A drabble I found in one of my notebooks and finished. Set pre-"Sunday" for obvious reasons.
She thinks she isn't any good with children. He's heard her complain more than once to Beckett that she just doesn't get kids. They don't like her.
Watching her now with the Athosian kids from the mainland, he wonders where she ever got that impression. She's nervous as hell, of course, but they managed to convince her to tell them fairytales from Earth. Athosian mythology is limited, probably because there aren't too many happy endings in their lives. Hard to have good stories when the heroes always die.
She's telling them about Briar Rose, the Sleeping Beauty. She smiles to herself, and he knows she's remembering the other her they found in a stasis pod.
Beckett's voice sounds in his ear—Major Lorne is awake. He knows she's heard it, too, as she apologizes to the kids and slips away. He follows her to the infirmary. She accepts his presence without comment, something he considers progress. Atlantis is finally beginning to consider him part of the family.
He didn't use to think he wanted to be part of the family. He was military, after all—follow the rules, do what you're told, rise through the ranks. Caring complicates things.
But Atlantis isn't military, not exactly, and somehow the complications don't get in the way as much as he'd thought.
He follows her to the infirmary, listens to her soothe and gently question Lorne. Surprises himself by holding back. The city has changed him more than he wants to admit. More than he knows how to explain.
She leaves Lorne, pauses as Beckett catches her by the arm. He murmurs something. She looks shocked and asks a question. Beckett nods the affirmative. When she turns so he can see her face again, she's smiling. She's trying to hide it, but she can't suppress the pleasure radiating from her. He's caught the edge of her giddiness himself, though he scarcely knows why.
He follows as she leaves the infirmary, far enough behind that she doesn't notice. Watches as she collides with Sheppard in the corridor. Watches as she laughs at him. Watches as Sheppard's hands linger a moment too long on her arms as he sets her back on her feet.
Sheppard sees him watching, and the look in his eyes is cool, but there's something primal behind it, possessive, protecting, challenging. He accepts it, returns it with enough force to save his pride and enough restraint to show his deference. Military or no, in this city, she and Sheppard hold command. He's accepted that too, just as he's come to accept that they mean more to each other than they should.
It had infuriated him at first that they would be so careless when so many lives were in their hands. But gradually he sensed the greater good lurking behind their actions, the rightness in the way Sheppard stole her pens and she ran her fingers through her hair and they leaned on one another when times were hard and they thought no one was watching.
She stands on her toes to whisper something in Sheppard's ear and he watches as the colonel's eyes widen, Sheppard asks a question and she smiles at him, pulling his hand to her belly. Then they're hugging, laughing—Sheppard swings her around in a circle before setting her back on her feet and giving her a kiss the IOC would not approve of.
The others in the hallway are staring. Then someone begins to clap, and soon they're surrounded by clapping hands. She and Sheppard pull apart amid the cheers and whistles, but Sheppard keeps an arm around her as she tells the crowd that she is—that they are—pregnant.
He's smiling just a little himself as he watches Sheppard kiss her again. She'll be a good mother. She's had plenty of practice.