A/N: Just your friendly reminder that each of these chapters is set AU from each other, with chapter 2 remaining somewhat canonical.

Up the Duff

Chapter 1

Dust to Dust

It is a forfeit. That's all it is.

"Afternoon Princess."

"Mmm hmmm."

"Still doing inventory?"

"Mmm hmmm."

"You still holding that grudge."

"More strongly than ever."

Marks a tick on her sheet and draws her eyes to the next shelf, not understanding why there isn't a faction of Earth government or military or whatever just dedicated to the dilatory dryness of inventory. She's been in this room since nine that morning, and the florescent blue lights are starting to hurt her eyes, it smells like gun oils, and oddly enough, like pressed leather. She smells like Cheetos which is the only thing she's wanted to eat today. Out of spite, she ensures that all weapons she touches end up with a thin layer of orange dust.

Cameron leans his back outside of the weapons cage, or rather, her cage that she's currently housed in counting P-90s, forty-three in this lock-up minus the thirteen currently off world. Counting the bullets, four hundred twenty-nine strips not minus that whatever they took off world. Counting weeks, currently fifteen, almost sixteen and just starting to show if she squints her eyes enough in the mirror after her shower to rid her of the gun oil and Cheeto smell.

"You can't stay mad at me." Speaks to her through the gated doorway and it reminds her vaguely of her third husband, of the tricks turned abuse he used to pull, of wearily going to claim him from lockup as he spouted silver-laced apologies or when he came home violently drunk only to deliver her tiny baby booties the next day, and it's the bifurcation of loving someone so much she hates them. "I didn't do it because—"

"Because you're the father and you're worried that little old Vala's done in now that she's got a biscuit in the oven—"

"Bun, it's bun and—"

"That I'll bungle up the whole off world experience, so you banish me to a basement where there is no natural light—"

"We're inside a mountain—"

"I'm done speaking with you now, you're mucking up my counting." Waves him away with her hand and tuns her back towards the door counting the seconds until he slips inside the lockup because she's learned to gauge him so well and even though she is a little infuriated with him, she doesn't want to be alone.

"Vala, I had to take you off the team—"

"—To keep you safe," they both chime at once and she rolls her eyes, her pen floating over the boxes of ammunitions for side arms.

Knows he wants to curl around her, but she won't allow it. Not in the complex, not anywhere else. The idea of having a baby with her has enamored him and he tends to pad around after her like a loyal little puppy on off mission days. Shows up to do 'paperwork' on his day off and they sit in his office and they argue about whether or not it's too early to pick baby names and if he even has a say. It is, and he does not.

"Not just your life, Princess." His jacket crinkles as he double checks over his shoulders to ensure that Woolsey, the gnome of a man who is her only companion in the lone world of inventory, is still occupied at the other end of the weapons lockup. "There's the baby."

"Of course, wouldn't want to stop thinking about it, now would we?" Sets her clipboard and pen down on a shelf and shoves her hand elbow deep into a huge bag of Cheetos, her third of the day, that's she's nearly demolished.

"There's the team. They don't have to worry about you, or God forbid, sacrifice themselves to get you safe." Only masticates crunchy orange puffs of corn as an answer, but pivots on her heels so she can face him, knows the incessant neon powder is all over her, but she usually waits until she'd done gorging to clean it up.

"I hope you're not expecting a rew—"

"Holy shit, you're showing." Without invitation his hand conceals the miniscule bump, despite being warm and, although she'll never admit to it, a little comforting, she jolts in the darkness at the sudden action. "You're finally showing."

"How can you even see down here?" Doesn't answer, enamored with another certain part of her, the absolution of it. She did the same thing while popping out of the shower a few nights ago, but SG-1 have been on an off-world mission for the last five days. He still smells of sweat and dirt and a bit clary. "Oh that's right, your eyes haven't adjusted to the blinding blue—"

Woolsey's footsteps echo down the empty corridor lined with more bright blue lights. She slaps Cam upside the head rousing him from his fetal conversation and bursting orange dust into his hair and over the back of his jacket. "Cameron."

Jumps up, almost bunting her in the face with the back of his head and presses a quick kiss to her lips as she protests about being caught, they all know she's pregnant, but mum has been the word about the father. She shoves his face away again smudging more orange across his cheeks and this is how they're going to be found out.

His large hand covers her forehead for a brief second before she knocks it down and shuffles herself into the opposite corner. "You're hot."

"Stop that." Points at him and hopes the waver is out of her voice, the footsteps grow louder and closer. "That's how this started."

"No, Vala, you have a fever."

"No, I'm sweating because Woolsey is about to catch us." Quite proud of being able to slap done two more attempts on his part to touch her, while harshly rubbing the dust off his face.

Gets the idea, pushes into the other corner of the lock up just as Woolsey taps by.

"Colonel Mitchell."

"Woolsey."

They nod to each other and the little wormy man turns to her. "Vala, I'm writing you up again, you cannot have food in this lock up."

"But," she pouts, holding her tummy and knows it comes off better in the bitter light. "My baby is hungry."

"Give her a break, Woolsey."

But the little man is already walking away. With a toss of his wrist he adds, "rules are rules."

The sound of the thick metal door clunks behind him with a hiss of the lock falling into place. Cam reaches for her again and she widens her eyes in warning. He turns his concerned hand to a finger point. "Go see Dr. Lam."

"I'm not sick, I'm pregnant."

"You need to eat something other than Cheetos."

"Are you offering to take me to dinner, Darling?"

"Always." His expression, the innocent, contented expression on his face flickers across hers before she remembers Ariel, his girlfriend. Blinks soft into the horrid blue light to clear her eyes and shakes her head at him, leaving him with the clipboard and bag of cheese dust. He doesn't follow her out or try to grab her hand, just reminds, "Call me for anything."

3:33am and her right eye twitches as she sits up in bed. The Cooking Channel still plays soundlessly over the television across the room and it spits off the same irritating light as the lockup. Doesn't understand why she's awake so suddenly until a roaring pain rips through her stomach. Before she twists herself loose of the blankets, she vomits over her comforter, a bit splatting on the ground and pressure builds within her head. Her hand slaps to hit the lights and all her sheets slop off her onto the ground. The room tilts, bows sideways and her arm slips down the wall knocking items off her end table. She falls, less than eloquently, on her bum and almost sits on her phone. The screen is cracked but she can still input a number, she's gets an answering machine like she knew she would because tonight was a date night.

"Cameron, it's me." Doesn't recognize her own voice, deep, tired, shaky, "I feel awful, I need to go to the infirmary."

He showed up less than ten minutes later, she knows because at four in the morning, he hauled her tired body into the infirmary for the overnight doctor to diagnose. Turns out he wasn't off base on a date, he canceled and stayed in to catch up on reading various baby books, ones he's been hinting at her to read.

"Is this because all she eats is Cheetos?" His hand smooths back her hair from her face and she lets him, relishes in a touch that is not her own because her limbs feed deadened with extra weight. They've placed a needle and a tube in her arm giving her water, she said she would drink and they both ignored her, by then her will, her consciousness slowly faded in and out.

"Well I'm sure that's not helping, but this is just a case of the stomach flu." The overnight doctor scribbles something on a clipboard, her inventory clipboard, the one she worked so hard on, and she squirms trying to snatch it back.

"No one else here has it, no one else on SG-1 has it, so how'd she get it?" Cameron's hands guide her back to the bed by the shoulders until she rests on the pile of pillows he collected.

"That's interesting." The doctor taps his pen to his lower lip and the repetition of the action gives her a new wave of nausea. "Has she eaten anything off planet? Anything uncultivated or raw?'

Half awake, she can't see his expression, but knows it's serious with probable exasperation, and his fingers slip into her palm as she tumbles into an exhausted sleep. "You had to have that apple."