Chapter Text
"I'm real, this is real." He whispers, holding her in the dark. She didn't believe it, couldn't, nothing makes sense, but he does. Not just because he broke her delusions, or because he won't let go.
This has to be real because she'd never allow herself to dream about John Sheppard.
Imagining how he kissed: him , not Thalen, but John Sheppard, was not appropriate, not allowed. Even her dreams respected that.
But when she needed him, really needed him, he anchored her. He held her to reality, and the bed, and then he just held her.
It was just once, of course, they couldn't-- This was a moment of desperation, clinging to reality. It was foolish.
Foolish and wonderful, sweaty and tense. She had no idea that he was so talented with his tongue. Elizabeth didn't dare think about how much she wanted him.
Then she did, and the ocean rose to swallow them. They managed to work together and not stare longingly too much. Nothing had really changed if they ate together. There was nothing different about them walking to breakfast together. Their quarters were so close anyway.
They couldn't hold hands, but he found ways to touch her, brushing gentle fingers across her back or her shoulder. We're here, we're real.
She snapped the tether when the Ancients returned and they went to Earth. Earth wasn't home, she wasn't his boss, they could have--
And didn't. She couldn't. Elizabeth had wanted to cling to him, to them, to what was good, but she couldn't have that. Didn't dare, without the city she was, wasn't--
Going back was coming home. It took almost a day before she snuck into his quarters. He lay there, in the dark, reading his book, windows open so they could hear the ocean.
They didn't talk much. Kissing took more of their energy and she didn't have words for this is home and you are part of home. Orgasm made her eyes sting and she gasped into his neck, and laughed when he worried.
Such a worrier.
Once she'd kissed him enough and he'd teased another orgasm from her tingling nerves, she lay on his chest, panting and laughing.
"Welcome home," he whispers into her hair and Elizabeth can't admit what she feels because words will be too sharp.
They're late for breakfast, late for the meeting she needs to run, but they arrive separately and there are no marks. No way for anyone to know. Rodney's miffed, Teyla is full of understanding and Ronon smiles. Elizabeth doesn't know what to read into that smile, but the warmth of it touches her.
They're all right, her team, her and John together. This is home.
When the whales come, they see ghosts, and John takes the ZPM, saving them all. She's unconscious then. Teyla tells her later that John carried her in. Teyla doesn't say how worried he was, she simply remarks on his gentleness. Thousands of telepathic whales swarming beneath the city is far from the strangest thing that's happened to them.
John comes to her that night. Her hearing's still damaged, and he keeps touching her: hands on her face, on her shoulders, because she can only hear him if he raises his voice, and it's not a time for that. Kissing is always easy, and warm, and reaching for him makes sense. Whenever they're in danger, they find each other later, burn off adrenaline, lie wrapped in each other. It's just a comfort, a distraction, something that helps them get through.
Weeks pass, Earth's conflict with the Ori does not go well. Stargate Command recommends they go dark, trying to keep themselves safe and unnoticed. They set a time to re-establish contact in six months, and cut them off. It's logical, but harsh. They'd gotten somewhat accustomed to regular contact and shipments.
John jokes that it's like winter in Antarctica, and they'll just have to buckle down. At least it won't snow.
He and Rodney start to argue about if they should move the city north, or south, just to experience some snow for a while, but it'll be cold and the weather's much less predictable, but it could also help them hide from the Wraith and the Asurans and everyone else who wants them dead.
She lets the conversation continue while she toys with the spoon in her coffee. They'll be using dry creamer again, until they trade with some of the farmers. She doesn't mind it, usually she can drink her coffee black, but today it's harsh somehow. More bitter than she's used to. The coffee's always the same, the US military's own blend, that used to remind her of field work until her life became field work.
Carson finds her after lunch to report that the encounter with the whales has had neutralizing effects on a number of medications, from anti-anxiety medication to some kinds of insulin. "Must have been the electromagnetic field. It was so strong, some of the meds we have destabilized on a molecular level. If we were getting fresh supplies, that would be one thing. Some things I can make but--"
She nods, adding it to the list of concerns. "I can divert some of the science teams to help you ascertain the damage and see what we can make here or trade for."
"Thank you, Elizabeth." He lingers in her office. "Pardon me for asking, are you quite well? You look a bit peaked."
"I'm just tired." And my coffee tastes funny and I've discovered a fresh kind of headache . "I'm fine."
He smiles, and unlike John, he's better at being convinced. "Well, let me know if you need anything. I seem to have a lot of people dealing with low-level ailments of one type or another."
She doesn't think much more of it. Falling asleep while John reads to her isn't new, but she wants the warmth of him more. Staying curled beside him as long as she dares in the mornings, Elizabeth dreams of the endless sea.
Team Four accidentally brings back some kind of waterborne virus a week later, and it runs through the city before they can get it under control. At first it's a handful of people, then it seems half the city can't keep anything down. John has it on Monday, and he tries to make her stay away, but she has it by Tuesday night. He shakes it off enough to fuss over her which is lucky because she's so much worse than he was. The infirmary's so full there's no point in leaving her quarters, and he strokes her hair in a way no one's done since she was a child.
She drifts in and out of consciousness, neither awake nor truly asleep. She hasn't been this sick since a nasty bout of dengue fever many years back. Elizabeth's only mildly aware of Carson in her quarters, or when John lifts her up.
Her thoughts are fuzzy after that. Intellectually she knows that dehydration does that to the mind, but it's been some time since she experienced it first hand. Carson's concerned voice drifts in and out, but John's hands stay with her. Her thoughts are so murky that she's not aware of much beyond his fingers wrapped around hers.
The fog starts to lift Friday afternoon, and John hasn't shaved. It gives him this scruffy look, and his stubble is long enough that it's soft when she reaches out to touch his cheek.
"We missed you."
"You were here."
"Yeah, Carson said I already had it so I couldn't get worse." The circles etched under his eyes are dark and heavy. "Besides, they needed a little help. Been a busy place. Whatever this virus is, it's made a lot of people really sick, not just you. All the beds have been full."
"John--"
"They found me a cot though."
"You didn't."
He smirks. "I'll have you know I'm a good nurse, almost went that way you know, just got distracted by the flying thing." John stands from his chair, touching her forehead, then her hair. "You didn't babble, much, just some old stuff about when you were in Djibouti."
"Dengee, evacuated." Her cheeks are dry enough that they stick to her teeth.
"That's what Carson said, you spent some time at Camp Lemonnier." John holds up a cup of water with a straw. "Drink. Should stay down now."
"It's been--"
"Couple days since it has. Carson got you a nice IV here, but it's nice to drink the old fashioned way."
The first sip tastes like metal, but perhaps that's her mouth. The second's better, and by the third she can hold the cup herself. It's almost heavy, which is frustrating, but John fusses with her pillows and helps guide her shoulders and then she's nearly sitting up.
John settles into the chair he seems very comfortable in. "Let's see, Lorne and Teyla have been running the city, doing a great job by the way. Rodney acted like he was the sickest of all, but he was fine, didn't even need an IV. The mess hall's thinking about serving nothing but the blandest of food for a few days, just to give everyone time to get used to eating again. Lots of crackers and toast, plain rice."
Even that sounds terrible, but she nods, trying not to wince. "Sounds like everything's been in good hands."
"Aye, the city has, and you have been, John's been a very helpful nurse." Carson smiles, but it's still his fretting smile. "I'm going to take some blood from each of you, run some more tests now that you're convalescing. Don't go anywhere."
Getting up is one of the last things she can imagine doing, but John should shower, and sleep somewhere comfortable.
"You don't have to--"
"You kicking me out?"
"You need to shower."
John chuckles, pretends to sniff himself, and his hand rests on her arm longer than perhaps it should. If he's been watching over her for days, does it matter how long he lingers? "It's good to see your eyes."
"Thank you."
He nods, hands returning to his pockets. "Try to keep your water down while I'm done."
"I'll keep it out of my hair."
"Well, I won't be here to hold it back."
"True." She yawns into her hand, and they stare at each other, too long and too pointedly and he looks down.
"So, uh, okay."
"Thank you, John."
"Yeah, of course." He doesn't look back, but he does stop at the door. Her heart seems to catch in her throat, and she can barely swallow. Must be the virus. She's not, they're not-- Yet her stomach's in knots just thinking about him. She has a few moments of delightful confusion she nearly forgot she could have. After Simon, she thought she'd be alone, but John is steady, here, kind, warm--
"Elizabeth?" Carson's voice is too gentle. Something's wrong. She has to turn and look at him but she moves too quickly and her head spins. "Oh, slowly there, you've been very ill for days. It will take some time to recover. Be gentle with yourself."
"I'm all right."
"You are, that's true, but there's something I have to tell you."
"Oh?"
Her mind races to the damn nanites, or perhaps the virus has some unknown properties she doesn't understand, but the words he says are the furthest from her thoughts. It can't be possible. It's not true it's--
"The EM field produced by the whales wreaked havoc on our medication supplies, including birth control, and it's not just yours. I've been studying the M42-199 virus and trying to determine why it hit some people, including you, so hard, and I ran a few more blood tests and there it was. I haven't informed the others yet, it seemed right to tell you first."
She swallows, puts the thoughts aside, pulls herself together. "How many?"
"Six, ranging from four to ten weeks."
"And I am?"
"Eight weeks, so you have options, and I'll support you, whatever you need, if you want help telling--" He stops, looks away, then meets her eyes again. "Whoever you need to tell."
"I'm all right, Carson."
"I know, and you are, you're very healthy, so is the fetus, no worse for wear from the virus, just took a toll on you. If you want to terminate, you'll need to wait a day or two, just to give yourself time to let your body heal before, you know."
"Thank you."
"You have time, take it, I know it's a shock."
She thanks him again, and he touches her hand, like she's a piece of delicate pottery about to shatter. Elizabeth holds together, even gets herself released from the infirmary so she can collapse into the silence of her room. She sits on the bed, but she's been with John on that bed too many times, and the room even feels like him. She has to tell him, she has to ask what he wants to do, how they proceed.
She can't look at him, not in this moment, perhaps not today, she just--
Elizabeth leaves her quarters, walks the empty corridors and finds the balcony. She leans on the rail, but her legs are still rubbery and she has to sit. She lowers her head into her hands and waits for tears, but she has none. She's exhausted, shaky, taut like a wire, but the tears don't come. She can't grieve this, not yet, but she has to end it. She can't...
She can't. She can't even think about not ending this. She can't let this continue. She has responsibilities.
Don't think about hazel eyes and unruly hair and--
"May I join you?"
Elizabeth looks up, and Teyla stands there, tea in hand.
"I apologize for interrupting, but I saw you pass in the corridor and thought you might need tea."
"That bad?"
"You do not look well, but you have not in many days."
"That new virus team four discovered is a doozy."
"So I hear." Teyla sits down beside her, setting out the cups and pouring tea from a thermos. "Carson still has several patients."
Swallowing hard, Elizabeth nods. "I feel like I'm barely out."
"You will recover."
"In time."
Teyla lifts her cup, taking a sip. "That is something we are currently blessed with, at least. The Wraith are quiet, we have had no more trouble with the Replicators. I know we are disconnected from Earth, but our explorations go well."
"And this is home."
"It has always been mine, and I am pleased it has become yours."
They talk, and Elizabeth tries to drink her tea. It's delicious, but her tongue is a traitor and her stomach's barely on her side. She swallows, then sets it down.
"You are troubled."
Staring at the dark surface of her tea, Elizabeth nods. "I have to make a choice and I don't like my options."
"Will telling me about increase your burdens?"
"No."
Teyla reaches across the table, touching her hand. "Good."
"I--" Where does she start? I've been fucking John and we got pregnant because the whales-- I'm going to have to terminate this and I hate myself. I have to tell John and I--
Start with the truth. Facts are easiest. Elizabeth looks at her tea, at her own flat stomach, then she stares out at the sea. "I'm pregnant."
Teyla's hand touches her shoulder, squeezes. Her people face so much death, of course they--
"I am surprised."
"Me too."
"Are you surprised unpleasantly so?"
"I-" Elizabeth swallows. She sets down her tea and wraps her arms around her chest. "I can't have a baby."
"Are you ill?"
"What?"
"You can't, because you are ill or compromised in some way?"
If only it was that easy. "I can't because I have responsibilities."
"We all have responsibilities."
"I'm the leader."
"And on your planet that means you may not have children? You are led by those who do not?"
The nagging nausea lifts for a moment. Elizabeth turns her head to look at Teyla. "You think our leaders don't have children?"
"Is that not what you are insisting?"
"No."
Teyla nods again, all safe and amug and fuck. She's made her point without having to make it. "Earth people could not possibly be led by a mother."
"I'd be so busy."
"John would help."
"John?"
"He is the father, is he not?"
Elizabeth's face burns. "He is, but we-- I haven't told him, he, we should not--"
"It is forbidden for you to be together."
"Not technically."
"Your rules are very complex, and you feel you are breaking them in spirit, if not in deed."
Elizabeth nods to that. "I don't want to tell him."
"You fear his anger."
Does she? Maybe? She fears his rejection more. Him turning away, him going quiet, him resenting her for putting them in this position, him hating her for ending it.
( Him hating her for not making it end).
"My people have ways of ending a pregnancy we do not wish to have." Teyla keeps her eyes on hers, patient and steady.
"So do we."
"You could end this without telling John, but that will hurt you, perhaps more than you are capable of admitting."
"Dammit."
"Must you decide today?"
"No, I- we have time."
"Then take it."
"It's not that simple." Elizabeth drinks her tea more so she doesn't have to talk.
"What will you tell the other women?"
"What?"
"The virus made you very ill because you are pregnant. There are multiple women who have been very ill, logic suggests that--"
"Yes. There are."
"And you would tell them to cease their pregnancies, because they have responsibilities."
"I would never." That flash of anger is exactly what Teyla intended to provoke and Elizabeth glares. "I would never take a woman's choice from her."
"Ah, so the rules that apply to your people do not apply to you."
"It's different."
Teyla nods in that way where she hears and does not agree. "A leader should follow different rules than her people."
"Sometimes."
"She should be more strict with herself than those she governs. Her people have choices, she does not."
"What will I do with a baby?"
"Do you wish to find out?"
Elizabeth starts to stand but that miscalculation reminds her very sharply that her legs are weak, and she's half-dead from this virus and the baby (how did she miss it?). "I don't know how to be a mother."
"You can learn."
"I don't know if I like children."
Teyla smiles the way people who have always known children smile. "Children are chaotic, and wonderful. My people believe they are sacred, and the raising of the village's children is a joy we all share. It is not so on your world, I fear." The sorrow in Teyla's eyes aches in Elizabeth's chest.
"Having a child can be very lonely on Earth. We have lost our villages in many places, and it is often solely the responsibility of the parents to raise their child. My mother would help, but she has her own life, she'd--"
"You think raising a child would be only your responsibility?" Teyla asks this as if it's the most tragic thing she's heard in years. "Children are difficult. One person might struggle to meet the needs of a child while taking care of themselves. The village provides a safe place for parent and child, so that both are supported while they are vulnerable. When your child is small, you would remain with the village, but once she is weaned, you would hunt and trade, and the village would care for your daughter, or son. They would always be safe with us."
Her daughter. Her son. Teyla's beyond hypotheticals here. Her- their- child would be safe with her people. They would learn beautiful things, how to hunt and farm and fly and jumper into space. Their life would be wonderful.
Elizabeth stands, hands on the rail because she needs it to stand and she might need to vomit over it. "Your way sounds much more egalitarian."
"I am sorry for the parents of your world who do not have villages to support them. It sounds very lonely." Teyla walks to her, touching her back. "If you decide to have a child, you will be wrapped in the warmth of your village, and your child will grow loved by all."
Elizabeth's eyes sting. She can't look at Teyla, can't look at the city, only the ocean. "I have to tell John."
"You must tell him everything."
Elizabeth's throat aches too much to reply.
"Tell him what you want."
"I don't know what I want." Her whole body shudders. She can't hope. She can't want. As idyllic as Teyla's way of raising a child sounds, that's not Elizabeth's reality. It can't be. They don't live that way. The IOA will want one of their careers, probably hers, and then--
"That is where you start, perhaps what he wants will help you decide."
Telya hugs her, warm and strong and so steady that Elizabeth's tears run hot.
John is easy to find. She tries his place to watch the city, then the room where he watches football, but after the last few days, he's asleep. His quarters let her in as if she belongs there, and she sits, watching him sleep. How little did he sleep when she was sick? She remembers him and his hands, and the miserable hours of vomiting are still blurry. He was acutely aware of that. Taking off her boots, Elizabeth sits on the bed, then crawls in beside him. He turns, making space because the bed is so small that they have to spoon.
"Need a bigger one," John mutters, half asleep. He wraps his arm around her waist, snuggles in close. His hand rests on the baby they might or might not have and she gives herself half a moment to try and deal with the idea, before she's afraid she won't be able to let go.
He'll say it's her choice. He'll be supportive, gentle, and if she doesn't want to have it, he'll hold her hand while it ends. She knows that with absolutely certainty. He's fucking good at that.
Falling asleep beside him, she could pretend everything is fine. She doesn't even have to tell him, she could still be sick, have a relapse-- No, he can handle it. He deserves truth from her. She wants to tell him. She wants him to say yes. All right, this is difficult but we'll make it work. We might need a daycare anyway.
"You're thinking very loudly."
"When did you become a telepath?"
"Not everyone, just you, and you're thinking so loud it echoes."
Rolling over, she meets his eyes. His hand rests on her waist now, but she could move it into place. Just tell him. You've never been a coward before, Elizabeth . Getting a nuclear weapon from the Genii was easier than this.
John's fingers run in slow circles on her hip. "How can I help?"
"Something's happened."
"Bad?"
"I don't know."
"Sounds ominous."
"It is, and isn't, I really don't know."
John's hand moves up to her face, stroking her cheek. "It's okay."
"I don't know if it is. I don't see how it can be." She shuts her eyes, crying's not going to help, but she's already raw about it. "I'm pregnant."
He opens and closes his mouth, then his eyes widen as it sinks in. He doesn't speak, but he doesn't look away. John leans closer, touching their foreheads, maybe he doesn't hate her. "Shit."
"Yeah."
"We had inhibitors."
"The whales--"
"Whales wiped out our inhibitors?"
"Something like that. It's a city-wide problem."
"Thinking about starting a daycare?" He smiles and she hates him for being able to do that.
Taking a breath, Elizabeth has to shut her eyes because they hurt and her chest hurts. "We can't."
"You know, we might never talk to Earth again."
She sits up, swinging her feet off the edge of the bed. "So we can do whatever we want?"
"No, and yes, kind of. Are you going to tell any of the crew that they can't have a baby if they want one?" He stretches, then sits beside her, elbows on his knees.
"No."
John nods, shakes his head. "I know things are weird here, all the time, and dangerous, but the Ori are about to invade Earth or something, so it's not like Earth is safe."
They stare at the floor together, knees touching. Looking at each other is too intimate. Two of his fingers brush hers, reaching out, and maybe it's not the worst. Maybe--
"Are you okay?"
Shaking her head, she keeps her eyes down. Looking at his face will just make all of this worse.
His hand takes hers, wrapping her cool fingers in his. "I'm with you."
That's yes, and no, and maybe: it's everything. The knot in her chest burns and she can't remember not being sick to her stomach. Hope hurts more than its absence and she can barely breathe.
"I need to know what you think."
"Elizabeth--"
She tugs her hand free, wrapping her hands together. "Stop being self-sacrificial and tell me what you want."
John touches her leg, like he's unwilling to be out of contact. "I don't want to--"
"I can't say I'll do it, but I need to know."
He takes a breath, but his voice isn't as choked as hers. "What I want?"
Elizabeth waits, trying not to think too much about the hand on her thigh or the sound of his breathing. He is self-sacrificial enough that he will go along with what she wants, if she knew, but does he know what he's agreeing to? A child he doesn't want is terrible, so is letting go of one he wants. He could resent her, or resent her and a baby. They're not young and foolish; there aren't unlimited years to try this. If they're going to have a child, together or apart, this is it.
He pats her thigh and stands up, walking to the window. Looking out over the city, John turns back. Somehow, impossibly, he smiles a little. "I could teach them to fly a jumper."
Elizabeth can barely imagine what the next week of this will be like, but he sees a child. Their child.
"I can't say I've thought about it a lot, or at all." John runs his hand through his hair and shrugs. "I can see the kid, our kid."
Before there's a kid there's a toddler screaming and a baby who won't sleep and months of carrying the child to term and he has no concept of any of that, but she asked, and he was honest.
"Our kid," she repeats, trying it out.
"If that's what you want, I mean."
She grips the edge of the bed, her fingers tight, "I don't know."
"You don't have to decide tonight."
"John--"
He returns to the bed, crouching down in front of her. He touches her knees, gentle, patient, fucking self-sacrificial. "Maybe sleep on it."
"Here?"
"If that's where you want to be." He reaches into his dresser and pulls out black sweatpants. "These are more comfortable." John holds them out, peace offering and invitation in one.
Stripping off her trousers, she takes a step towards him, half dressed, and accepts his sweats.
"I don't know much about the whole pregnancy thing, but I think you've got time if it's not what you want, and I won't, I wouldn't--"
Stroking his cheek, she nods and gets dressed for sleep. Her toothbrush is still in his bathroom anyway.
"Do you feel okay?"
"Physically?"
"Sure." He leans on the door frame and watches her brush her teeth. When did they get so intimate? When he wouldn't let go of her hand, or was it earlier? She was acutely aware of the changes in her relationship with Simon, sleeping over, sharing keys, taking a trip together, getting engaged: all of it followed a logical progression until it didn't.
This is chaos. She spit out toothpaste and nods, then pauses. "I feel shaky."
"You were really sick."
"But I don't know if it's that, or--"
"Right." He leads her back to bed, scoots to the side and makes room for her against his chest. This is right, and Teyla was right and maybe John's right, there's a kid who looks like them in their future. Maybe she'll dream about them. She's never allowed herself to do that before.