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John had been having a pretty good day. His ankles weren't too swollen and his back was only aching a little. He'd done some Athosian yoga with Teyla and meditated for a while, and she hadn't teased him all that much for napping when he was supposed to be 'finding inner calm'. She'd even fed him tea and honey-cakes. Ronon had hung around after that, bringing him snacks and whittling tiny figures with an improbably huge knife—soldiers, farmers, minuscule children, alien animals. Apparently they were a traditional Satedan birth gift, and at the rate Ronon was finishing them the kid'd have enough to play Civilization.
If only Rodney would calm the fuck down, everything'd be sweet.
John slouched back in the infirmary chair beside Rodney's bed, trying to find a more comfortable position where his belly—kind of unmissable now at thirty weeks—didn't make it hard to breathe. Rodney sat up rigidly in the bed, clutching a stainless steel bowl to his chest, looking green. "I shouldn't have let Carson drain me dry for his stupid tests," he said fretfully. "The baby'll need all my blood to survive. I'm perfusing for two, here!"
"You're an alpha, Rodney. You can't get pregnant," John said, annoyed. He was the omega in this goddamn relationship. If he had to put up with the annoying digs and put-downs and with being hit on by every alpha in Pegasus including ascended Ancients, would-be ascended Ancients and fucking Kolya, he ought to at least get to be pregnant in peace and not have Rodney horning in on it.
Rodney glared at him. "I'm also an empiricist, and the facts point to a different conclusion." He raised the hand not holding the bowl, fisted it and lifted one finger. "Fact: My abdominal girth's doubled in the last two weeks." Another finger. "Fact: I have morning sickness." And another. "Fact: we live in Pegasus so anything's possible." Rodney shook his head disbelievingly. "I don't know how you did it, but you managed to knock me up." He waved his hand, vaguely encompassing the city. "I can't be pregnant! I have work to do!"
John rolled his eyes. Like he didn't have plenty he ought to be doing as well, even if Lorne had taken over most of the paperwork. John still had Marines to train and mission schedules to organize, but no, here he was, stuck in the infirmary with Rodney. "I didn't knock you up." He narrowed his eyes. "Unless you've been stepping out on me, Rodney." Omegas could be plenty damn territorial about their mates as well; John certainly was.
Rodney looked wounded. "Oh, right, level baseless accusations at me when I'm at a low ebb and too sick to defend myself. Why would I even look at anyone else when you're so, so . . ." He flailed, red-faced.
"Hairy?" John suggested, recalling various epithets Rodney had used to describe him. "Slouchy? Leany? Touchy?"
"Yes, exactly," Rodney snapped. "You probably touched something you shouldn't have and hey presto, here we are with me inseminated by a malfunctioning ancient device!"
John bridled. "It's a hell of a lot more likely you touched something, Rodney, and you can–"
"I'll not have you two arguing in my infirmary and disturbing the other patients, so you can both bloody well calm down," Carson said, pushing the curtain around Rodney's bed aside and frowning down at them. He was holding a printout.
"What is it, Carson?" Rodney asked, eyes wide with foreboding. Despite his irritation, John felt a pang of anxiety. He bit his lip.
"It’s pseudocyesis, laddie, Couvade syndrome," Carson said. "As I suspected."
Rodney reached out and clutched John's hand. "Oh my God. Is it fatal? How long do I have?" John winced and made him loosen his convulsive grip a little before any bones broke.
Carson shook his head. "You're not dying, Rodney."
"Then I am pregnant! This is a disaster!"
Carson glowered at him. "You're not pregnant either, you daft pillock. You're an alpha; you know that's impossible."
John shot Rodney a look of vindication, but Rodney ignored him, chin sticking out stubbornly. "But with ancient tech–"
"It's got nothing to do with the Ancients, Rodney, and besides, you know we've been keeping you and the Colonel away from any untried technology during his pregnancy."
John grimaced. The baby for sure had the ATA gene so they took sensible precautions, but there was a limit to what they could do. Who knew what might happen if the kid suddenly had a powerful fetal urge of some sort and tapped into the city. It was bad enough with the food cravings and mood swings, but John didn't want to find himself yanked up into a free fall force-field just 'cause his offspring wanted to fly.
"No, Rodney, the answer's both simpler and more complicated." Carson rapped Rodney on the head. "It's yer brain."
Rodney twitched away from Carson's touch, clutching his head with both hands, the basin lying forgotten on the bed-covers. "Something's wrong with my brain?" There was genuine fear in his voice, and John's heart-rate sped up as well.
Carson pulled up another chair. "The brain's a marvelous thing, Rodney, and yours thinks that because John's pregnant, you should be as well. It's called a sympathetic pregnancy."
Rodney's brows furrowed. "A . . . you can't mean this is literally all in my head? What about the weight gain? How do you explain this?" He angrily wrenched up his blue shirt, exposing his swollen belly. It was gently rounded, not a big basketball like John's stomach, but certainly not flat. Well, not that it ever had been entirely flat, but John liked Rodney's upholstering. It was cosy.
Carson shrugged, spreading his hands. "Your brain's not separate from your body, y'know. It's managed to get you to simulate pregnancy. Your hormones are a little out of whack—not as much as John's are, but it's causing the weight gain and water retention. Endorphins, cortisol, that sort of thing. Enough to give you morning sickness, even, especially as you've decided you're pregnant. A psychosomatic condition, it's called."
"Guess you talked yourself into it," John said, taking Rodney's hand again. "You know how convincing you can be when you're sure you're right."
"Aye, and alphas and omegas are more prone to this, because of the empathic bond," Carson added. "You're literally going through the pregnancy with John."
"Oh for goodness' sake, this is ludicrous," Rodney said. "You're sure there's nothing else? Not a . . . ," he swallowed, "a brain tumor, or anything?"
"I'm certain it's not anything y'need worry about," Carson said reassuringly. "And now we know you're not pregnant, we can put you through the scanner." He got up and bustled off to switch on the machine.
Rodney turned to John, his face a complicated mix of emotions. "I, I feel ridiculous, but I'd better do it, just to be sure."
John leaned in and kissed him gently. "Yeah, you do that." He hauled himself to his feet. "I'm just gonna wait outside."
"Yes, yes," Rodney said, hopping off the bed and making shooing motions. "Get well away from the scanner, although the technology's nowhere near as dangerous as old-fashioned X-rays, but you can't be too careful." He put his hand on John's stomach. "That's our baby in there." He looked down at the small swell of his own belly, a little sadly, John thought.
"Hey, buddy," John said softly, moving back to pull Rodney into a hug, even if he did have to angle them kind of slantwise around the baby bump. "We're gonna have our hands full with just the one kid, you know. It's better this way, and you're fine. You're just too damn sensitive, and you hate being left out."
Rodney gave a rueful chuckle into John's shoulder. "I hate anyone being able to do something I can't, you mean."
John grinned into Rodney's soft hair. "Well, that too." He pulled back, smirking. "Just be grateful you don't have to go through the giving birth part."
Rodney quirked a lopsided smile up at him. "Hah, yes, because that would be–" They both froze as the thought hit them, Rodney's eyes widening. He turned and yelled into the scanning annex. "Carson? Am I going to have goddamn labor pains? You know I never do anything by halves!"
Carson's head poked back around the door, looking wary. "Keep the noise down. And yes, you might well do. It's been known to happen."
Rodney stared up at John, horrified. "Get Heightmeyer immediately. I'm not leaving her couch until this is sorted!"
John rolled his eyes but Rodney was already striding into the scanner room, quizzing Carson about getting a supply of elastic stockings. John shook his head and made for the door.
Rodney's voice trailed after him. "Bring me dill pickles from the mess while you're at it! And some of those Athosian not-cranberries!"
John sighed. It was going to be a long ten weeks.
~ the end ~