Sam panted.

John rolled onto his side and threw up.

By the time he was done, Sam had finished screaming. John pushed himself up, cradling his right wrist and the hastily constructed splint of a wrench and screwdriver plus some of someone’s shirt to his chest. There was no satisfying hum of painkillers blanketing everything, just Sam propped up against the wall, red-faced and tear-streaked, laptop and John’s gun at her side.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m in labor, John. Do I look okay?” Rodney was rubbing off on her. And she was loud.

“Yeah, but did he hurt you?” John stumbled over to where Sam was laying. Her hands were covered in blood, but judging by the sticky feeling running down his cheek, it was probably his.

“I did more damage to him,” she half smirked, nodding at the corner though she looked too weary to really pull it off well.

Whoever the intruder was had gotten it right to the back, through his heart. “You still got it.” Even five minutes from going into labor, Sam was an amazing soldier. “Who do you think he was?”

“If I had to place bets, I’d say he was a Trust operative, but we really don’t have enough information to tell right now.”

John nodded, preoccupied. “We need to get you to a doctor . . .”

“I could say the same about . . . oh god!” Her fists clenched and her eyes squinted and she cried out as another contraction hit.

“Shit,” John said. He wasn’t ready for this. He couldn’t handle this. What the fuck were you supposed to do with pregnant women anyway? Pretty much all he could remember was from watching ‘9 Months’ with his girlfriend a really long time ago.

He grabbed Sam’s hand with his good one and she squeezed down hard, biting her lip and whimpering. Goddamned Rodney, where the hell was he, anyway? Unless they hadn’t fixed the power drain . . . no, the lights were on – too bright, pounding, screaming . . . John released Sam’s hand and stumbled over into the corner to throw up again. He really wasn’t in any shape to deal with this.

Sam screamed again, crying. “Get it out of me, John. God, do something!” John wasn’t sure he wanted it to come out or stay in. It wasn’t like he knew what to do if a baby suddenly popped out of her.

He tapped his radio. “Sheppard to the infirmary.”

“Colonel, good to hear you’re awake. We were worried for a moment there.” Dr. Reyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Look, it’s Sam. She’s screaming and . . . I’m not going to have to . . . you know, am I?”

“I doubt it, Colonel. Childbirth is a pretty lengthy process. Major Peterson reports that they should be finishing up the security sweeps within the hour and then . . .”

A familiar voice interrupted over the radio, edgy and pissed as hell. “An hour? What do you mean an hour? She’s having a baby now. And it’s not like Sheppard knows what to do, even if he didn’t have a concussion.”

“Hey, Rodney,” John sighed wearily, relieved. Rodney’d get him out of this; he always did.

“Yeah, yeah, hey yourself, try to take care of my wife this time, okay? And don’t do anything stupid. I’m coming.”

“He’s coming,” John said to Sam, completely helplessly.

She grabbed his hand again and screamed. Dr. Reyes gave him some instructions, but John highly doubted sitting behind her and doing breathing exercises was going to help.

When that wave of contractions finally waned, Sam looked back at him, glassy-eyed and musing. “I want you to tell me something, John,” she gasped.

Jesus, if she’d stop squeezing his hand like that and doing all these scary out-of-control things like going into labor, he’d tell her anything. State secrets, iris codes, whatever, just to get this all under control. “Okay, sure. Anything.”

“Were you and Rodney ever lovers?”

Except maybe that. “Um . . .”

“John!” she screamed through another wave of contractions. He hoped she’d forget, but she was a genius, of course she didn’t. “John?”

“Yes, we were lovers.”

“And you stopped because . . .”

“Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

Sam gasped again, squeezing his hand harder. “I thought so . . .”

“Breathe, breathe, Sam.” He propped her up against him like in those movies when they showed the pregnant-people class. He could do this. He could handle it. No panicking. He was a pro.

Then that wave of contractions subsided and they were left panting and waiting. “I knew that was Rodney was bi at the beginning.”

“He told you?”

“Didn’t need to. I thought he had a crush on you, too. But I thought you were straight and oblivious. I honestly didn’t think about it again until you introduced me to Brian.”

John winced. Now would be the time to come clean if there ever was one, but could he really do that to Sam while she was in labor? No, he wasn’t that guy. He couldn’t do it.

“Well, you know who my father was, Sam. I got pretty good at hiding things.” And not just his sexuality either.

“I know. I’m amazed that you survived that asshole. But you and Rodney . . . why didn’t you get back together after they repealed the policy?”

“Too little, too late. Sam, Rodney loves you. He and I might’ve worked, but we never got the chance.” It wasn’t exactly a lie.

She nodded and then everything seemed to happen all at once. Sam was crying out, John was feeling sick, he heard a noise and drew his gun with his good hand and pointed it directly at . . . “Rodney, thank god.” He’d never been happier to see anyone in his life. Rodney looked like a fucking knight in shining armor wearing his field gear and a climbing harness and holding out a funny looking blue Ancient broach, the device they’d been about to test in the lab before Rodney got called off-world.

Rodney grabbed the hand that was still holding Sam’s, slapped the device onto John’s chest and said, “Think about the infirmary.”

John did. Then everything went black.

The curtain drew back. That would be Rodney then . . .

It was Reyes.

He cringed.

“Colonel Sheppard. I know that you guys over in the more theoretical departments like to think that you have a unique worldview, but on what planet . . . in what galaxy, does running around after intruders, hand-to-hand, a broken arm, a concussion, and use of completely untested and unknown Ancient technology qualify as non-strenuous light duty, physical therapy, and administrative work?”

“Pegasus?”

She rolled her eyes. “Very funny, Colonel. You’re a real clown. Let’s see how many laughs you can get the next time I have to put you on a ventilator.”

“I’ve been told I have excellent body language.”

“I’m sure you do.” Yeah, not even a spark. She was definitely a lesbian. What a loss. “But still, I’ll explain this so you can understand: ventilator bad. Air good. Stress equals lack of air. No stress for Colonel Sheppard.”

“Wow. Could you repeat that again? Slowly?”

She sighed. “Seriously, Colonel. I know you find it hard not being in the center of the action anymore, but we’re all doing our best just to keep you here playing practical jokes on the labtechs instead of in the ICU. Try to remember that, okay?”

“I know, I know. It’s not like I asked the team of Marines I ordered to cover us not to show up or a saboteur to infiltrate the base and try to kill me. I really don’t like people trying to kill me, despite what you might think. And the Ancient tech . . . that was all Rodney.”

“Hmmm . . . well, as soon as Colonel Carter’s asleep, it looks as though I’ll be having a little chat with Dr. McKay, then.”

She turned on her heal to go.

“Doc?”

“Yes, Colonel?”

“Is now too soon to get out of here?”

“Don’t push it, Colonel. I’ll be back in an hour for a check. If you’re not in bed resting with an IV and a pleasant smile for me, you’ll be getting to know that patch of ceiling even better than you already do.”

“Not possible.”

“Sweet dreams, Colonel.”

John sighed. He shifted. He scratched at the tape around the IV. He scratched at his cast. He shifted again. He stared at the ceiling. That took about ten seconds, and it was the full repertoire of behaviors available to him. He was going to have to listen to the Doc and actually sleep. She was a tricky one.

But luckily, the high-pitched whine of infinite distraction . . . to the rescue! “Is she gone?”

“Who? Reyes?”

“No, the other drop dead gorgeous dyke with the medical degree from 15th century Spain.” God, for a bisexual, Rodney sure was insensitive with his word use. John decided to attribute it to jealousy.

“So you think she’s a lesbian too?”

“Duh, she hasn’t fallen for the John Sheppard wounded puppy look yet.”

“I do not . . .” he hissed.

“Shhhh . . . keep it down. She might come back. Besides, you know, she asked Sam out once. Too bad she’s not into that stuff . . .” Oh, good mental picture, though. He’d file that one away for future reference.

“Speaking of Sam, shouldn’t you be . . .”

“Not with her there. The two of them . . . I can’t take it. ‘Oooh’s and ‘awww’s and strangle little cuddling noises that I don’t think my throat can even make . . . when will it stop?!”

“When you ship him off to college.”

“That’s what? Another fifteen years?”

“Well, for normal people, it’s eighteen . . .”

“I don’t know how they do it. Did they give you any Jell-o?”

“No, sorry. She’s pissed at you, but I think the Doc’s still punishing me, too.”

“Maybe she’ll do that whole woman thing and get happier because of the baby.”

“Sure.” The person that could thaw Reyes deserved a prize, but John didn’t think they’d have to worry about giving it out any time soon. “So, how’d it go?”

“Ah, well, you know - screaming, crying, doctors, blood.”

“You fainted, didn’t you?”

“I might’ve blacked out for just a second, but my blood sugar was dangerously low. I mean, childbirth takes a really really long time. I’m so glad I don’t have a uterus.”

“Me too.” It was probably better for all of humanity. “But, isn’t it supposed to be the best moment of your life?”

“Yeah, not really. I think I liked the not-chocolate cake I was busy sampling on P3Y-775 better – moist but not sticky, you know?”

“Not so much, no.”

“How are you doing? I’m sorry about the whole experimental Ancient tech thing, by the way. You know I wouldn’t have . . .”

Except there were things that were more important. “Yeah, I know. It’s just a headache. What’s that on top of the bruises and the broken arm?”

“It could’ve been a little worse.”

“How much worse?” he almost growled, suspiciously.

“Oh, you know, a permanent microsingularity in the fabric of space-time, molecules lost to the ether, transportation to an unknown location, probably empty space . . . nothing we haven’t risked before.” Except before it wasn’t personal. Rodney already seemed to be taking the overprotective father thing a bit too seriously. But then again, when did Rodney ever not take something important too seriously?

“Good to know. Remind me never to let you near anything dangerous.”

“Oh, puh-lease, there was only about a .00000000000567 percent chance of the worst of those happening.”

“And that would be?”

“Death by explosive decompression. Duh. I thought you already knew my preferences for certain doom.”

“Not microsingularity?”

“Sam’s survived stuff like that before. And, who knows, with the molecule mixing, I might’ve had a non-surgical method of getting some more hair.”

John used his good hand to reflexively feel his hairline. It tugged at the IV.

“God, how vain are you?”

“Just vain enough, obviously. So, assuming Reyes decides to flay you alive instead of me and I actually get out of here, when do I get to see him?”

“See who?” Rodney looked over his shoulder. This did not bode well for the whole experiment in genius parenting.

“Max. You know, your son?”

“Oh, yeah, him. Sam’s got him right now. But when she falls asleep, I’m sure I can sneak you a peek.” Rodney sounded a bit more like a pimp than a proud father, but John was used to his oddities by now.

“You don’t want to be with them right now?”

“No, not really. There’s not all that much to see. He’s little and pink. Clean now, though, thank god. I honestly think she must’ve been bringing in some of that blood from another dimension or something. Don’t see what people find so charming about babies. I mean, they’re proportioned all wrong, they can’t talk, they cry a lot, and as much as I like Sam’s breasts . . . the whole feeding thing really doesn’t do it for me.”

“And it’s supposed to?”

“Hmmm . . .”

Of course Rodney didn’t have time to answer, as the curtains flew back with all the surprise and terror of the shower scene in ‘Psycho,’ Dr. Reyes holding her clipboard to her chest like a goddamned knife. She looked evil. “Dr. McKay, just the man I was looking for. If you’ll come with me, please . . .”

“Actually, I was busy . . .”

“Tiring out my patient?”

“Doing . . . you know, technical . . . calculations . . . naquadah decay ratio . . . I was . . . okay, fine, but remember half those genes you were cooing about five seconds ago were mine.”

“The loud crying half?” Reyes raised her eyebrows and turned to leave. Rodney hung his head and followed, oddly defeated. Maybe he was getting old.

“You know the drill, Colonel,” Reyes barked over her shoulder.

“Yes, Ma’am.” John sighed and promptly fell asleep.