Chapter Text
It’s been ten weeks since they were teleported to this new galaxy to a village called Ver Isca which is primitively medieval.
So much so, that it’s frowned upon when married women leave the house without the companionship of their husband even though most of the men spend the day training in the military or building massive vessels.
Knows this because in exchange for the house they were provided and a weekly income that allows them enough to eat, Cameron was conscripted, forced into labor, shooting, ship construction for twelve to fifteen hours a day.
When he comes home dragging a net full of his armor and weaponry, he’s filthy and exhausted. She tries to have dinner ready, to have a bath drawn for him. Luckily, they have the basic amenity of indoor plumbing, but no stove, no television, no radio, and no refrigerator which only decreases the quality of her meals.
Tried to learn how to bake bread from her neighbors, but the haughty women scorned her as soon as they saw her, equating her and Cameron with outsiders and therefore as distrustful. Finally, Denya, a woman who helps run the pub, was kind enough to teach her some basic recipes.
To say the townsfolk are wary of them is an understatement, and in return they need to be wary of overstepping social cues. Cameron relayed to her on their third day that Dr. Jackson and Major Carter had an altercation which almost evolved into them being burned alive at the stake before they were returned by the destruction of the communication device.
He still holds the same glimmer in his eye as they devour a breakfast made of stale bread and weak tea. He hasn’t complained about her horrible, near inedible, cooking or the house being dirty, or her unwillingness to have sex some nights because she feels so unwell.
Her sickness was present from the moment she opened her eyes in this galaxy.
Nausea, dizziness, the inability to keep food down.
In the wake of the night, she’ll rush to the water closet and vomit. Most of the time Cameron is so tired he doesn’t wake up, which she prefers. She doesn’t want to needlessly scare him.
The illness is probably just her body, which has endured years of endless trauma, trying to adjust to another situation. Maybe the air or the temperature isn’t quite agreeable. Maybe there are small maladies that the villagers have grown accustomed to that are new to her system.
These are the lies she used to tell herself.
*
When they were found in that clearing by a man with a limp, Tomin, who had a gentle voice and a kindness to him, he had smiled at her in the clearing, and noticed her injury, promising he was trustworthy, that he would take them to town.
While walking at her slowed pace, Cameron asked about seeing a doctor, a word Tomin didn’t know. She asked for a healer—a word several of the planets she visited used—and the man stopped, eyeing them carefully, stating that the only ones capable of healing were the Ori.
They’d learned quickly from Tomin that the Ori were unquestionable, and in order to obtain safety their loyalty could be unquestioning.
In town, they were introduced to Seevis, a more abhorring man who acts as the magistrate to the town and controls most of the good and services. He also had a leer about him that she didn’t appreciate. Cameron mentioned he’d noticed it as well as he lay beside her in bed and stroked her hair absently, allowing her to fall asleep.
While recording their information into the town manifest—which included names, ages, special skills, and medical problems, like Tomin’s limp which would keep them from serving the Ori—Seevis glanced up from the large ledger, eyeing her carefully.
“I just need to see your proof of your connubiality.”
Her head was still reeling from bashing it against the console in the ship. Words drifted in and out, and her stomach cramped with unease.
“Our what?” Cameron questioned as he sat beside her in the small space of the back office, his fingers ringing around her wrist refreshing.
“Your old village Prior’s decree of your union.”
Regained some lucidity at this point, interrupting Cameron before he could ask for more clarification. “He wants proof that we’re married.”
“Oh.” He chuckled before turning back to Seevis. “We don’t have that.”
The other man set his writing tool down, crossed his hands patiently, but a threatening tone dripped from his mouth as he spoke. “That document has to be procured before any union ceremony.”
“I’m sorry but—”
“You are joined under the holy watch of the Ori—” if possible, his voice dropped another entire octave “—are you not.”
In response, Cameron brought her hand to his chair, holding it between both of his. “We are married—”
“—however—” she interrupted him with a swiftly fabricated lie “—we left our village in such haste due to the nonbelievers uprising that—”
“Ahh,” Seevis nodded, striking something down on the paper, loving her words. “That’s been happening frequently as of late. It is a blessing from the holy Ori you made it out unscathed.”
“Not entirely.” Cameron brushed her hair back, placing her injury on display.
“Hmm,” Seevis made another strike against her name. “You should be more diligent in caring for your wife.”
Cameron’s entire body tensed. His chivalrous nature apparent even upon their first meeting, she has no doubts in his intentions and abilities to keep her safe.
“My husband was attending military practice and devoting his time to the hallowed Ori. The violent behaviors of the nonbelievers have absolutely no correlation to how good of a husband he is.”
Seevis chuckled, guttural, dating the document with arching eyebrows. “She is clearly a devoted wife. You should keep her while you can.”
The words unsettled both of them. To be an object for sale, for exchange, to be a commodity easily accessible or stolen.
Whatever mirth was left in him washed from Cameron’s face. “I’ll be sure to do that.”
“Then allow me to officially welcome you to Ver Isca. I will show you to your home. Someone will collect you for military duties tomorrow morning.”
“May I plead for my husband to stay with me for a day or two?” Did her best to portray her distress— large, innocent eyes accompanied by quick blinks in order to accumulate tears. “After all that’s happened, I just—I don’t—”
“Say no more.” Seevis waved his hand through the air, tucking the town transcript under his free arm. “I will send someone to collect your husband in two days.”
*
The long days apart are the worst.
He tells her this at night while holding her, stroking his fingers over her body, his voice a half-awake rumble against her skin. Not being able to defend her, that the villagers might see through the lies they’ve concocted, of her illness, the one she doesn’t speak to him about because it is certainly more fuel for a fire neither of them wants to be burned within.
Told her she might have a concussion and to try to be as physically inactive as possible. Helped her into the bath the first night, and it didn’t take much convincing for him to join her in the basin. They washed the mud from each other’s skin, the blood from his hands and her hair, she helped shave what little hair began to grow on his face. When she grew too tired, and the water started to cool. He wrapped her in a large towel and placed her into bed. Periodically woke her during the night asking her questions to gauge her lucidity. Cleaned her wound the next morning, kissing the cloth bandage he made from cutting a piece the bottom of the kitchen apron.
Playing house was fun, exhausting, but fun.
Trying to guess how much he’d like to eat, what she could make with the paltry items available in the cupboards. Working on a new loaf of bread daily and only getting worse. Throwing up what little food she could keep down. Cleaning out the tub of grime after his bath. Falling weak while climbing the stairs before him, his dept hands catching her before she hit the ground. Waking to him constantly doting on her, to him asking around the village what her ailments could be. Cozying up next to him at night and growing hot under the ministrations of his mouth and fingers, rowing atop him or writhing beneath before crying out loudly to envy the neighbors.
Learns to tell time from the sun, how it appears across the floor, and knows when it’s nearing the hearth to expect his immanent arrival.
She is going to tell him tonight.
Should have told him two weeks ago when she discerned from two lapsed cycles but couldn’t bring herself to accept the news. Still cannot. What it means, for her, for him, for them.
Stirs at the hearth as she hears his feet clomp up the front steps, his armor clanking in the netted bag. He enters, dropping it at the door. Sometimes she cleans it, polishes it, mostly she just leaves it there because it doesn’t bother her. His face is red from exertion and the sun, bits of dirt and sweat creating a grime on his face, one she will clean from the tub in an hour.
He exhales loudly once in the front door, leaning against it and rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand.
“Long day, Darling.” Approaches him, removing the hand from his face and placing her lips against one cheek, then the other, then tugs down his head to kiss his hairline.
“We gotta get out of here, Baby.” Drops his head to her shoulder, and she pets through his greasy hair, relaxing him, feeling the hot huff of breath slow at her collarbone. He slides the shoulder of her dress down, placing one chaste kiss against her skin. “Even though you look amazing in these dresses, we got to get home.”
Tonight isn’t the night for telling him.
His day has already been rough, full of exertion and training, physically and mentally tolling. She continues to caress a hand through his hair, down over his neck, grinning when he nuzzles against her, his nose brushing the side of her neck. “We will, my Darling.”
“They’re building three more ships, a fleet. We need to find a way to warn Earth at least.”
Doesn’t now how to answer him because she knows the feeling of slaughtering hundreds of innocent people. Knows what it’s like to know of Anubis’s plans and being unable to thwart them. It makes her feel burdened with dread.
So, she changes the subject. Kisses the top of his head. “Why don’t you go sit and have a drink while I draw your bath?”
“You know, you keep spoiling me, and I’m gonna grow used to this treatment when we get back.” Jokes as he taps her bum, allowing her to float away and begin to climb the needless number of stairs.
Wants to tell him that she has no problem keeping up her end of the bargain as long as he continues his, but already knows he will.
Hears him pour from the carafe of water as she turns on the spigot and shoves the stopper in to fill the tub. Then a familiar wave of heat courses over her body. She places a hand to her mouth, running for the water closet, slamming the door conspicuously off the wall, and vomits into the toilet. Her stomach convulses as she continues to throw up her breakfast, what she forced down for lunch, and as she heaves for the third time, one of his hands collect her hair, and the other rubs her back in comfort, in distraction.
Flushes when she’s finished, the back of her hand swiping at her mouth, he helps her stand, strong hands under the itchy material of the dress donated by other wives. Meets the concerned expression on his face, and brushes by him to take a drink of water at the sink. She doesn’t like talking of her weaknesses, of the gunshot that plagued her for a year, of the bash on her head that made it hard for her to stand for a few days.
Since she’s diagnosed herself, she really doesn’t like speaking of her illness.
But Cameron stands behind her, rolling his lips together, his eyes staring at her in the reflection of the mirror. “I asked one of the other soldiers about recent illnesses, and they said there was a horrible stomach flu about three months before we got here—”
“This isn’t that.” Her tone is curt as she washes her hands and then dries them on her dress.
“How do you know?”
“Because I know.” Paces by him again, turning off the faucet to a perfectly warm and filled tub. “Your bath is ready. I’ll heat up the stew.”
“Vala,” sighs at her nonchalant avoidance, but when she continues to walk for the stairs, he reaches forward grabbing her hand. “Vala.”
“What?” Retracts her hand from his rather sharply, out of character for her, for them, in the calmness they have around each other.
“Something’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“I’m not gonna waste our time by listing everything that’s wrong.” He just accepts the harshness, grins at her, holds her hand again and approaches her. “But technically, I’m your husband. You can talk to me.”
Shakes her head, trying to hide the tremor in her lower lip as she directs her gaze at the sunset shimmering in the cooling tub water.
“Vala, whatever’s wrong, we’ll get through it.”
“Can you promise me that?”
Cups her cheek in his hand and offers her the warm grin again. “It’s one of the only things I can promise you.”
“I’m pregnant.”