A/N: Welcome to the long-awaited sequel to Bring it all Back. As summary suggests, this story will be a little darker in tone and deal with gender roles, PTSD, previous traumas, and memory loss. Later chapters will deal with multiple character deaths. If any of these subjects are upsetting to you, perhaps it's best if you skip the story.
Also I'm trying to come up with a name for the series, as there will be a third installment to finish it up. If you have any suggestions please let me know.

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Chapter 1

One for the Money

This is starting to get sticky.

There are rules to follow, rules unspoken among all free agents and their business contractors and although she is still relearning how to stand on her legs as an agent in a post-Ori, post Lucien Alliance galaxy, she still remembers the rules perfectly. Least of all, the contract, a verbal one is affirmation enough of course, basically meaning she brings the goods, usually some form of pilfered Ancient artifact, in exchange for the currency agreed upon, half going into her pocket and another to a savings account she procured years before Qetesh hijacked her body.

"I held up my end of the bargain, Konroy." They're in the backroom of a bar, hidden behind a cabinet full of half empty liquor bottles meant only as a ploy. Her gun is holstered, but her hands linger near her hips, ready to snatch it at any moment. "I romped through that noxious swamp and vomited enough for an entire year to retrieve this chalice for you. If the businessman in you wants to back out of the deal, the gentleman in you had better see it through to the end."

He answers in a chuckle, his wide mouth pulling into a devious, high-cornered grin as his stark black eyebrows slant downwards, unmoved by her threats. He pours an incarnadine wine from a carafe into a mug. "Would you care for any?"

"No, I would care for my currency." Crosses her arms the way she's seen Cameron do hundreds of times before, when he does what he considers his intimidating stance, with wide set legs and a scowly face.

She's not the muscle. Muscle was the muscle. She's not the brains, or the brawn, or the multilingual polyglot. Only relies on three things to get her through these transactions: seduction, scheming and blind luck.

Konroy gulps back a mouthful of the wine, which is a lot because he has a rather large mouth, almost like a crater on the middle of his face. His black hair is greased back, and he looks like a gangster from one of the movies about the American mob that Cameron is so intent on making her watch. "The thing is Vala, we sort of sent you out there to die." His lips smack together as he sets the mug back down on the large wood slatted table. "Didn't really expect to have to pay you."

Checks her watch and she's late.

She's late again and if she doesn't get back home, he's going to know. "While this is all exceedingly interesting, I don't have the slightest care as to why you want me dead, or why you thought a swamp that smelled like wet excretions would stop me. I got you your chalice and I expect my payment."

He chuckles again, swiveling to the front of the table and leaning back in against the edge. "The payment isn't going to happen. But perhaps we can strike a deal."

"And perhaps I'll take my wares and be on my way."

But it's never that easy, never goes that easy and with a snap of his fingers, two bulky men squish through the doorway, their bodies strapped with muscles, their eyes almost hidden in the mask-like hard skin on their faces. Konroy raises his hand in gesture. "And perhaps again, you'll reconsider my offer."

Doesn't need to hear his offer to know what it is and were she younger, and unattached, she would hear him out, spend the night with him, rob him blindly in the morning and be on her merry way. But she is beyond using her body to barter at the moment, being that it's currently not just her body, and she's already late for whatever fantastic dinner Cameron's concocted.

She hopes it's hamburgers.

In a fluid motion she twists and shoots behind her, taking out both henchmen in less than a blink of an eye. They topple over like the coniferous trees behind their home, the kind they use for firewood on nights only growing colder.

Gun still in hand, finger on the trigger, she aims back at Konroy, the smug expression wiped entirely from his face, now refilled with utter shock and a bit of fear.

Raises his hands, slowly spreading back across the table. "We can talk about—"

But her walkie goes off, and there's only ever one person who calls her. The button pulsates green telling her to pick up and she groans, switching her gun to her less dominate, but equally lethal, hand and rips the walkie from her belt. Before she engages it, she turns back to Konroy. "You'd better keep quiet."

He nods repeatedly, the extra skin on his neck rippling as he dares not move from the table. With a sigh and a repressed need to roll her eyes, she depresses the button with her thumb and brings the device to her mouth. Washes the threat, the coarse intimidation, from her face and lights up. "Hello Darling."

"Vala, where are you? Dinner's getting cold."

"I just got a bit wrapped up." It's not a whole lie, but then why does she feel so bad about carrying on the charade. "I should be home soon."

"How soon?"

"Within the hour."

"The hour." He sounds a bit upset as he sighs through the static. "Why would it take you an—Wait, please tell me you're not freelancing."

Konroy jerks to the left, testing her ability to multitask, and her finger presses down against the trigger landing a radiating blast in his right shoulder. Normally, she would be more prudent with the use of her gun, but the things she's experienced in the last year have taught her to fire first and demand answers later. They're untethered from the SGC, from their friends who probably continued on in their lives after their departure and now she doesn't have to answer to any General, or any United States government department.

"You're out on a goddamn contract." Okay, so she has to answer to one man, and it's not entirely answering in an act of subordination, more like collaborating and sharing information with.

Her expression falls from softened, to one of confusion as her lies weave into a bigger tapestry. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Even Konroy, who has his left hand smashed into his right shoulder to stem the bleeding, narrows his eyes at her poor ability to lie.

When she brought up the idea of them roaming the universe as free agents, he immediately refused her because they'd made enough enemies working for the SGC, they'd lived too dangerously through the SGC, and now was their time to retire and live in a modest two-bedroom farmhouse an hour from the nearest major city. He stays at home and farms and crafts with his large glasses and she couldn't love him more.

But it's boring, having no television, no internet. It's boring and technophobic and all together backwards. The universe has expanded and evolved enough that she could simply hack accounts and transfer money to them, again an idea vetoed by him.

Despite how adorable he looks in his farmer overalls and his straw hat, his fields are bare and don't pay the bills. They don't pay any fraction of any bill.

Konroy is starting to go white, and she rolls her eyes because honestly, if she had made this deal with a woman, she would have been home eating her second hamburger by now. With a grunt she reaches behind the bar at the side of the room, retrieving a white towel and tosses it to him to place over his wound as Cameron finishes up his verbal panic.

"I can't believe you're doing this. Again. Again after we just talked about—"

"Look, I've got to go Darling, but I love you and I'll see you shortly."

"Just—just get back here safe and soon." Barely gets the words out before she disconnects, hooking the walkie back onto her belt and turning her attention back to Konroy.

Gun drawn, she points it at him again, this time aiming lower than his shoulder. "I'm missing an important family dinner and would greatly appreciate my currency now."

He's piled against the table leg and breathing very heavily. "The briefcase at the end of the bar."

Keeps her eyes trained on him as she backs towards the bar and the briefcase which she spins towards her. Uses a fingernail to run along the seam and when it doesn't snag on any unruly boobytraps, she cracks the case open, checking the money is present, and snaps it shut.

Without a sound, she steps to where she abandoned the artifact he requested, a bejeweled golden chalice which is more gaudy than anything and much to sparkly for her taste, but it does have the pretty though.

He only sneers at her while she tosses it into his lap. "I guess the rumors about you were true."

"Oh, they all probably will be eventually." Crouches before him the best she can, resting on the balls of her feet. Her stomach, growing more pronounced each day smooshes into her thighs and a bit against her chest. A sudden flush of heat washes over her, causes her mouth to dry. Swallows harshly and ignores the wavering before her eyes, her now unsteady footing. "What are they saying about me?"

"That you've gone—"

Vomits at the base of his shoes, vomits nearly as much as she did in the noxious gases of the swamp, the smell of hot garbage and bodily functions eroding her stomach lining. She heaves again spitting up nothing more than stomach acid.

"Ugh." Konroy tosses his head to the side, his tongue hanging out a bit like an animal imprisoned in a hot vehicle. "Domestic. They'd said you'd gone domestic."

Doesn't understand the meaning of his words until she composes herself on two feet and uses the arm of her brown leather jacket to rub the remnants of vomit from her mouth. "I have not gone domestic," argues with false offense.

She has gone a bit domestic and would rather sit on the sofa, cuddling with Cameron while he strokes her tummy, than be out on the town or out on a job. But she cannot go full domestic because every time she tries, they take it away from her.

Pointing a finger at the pile of vomit she's left, she explains, "that's from the swamp you sent me to."

That's not entirely true either because she's fairly certain that this child sides with Cameron on ruling whether or not she should go out on contracts. When she even attempts to leave the property, they flutter around inside her more, cause more nausea, dizziness, and of course nonstop vomiting.

Shakes her head clearing it of domestic thoughts and worries, instead allowing occupational concerns to filter through. Has to make it to the gate without getting attacked carrying a large portion of money.

"Enjoy your chalice." Mumbles at the door, suddenly hungry and simultaneously full of energy, excited for the gauntlet of people between the bar and the gate who could possibly attack her. But she pauses in the doorway, and speaks to a now slightly unconscious Konroy, "also if you ever need another item pilfered, feel free to contact me." Ducks out, then ducks back in adding, "if you're willing to pay."

Burgers. She wants burgers. Needs burgers. Bounces around the kitchen, a charming and petite afterthought added on to the living room, lifting lids and checking within pots. He has some sort of stew cooking probably to simmer overnight for dinner tomorrow. Doesn't have any jobs lined up for tomorrow, instead taking it as a rest day, especially after dealing with the swamp.

The bathroom door creaks open and he exits in a sheath of mist with a towel draped around his shoulders. Does a double take when he notices her bounding around the kitchen, distracting him from dropping his laundry into the hamper, something he does regularly now thanks to her. "You made it back in one piece." His hand blankets the side of her neck and his lips press into her temple. She closes her eyes reveling in the closeness, the calmness they share despite being marooned from everyone they care about. Trying to forget about the sacrifices they both made to be here.

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, disengaging from her. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you smell like puke."

"Yes." Purses her lips, drifting back to the stove and the delicious smelling food, then to the fridge to search for ketchup. It's not exactly ketchup but a tomato paste she's been saturating in sugar trying to recreate the flavor. "I may have been sick a few times."

"Define a few."

She finished off the ketchup in the fridge this morning with the eggs Cameron tries to feed her in lieu of the sugar-coated cocoa wheat puffs she eats straight out of the box. "About half a dozen."

"Dammit, Vala—" he's gone from trailing her around the small idea of a kitchen, to chasing her as she pushes the dishes he used in the meal preparation off the counter and into the sink. "This has got to stop."

Although she understands his attitude, his innate desire to keep her safe, how he boasts about her pre-stage waddle and about how her balance center has shifted, how involved with this child he is without having any connection to it but through her. She will not just sit in this farmhouse for the next twenty weeks and wait for this child to be born while hoping for no foul interruptions. "Everything cannot stop because I'm pregnant."

"You were off active duty before we left Earth—"

Zips by him, solid like a statue with a cross expression and his hands on his hips. Next time she needs to remember to keep her chin up more when she imitates him. "Yes, and we left Earth because the SGC became a danger to us—"

"To you. It specifically became a danger to you and the baby."

Stops rummaging through a cupboard that contains little more than a few gathered spices and some tea. "Is that why you're upset? Do you miss Earth?"

She'll gladly go back as long as it's not under the vice of his military. Wouldn't mind staying with his parents, or finding another country home, perhaps on another continent, definitely one with television and internet.

The harsh edges round out of his voice and he sighs, bungled hands relaxing flat against the wooden countertops. "I'm upset because you keep going out as a—" he chooses his words carefully "—free agent, and it's dangerous."

Reaches towards the highest shelf in the cupboard above the stove, her fingers grazing the jar of tomato preserves this child is driving her mad for. "We need a way to procure funds—"

"I thought you had tons of money stashed—"

"Yes, Darling." Is growing tired, metaphorically over the same old argument they always have when she returns from being a free agent, and physically from hunger, from the strain of retrieving the chalice today. The memory of the swamp still sends her stomach into flips. "For emergencies."

"Starting over is an emergency."

"No." Shakes her head marching away from him, desperately trying to keep the waddle out of her step as he frequently states how cute it is, and retrieves a chair from the small kitchen table, pushing it back to the stove. "One of us falling ill or being injured and needing immediate medical attention is an emergency. Being stranded in on a new planet with no food, or water, or shelter is an emergency. Once the baby comes and I'm unable to complete assignments as a free agent for a few weeks—"

"A few weeks, Vala are you gotta be kidding me." Stomps away from her in frustration as she lines her rickety chair up with the stove.

Rolls her eyes, even though he can't see her, and strains, shifting her knees onto the chair as it trembles beneath her. "I know it's ugly, but it's true. We need to procure funds now so that after—"

"And what am I supposed to do this whole time? Just be a trophy husban—Vala." Turns back to her just as she begins to stand on the chair, and it wobbling precariously underneath her. His stride is stern but with intent as he scoops her up while she reaches for the preserves, then sets her on her feet away from the stove. With a hard, stable hand on each of her shoulders, he glares her down. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

And perhaps if he were any other man, she would feel threatened, but he is hers, as she is his, and she knows his anger stems from pent up frustration.

With innocent and wide eyes, she taps a finger gently to the cupboard. "The ketchup is on the top shelf."

"Then ask me to get it for you."

"I'm perfectly capable of—"

"No. You're not." Throws his hands up again as he turns to retreat from her, then, possibly remembering how she clambered up onto the chair the last time his eyes left her, he flips back towards her, his words mangled against his knuckles. "There's certain things you shouldn't be doing right now."

"When I was in Ver Isca—"

"Honey, you've got to stop comparing." Drops his balled hand from his face, the fingers unfurling and melting around her cheek. "I don't need you to make bread, or stew, or cook, or act as a double agent for the Ori. I don't want you to."

"What do you want then?"

"I want you and the baby to be safe and healthy. I want you to be happy."

"And?"

"And I want you to stop freelancing—at least for the next few months." Bows his head to hers, and in his evacuated breath she draws hers in.

"I just want us to be prepared."

"I know you do." He sways her in a soft circle, hands falling to find her hips and missing them as they've begun their decent beneath her bump. Settles on rubbing her stomach and a grin blooms on his face. "But every time you leave, you take everyone with you."

Allows a wry smile on her face at his sentiment. The emotions hit her harder in hunger, in fatigue, and if he didn't bury his face against her neck, it's very likely she would have cried. Instead she strokes a hand through his hair. "Oh, you're that attached?"

"I'm that attached." Words wet against her skin. The warmth of his body comforting, relaxing, and the disruption in her stomach from the swamp settles until only hunger is palpable.

Releases her hold on him enough so he can crane his head back. "Then plate up the food, Darling, because your child is hungry."

"Right. Shit. Sorry." All spoken as a single word and without a second thought he reaches upwards, easily handling the jar of preserves and setting it on the counter. "I made extras just in—"

She pushes the chair back towards the table, slotting it into place, failing to hear any of his words as an odd sensation falls over her. Instinctively, her hand falls to the dip of her stomach, and her nose crinkles, trying to understand the sensation.

"Honey?" Over her shoulder, he's standing at the oven, thick chicken patterned mittens on his hands and a plate of his burgers stacked high on the counter. "You okay?"

"I feel odd."

He slams the oven door shut. Fighting to get the restraints of the mittens off his hands. "How?"

"I don't know how."

"Like you're going to faint? Like you're going to puke? Like—"

Familiarity in the feeling, the humming, the bustling of prickles over her skin as if her entire body is being agitated. Felt it on the Ori vessel, but after giving birth, with Daniel, when—

"Cameron come quickly," beckons him with open arms, that she might be able to sneak him aboard, as Daniel did once for her.

He runs, but it's fruitless, her skin already white and aglow and before his hands reach her, she shimmers out of their kitchen, yellow and bright in the early evening, and into the gray, bleak interior of an unknown ship.