Lotus
Chapter 2
The Truce
It continues its ways—the natural course of life—more than he knows it—guards shuffle Jaffa in, it slaughters them if they don't preform well, calls for him and offers Vala up as compensation for copulation. They try to talk about other things, he attempts to tell her memories and stories to reel her out of the shaken mess she becomes for the first five minutes after she regains control of her body—but five minutes turn to ten, then fifteen—because ripping her out of her own body and then allowing her some control is disorientating. Should've stayed in Cairo. It was almost a done deal.
"We could stay, you know." He closed his eyes, leaned his head to fall over the back of the couch. The sun was scorching that day—they easily sweated through dress shirts and civilities at the pyramid—particularly with Carnarvon, who he never stopped watching through narrowed eyes—and they had come home to a wilting garden and a Shakespeare play—a tragedy—on the radio. "We could make it work."
Felt the weight of her feet in his lap, her heel pressed into his thigh. When he chanced a peek, she was propped on the opposite arm of the couch, glasses perched on the end of her nose—glasses she didn't need but thought she looked in—she was right. Reading—rereading—a dogeared book on translating hieroglyphs. Without a raised eyebrow or any attention drawn away from the text she murmured, "I don't know if I'll ever be fully comfortable here."
Often forgot that they didn't share the same benefits of being stuck in Egypt. Four years ago, they celebrated because women were finally able to vote in England. Travelled back to visit one of their mansions and she dragged him to the polls, cast her vote and clapped with glee as she exited the booth. In Cairo it was always dangerous for her to be alone despite her being readily available to care for herself. "Sorry, sometimes I forget—"
"Oh it's not that, Darling." Removed the glasses and set them and her book on the table with a sigh. "I would be perfectly content to settle down here with you—" He grinned, and she matched his seductively, her toes traced the inseam of his pants "—have plenty of babies with you and retire as renowned archaeologists and adventurers."
"Yeah?" He inched his hand from her foot, up to her ankle, to her shin.
"Mmm, yes." She leaned forward—his hand slid passed her knee onto her soft thigh. Her lips pressed against his and for a moment he forgot about their conversation entirely. Her words were hot on his face, "there's only one problem."
"Yeah?" Free arm wrapped around her hips, guided her into his lap. Her fingers tickled at the side of his face.
"If we become famous archeologists, Daniel will undoubtedly be familiar with us." Her hips dipped on top of his, her lips pecked behind his ear.
"Yeah?" Dropped one of her suspenders—also stolen from him—also worn by her because she thought they looked good—they also did. Rubbed his chin against the side of her neck.
"Well then he will undoubtedly be sexually attracted to our adventuring archaeologist granddaughter—"
"Ugh." Turned his head away from her at the thought of Jackson with his beautiful—nonexistent—granddaughter.
She laughed, her touch became more playful, less arousing and she nuzzled her nose against the side of his face. "Do you really want to put her through that."
"We'll leave." Slapped her on the ass to get her to move off his lap. "We'll leave."
Fifteen minutes of story time seems to be the cap. Once it regained control of the body and held Vala's head under the water. Reminded them it could remove her in more ways than one. He wrenched her up, and she shook against him, gasped for air until he set her on the side of the fountain, allowing her to regain her breath. Her body shuddered, and he pulled his fingers through her hair. Her eyelashes clumped together as water ran over her face.
They talk less after that.
He speaks with it even less unless directly addressed.
Until one day it calls him into the bed chamber—a rare occurrence of bloodlessness.
"A word, Darling?"
It's sprawled out on the bed, wearing a sheer white dress that billows in the thermals from the fountain. The material curls and whips braiding in with its hair.
He holds his arms behind his back and draws his eyes to the empty far corner of the room where various crawling vines are plum with bloom, somehow pollenated without the aid of insects. "Yes, my God."
"Your interest in me and this body is waning. Why is this?"
A booty call. Simple minds. Simple answers. Vala gulping in his arms as water spurts from her mouth and he smooths out her hair whispering, "no more", and sighs partly in relief—partly in grief—when she nods against his shoulder.
"Forgive me, my God, I was otherwise occupied with your want of taking Lower Manhattan. Over 500 new Jaffa have pledged—"
"Those numbers are far too low." Cuts the seductive erotic dream shit. "You have not been engaging me because you do not wish to fornicate with me any longer."
He was never interested in fucking it.
It's sitting on the end of the bed, knees peaked and balanced on dainty tiptoes. "Have you then lost interest in her?"
"My want is to do what my God bids." Recycled words falling from his mouth without a care. The lines he had to memorize to be a mailbox in his second-grade school play.
"Very well then." It nods one and rises from the bed—all gossamer curtains in line with a box fan—the cover of a dollar store romance novel.
"Shall I send in the Jaffa?"
"No, I am taking my leave."
"Leave, my God?" Leave as in what? Leave the room—conversation over. Leave the planet—they haven't been separated in fourteen years from basement to pyramids—and three years since wrong gate to chest waxing—the glory of time travel molds them as ageless. Leave Vala's body—let him talk to her or flat and lifeless—heart palpitations.
It chuckles, head thrown back in throat undulations, "You really are so predictable, Cameron."
He doesn't say a word because it's stalemate. One wrong utterance and it would end her life. The vacillations between protection and sacrifice for the greater good—the time waiting for SG-1 to show up tumbling into the depths.
"I'm relinquishing control of her for a period of time."
"Relinq—why?" There's always a bait and switch. Always waiting for the fucking bait and switch.
Emotionless and with a showy throw of its hand it answers, "she is sick."
"What? Sick? Sick how?"
"You tell me, Cameron." The special effects cut out and the curtain dress falls completely flat. It pulls back the drapery tight against her stomach. Her stomach—her stomach.
"No." Shakes his head and marches backward—in the golden line, toe out of the golden line—borders broken. "No, no, nope."
"As she is with child I cannot be the active consciousness in her body, my needs will precede those of the fetus and it would result in an immediate termination." The bluntness of the sentence cuts deeper than any bladed weapon.
He sets his jaw, feels teeth shave against teeth while grinding them down. "Then do it."
It huffs and shakes its head at him, "And why should the decision be yours to make?"
"Because it's what Vala would want."
"This is Vala's wish, Darling," it laughs incredulously at him, and begins approaching him. The sleeves and tails of the dress dragging over the floor. "She knows she is with child. She wishes to keep it."
"And you picked now to start listening to her needs?" The bait and switch. What does it want with a baby. Why stoop to regressing to the submissive consciousness and allow her control. It wants to learn something, or it wants a child. It can't possibly want to break him more—he's already broken.
It places her hands on his arms, he tears away only to have it grab him again. "Fortunately, this is no longer my concern. Vala and I have agreed to a truce during the gestation." Then its lips are on his—acidic and burning—he tries to twist away but the golden claws dig into the side of his face. The forced kiss ends with a pop leaving it grinning. "We'll continue this in a few months."
Her body sways and stumbles back, bare feet slipping against the floor—he barely notices as he swallows against a dry throat—the words it spoke, the taste of it—the four or five pins he has to put in pressing projects because of her. Grabs an end of the robe yanking her forward to fall into him instead of against the ground.
"Darling, you must—"
"You agreed to have a baby?"
"No, you must—"
"You're giving this thing a baby."
"Darling—"
"You're giving this thing your baby."
Vala places her hands on his cheeks turning his face to hers, awkward with the golden claws. "It can still hear us, Cameron," her voice raspy and shaking, her irises darting while trying desperately to focus on his. "Whatever you say be aware it can hear us."
"Why didn't you let it stay?" His eyes droop from hers, ashamed of what he's insinuating—a modicum out of jealousy. A hundred Jaffa a day versus a few trysts with him doesn't exactly work out in his favor—and he rejoices because then he doesn't have to deal with his child being raised by that thing.
"What?" She slightly grins in misunderstanding, her eyes settling.
"If it stayed then—"
His neck cracks at the speed she releases his cheeks and bounces back. After he blinks a few times he finds her standing a few feet away, claws dropped to the ground, arms crossed over her stomach—and it hits him harder than any violating kiss. "Vala—"
"It is not the parent of this child." She spreads her hands over her stomach, accentuating the modest dip it was so happy to show him—to crush him—before. "It does not want to raise this child."
"You are not going to be a parent to this child, Vala. You're not even in control of your own body." He's yelling at her and he doesn't want to be because her expression is shattering, and he thinks he broke her. The words are harsh, his tone is harsh, the situation is harsh. "It obviously wants the baby or i wouldn't let you have it."
"It has no want or intentions for—"
"It will use the baby against me." Shoots his hands in the air, his voice overpowering her, hushing the words before they come out of her mouth. "It knows that we've agreed self-sacrifice is the answer at some point. It reads you, Vala, it knows you. It knows you would never allow it to kill the baby."
"We have time to plan against that to ensure—"
"Princess," he sighs calming her—calming himself because the next thing he says is a doozy. "Getting you and me out of here alive was a far stretch. Getting out of here with a baby is not going to happen."
"Cameron, this is my baby." She's trying to be strong—she is so strong—she straightens out the dress and purses her lips together. "I can't sacrifice it."
It knows that. It fucking knows that and it's probably the tip of the iceberg to what it has in mind for the kid—leverage, a new first prime, a snack, a new host—when she's aware he doesn't share her views on bringing a baby into this barely balanced relationship—and she's pregnant again—again by not her own means unless they won the lottery—and she'll carry the baby again and fade away once it's born and it will never know how much she did for it—she doesn't say another word.
She walks away from him, hair bouncing at her back, sleeves swaying in time with her steps, and he needs to fix this, aches to hold her, kiss her—God, he wishes he celebrate with her—but there's no way he can think to condone this.