Chapter Text
They’ve been together for five months when it happens.
To be honest this is all he’s ever wanted with her.
Since the moment he saw her as a blunt force trauma apparition outside of his cockpit, he dreamed of a life with her.
After he met her and thanked her, he needed to see more of her—at first to repay her for saving him, saving Earth—then to show her that this planet wasn’t all assholes who shot her and stomped all over her, who locked her away, barely keeping her alive until she became useful.
Then she gave him back his legs, and it’s something he’ll never be able to repay her for, and he didn’t think before he kissed her—as thanks, as a promise, because he really fucking wanted to.
A week later and he was bunking on base every night, but not in his own room. He was fooling around with her like they were teenagers. He was bringing coffee and doughnuts, teaching her how to play basketball and saving her from Jackson’s prolonged English lessons.
He was planning a house for them, was going to talk to Hammond about getting him a place within the mountain’s reach, a small one level, two-bedroom type deal with a backyard for barbeques.
Bet she would love the idea of a fourth of July barbeque.
But then they went on a mission and after fumbling around with the idea of sacrificing themselves, they ended up here, in this weird backwards medieval town where she wears these dresses that drape off her and billow around her and make her look absolutely amazing, and where he gets to be in the military for possibly more hours a day than he was before.
Where his one rest day a week is usually spent exhausted in bed not only from the long hours, but from the more than hour long trek to get to the canyon where they’re making ships to send to the nonbelievers’ galaxy, and he’s got to stand there and nod like it’s a good idea, like they’re not gonna shoot down his Momma, and everyone he cares about.
Like he didn’t sacrifice his legs twice for no good reason.
She’ll snooze beside him on that rest day because since she bashed her head off the ship console crash dummies style, she’s been feeling sick—puking, sleepy, dizzy. He thought it was some weird village virus that she didn’t have immunity to because she kept getting sick back on Earth from the bullet wound that wouldn’t heal, but also from a slew of bacteria she wasn’t used to.
But then she tells him, “I’m pregnant.”
They’ve been together five months, from kiss to this moment, and he’s not ready for it.
“What do you mean?”
She angles her head curiously, a bit amused at his answer. “I’m with child? Do Tau’ri call it something different?”
“No—it’s—” he licks his lips because they’re dry, his entire mouth is dry. “It’s the same.”
She blinks at him once, and with a patient lilt in her voice, questions, “then what don’t you understand?”
His hand has engulfed the lower part of his face, and he can feel his skin growing red, sweating, because this must be a bad dream, this must be a rest day and he’s gonna wake with her draped across his chest and sigh in relief and kiss her shoulder.
“The part where you’re pregnant.”
“Darling, if you don’t know that by now,” laughs and tugs at the side of her dress so she can sit comfortably on the edge of the bed.
“Okay.” Sees her game, drops his hand and marches towards the bed, standing in front of her. “I guess I’m just a little confused because you said you couldn’t get pregnant.”
“I can’t.”
“But you are.”
“Yes.”
“Can you not see how this is confusing?”
She exhales, reaching forward and slipping her hand into his, doesn’t pull him to sit beside her or anchor him in place, just wants to be linked to him—in more than one way. “When Qetesh had control of my body, she made my womb a very inhospitable environment where no life could grow.”
“But you’re saying one is growing in there now.”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Do you want the list?” Doesn’t answer her with words or a humorous response to match her own, instead just stares, emotionless until she huffs, retrieving her hand from his and using the fingers to count on. “I’m nauseous, I’m tired, my breasts are sore, we’ve had gravy on everything the last seven nights because I’m craving it, I’ve missed two of my cycles, I—”
“Okay, I get it.” Runs a hand over his face, trying to concentrate on the sound of other villagers in the square, but all he hears is kids playing and his ears start to ring.
“You’re unhappy about this?”
“Well, I’m not celebrating, Vala.” Immediately her expression flickers to one she usually wears around other people, one of reproach and shame. “I mean, if there was a chance this could happen, there’s things we could have been doing to prevent—”
“When the Tok’ra returned my body to me, they told me the damage could not be repaired. That I would never birth a child.” The passive, upbeat tone in her voice leaves, and instead she sounds mechanical, like this is a speech she’s rehearsed hundreds of times. “This is why I didn’t tell you until I was sure.”
He sits beside her, careful not to jostle the mattress. “So, you’ve never pictured yourself with kids?”
She won’t look up from the ground. “No.”
“Neither have I.”
The children continue to play in the square, but the noise is dying down. The fire crackles in the hearth below the loft’s ledge, and every so often, water drips from the tub faucet.
When she doesn’t continue the conversation, he knows he has to.
“We can’t have baby here, Vala.”
There’s another pause and he can hear her breathing, her chest stretching against the tight dress, tight for another reason now, and it must be so uncomfortable for her.
“We can’t raise a baby to believe in the Ori. We can’t have them believe something else. Keeping up the act is easy for us, but they won’t be able to know who to trust.”
Briefly, the thought of a little boy with black hair and blue eyes speeds through his head, a toddler telling people of overheard conversations, him coming back from the military to find her burnt alive in that square.
He can’t have that.
He can’t have both and lose both.
He can have her and keep her safe.
He’s not greedy.
“They could get us killed.”
“I know that,” she snaps, shakily breathing while she wipes at a tear dangling from her eyelashes.
Wants to hold her, to comfort her. He doesn’t want to do what they have to, but it’s just another thing they need to do to survive. Just how he has to leave at sunrise, and she has to cook and clean and pray all day. They have to keep a cover if they ever hope of returning to Earth, of warning the planet.
But she always has to make the hardest sacrifice.
Wants to tell her that this isn’t fair and that if she really wants the baby he’ll hear her out, but having a kid here is basically signing their death warrants.
He cannot come back to her in that square.
He cannot lose her over some stupid mistake they made because he was completely enamored with her and she thought she was more broken then she actually is.
“Vala—”
“It’s fine,” sniffles up what’s left of her emotion and for the first time, her face becomes a mask, not because of physical pain but because of something else. Emotional turmoil, repeated exhaustion.
“I just—” grunts into his cupped hands, wanting to hide in the darkness. Not wanting to say words he doesn’t want to say. If they were back on Earth, he wonders if this would be a different conversation. Sure, the SGC is on his side, but they don’t trust her at all, and knocking her up wouldn’t be a great way to show her intentions or his.
“—I need to make sure we’re on the same page,” his words sieve through his fingers.
She doesn’t look at him.
Stands straight up, robotic, straightening the skirt of her dress, fixing it, and plucking it away from her torso, and he has to look away from her at that point. Her words are heavy, hitting him like fists in his gut as she walks away.
“I’ll get rid of it.”