Two Birds, Two Stones
Chapter 23
Bellyaching
"Where is she?"
The crew is gathered—as much of the crew as he could—to meet in command so they can discuss what's going on, how it keeps going on, and God willing, stop it from going on. Except that his crew consists of himself, sloppily feeding Deke with Peacekeeper pabulum gluing his still dirty shirt—because he hasn't had time to do laundry while balancing being captain of an almost deserted ship, a colonel in another galaxy with a gimp leg, and a single parent to a kid who still will not stop crying—and Noranti who's humming along, doing what looks like dusting around the room, but really she's plucking knots of hair, scraps of cloth, little things the DRDs missed while working on the mountain of clothing in his room, the puke frequently being left everywhere by everyone, and the dirty diapers everyone is too lazy to stick in a garbage chute.
He tried.
Oh God, how he tried.
Pounded at Stark's door until he was sure he broke a knuckle—okay, maybe not broke, but definitely bruised up a little bit—then lost his cool and demanded that Pilot open the door, and when Pilot calmly double checked that's what he wanted, he snapped and screamed for it.
The room smelled like hot, wet garbage, and Stark was still mostly catatonic, staring at the wall, a little bit of mumbling here in there. He asked if he was faking—tried not to think of Zhaan's photogasisms—then just sat beside him for a second because maybe he just needed company, maybe he just needed to know what was going on.
Explained, as best as he could, about the hookah, about the transfer, about the other Earth, and how they can come home but never together and never permanently. Finished off the killer story with the cherry on top of Aeryn being pregnant again, and chuckling, a little less than sanely, into his sweaty palm.
After a few more minutes passed with Stark failing to acknowledge him, he nodded to himself, an clapped a hand over his old friend's knee as he stood. "If you think of anyway to fight whatever the hell is going on, let someone know."
He closed the door behind him.
Then he moved down to Aeryn's old room, the hallway he would casually pace back and forth on, attempting to look busy until she exited her room and they 'accidentally' bumped into each other.
"Vala?" He knocked on the door once, softly.
Then again a bit louder, "Vala?"
Then finally just threw out any conventions he knew and started slamming his balled fist into the door while hollering her name. "Vala!"
"Commander Crichton—"
"What?" He barked as his attention jarred away from the door.
Pilot's face—and his half-lidded expression at having to interfere—materialized on the clamshell in the corner. "Ms. Mal Doran is currently making use of the refreshers."
His lips twitched at the inconvenience of everything.
They only have—they should only have—a limited time here, the best thing he could do is organize everyone so they're on the same page. If he slipped through three different Moya's and got everyone to work together on that, then two different galaxies should be a piece of cake.
"Tell her to head to command when she's done."
"I will do as you requested as soon as she is finished, however, she's asked that I don't interrupt her while she is in the refresher."
"Pilot—"
"I am going to heed her wishes, Commander Crichton."
He had his own choice of mumbled words after that, mostly how no one on this frelling ship has even tried to find a way home, meanwhile he's been on at least three different desert planets with a billion suns each, trying to find a stone that they never get to find because Colonel Carter's computer has a virus.
Before heading to command to wait, he ducked into the medical bay. From what learned from Zhaan, then Jool, then Sikozu, Chiana's parabolic data looked neutral—no signs of secondary infection, no spikes of pain but also no evidence of regaining consciousness. He sat down beside her for a second, trying to catch his breath, trying to remember what was really important, and fixed the reflective blanket, drawing it to her shoulders, noting the wound on her neck.
"Hey Pip." Held her limp hand, cold in his and it felt different, her fingers felt smaller. "You faking it?"
Waited for her to grin because she's awful at playing dead around him, searched the numbers reading off her chart for any sign of change, and exhaled a little to harshly when there was none.
"Mom and Dad go on a vacation for what? Eleven days now and you kids can't even take care of the ship for that long?" His voice cracked, and he huff three times to clear away his tears because Crichton's don't cry unless they're him or his son.
"Commander Crichton?" Pilot asked tentatively into his comm.
"Yeah, Pilot?" Snuffled, wiped the back of his hand across his leaky nose and cleared his throat.
"Ms. Mal Doran is out of the refresher. She says she will meet you in command after she puts clothing on."
"Well, thank God for that."
Groaned when he stood because this Colonel's leg has been through a meat grinder. Vala said there was a metal rod in it, and he can't imagine an ex-air force pilot having to explain why the detector's going off every time he tried to board a plane.
After he shifted the weight onto his good leg, he leaned in and smoothed back Chiana's hair, placing a kiss on her forehead.
Doesn't know what happened, how she ended up so banged up, but they've been through worse—no matter what happens, they've always been through worse.
"Wake up soon, will ya? You've been out for a few days and the whole place has gone to dren."
Now he's waiting on the last member, the only other capable member on the ship. Actually the only capable member on the ship because after he factors out the two that are catatonic, he's left with a newborn, an old lady who's currently finding dust bunnies for food spices, and him, who on his best day can handle his own, but since there's barbed wire surgically implanted on the inside of his leg, he gets three steps at the most before he's got to take a five minute break.
"Perhaps she's forgotten about the meeting?" Noranti pinches some more dirt between her finger and thumb, examining it for a moment in the light, and then opens a small cloth pouch and places it inside.
"I just told her to come up here." Holding out Deke, he doesn't have to say a word before the dear grandmama scoops him up. "Please don't tell me we're having another losing time episode."
"No more than usual with your constant meetings." Vala walks through the door, but her stride isn't her usual one—the one that's a little sensual and a little playful. It's definitely not Aeryn's stern and wide stride like her feet have to eat up as much of the ground as they can. It's more of a shuffle now. She's wearing Aeryn's green sweater with the zipper, the one she was wearing when she flashed him so many cycles ago in that tunnel.
He clears his throat, tries not to draw attention to her different movements, because Aeryn wouldn't want him too, and he doesn't know Vala well enough to work against the grain. "I think we need to have a good old-fashioned brainstorm about our current situation."
"A what?" Her eyes squint at him as she rests against the rickety table that hasn't stood right since Chiana sword in the stoned it.
"A brainstorm."
She doesn't give him a nod of comprehension. What she does do is continue to look like Aeryn does when he pulls out as many Southern euphemisms as he can until she finally shakes her head, breaking into a grin and pushing him away.
It's been two days and he misses her like hell. They haven't been separated from each other for this long since she took her prowler to the other side of the galaxy and he just watched her go, all because of a stupid coin toss.
"You don't know what a brainstorm is?"
"Does your wife?"
The tension in her voice is palpable and nasty—something is definitely up, but again, he's spent less than three days with this woman—if she didn't look exactly like Aeryn, he wouldn't be so concerned.
"No, but when she has working translator microbes, like you do, it's usually not that much of a problem."
"Yes, well my native language happens to be English, so if you're using a Tau'ri idiom, adage, or some other form of syntax that wasn't widespread over the galaxy—"
"Tau'ri?"
"Earthling," Noranti interrupts bouncing Deke who is starting to fuss.
He just fed the kid, did exactly like Vala showed him. Changed the diaper and left it for 1812, who he swore gave him the stink eye, and fed Deke that Peacekeeper slop with the consistency of house paint mixed with a bunch of sawdust—it didn't taste much better.
It didn't taste like anything at all, maybe a bit like a toilet paper roll and chewed gum, just awful, and tacky, and it's still sitting hard in his stomach.
"Haven't you been on Earth for years though?"
"Believe it or not Crichton—" she shakes her head when Noranti offers her Deke to calm, crossing her arms, and shifting away. She wasn't lying about not having a thing to do with his kid "—Stargate Command isn't exactly putting together classes for me on normal Earth life. I'm lucky if someone takes the time to stop and explain anything to me when I ask a question. I've had to reach to outside sources."
Can tell by the tone of her voice that he's treading water, and this time he can't give a gentle forehead kiss to distract her.
Noranti steps back towards him, giving him this glance that all the women in his life seem to be giving him lately, one where he should know better, one where they're disappointed in him, one where he should just get to the frelling point.
"Okay, everyone just hold the phone for a second."
Both women stop what they're doing, just staring at him even more confused.
"What phone?"
"The communication device from Earth?"
"There's no phone here, Crichton."
Well, at least he got them distracted enough to step away from the edge of anger mountain. He ignores the questions, motioning to Noranti to hand him Deke. "All right, come to Papa, Little Man."
Deke squirms, his nose curling and his face grows red, but he holds the little guy against his chest. Spent all night with him as he cried almost straight through. Told him about his grandpa and grandma and aunts. About D'argo and Zhaan and Jool. About his mom who didn't want kids but adores him. About the other him.
Amazingly, after rocking Deke a bit, his cries soften into little whimpers. It's the first time that his son has actually calmed down in his arms—well, the first time when there wasn't a galaxy switching hookah around—and there's a heaviness in his chest that suddenly disappears.
"He recognizes me."
"That's what happens when you spend time with your child." There's a saltiness in Vala's voice that's a lot different than Aeryn's despite both women giving him dren about the same thing. Aeryn's is more sad, exhaustive, while Vala sounds bitter, maybe even a bit jealous.
Before he answers her, she shoves away from the table, moving back towards the door.
"Hey, we need to have this meeting sooner or later."
When she turns back, she winces, her arms crossing over her stomach again.
"Okay, what's—"
"Nothing."
"That was too quick for it to be nothing."
Not only can he hear her overdramatic sigh, but she darts her eyes away so quick, he might actually hear that too. But he waits, because he's finally got a semi-happy son whose cry is actually lower than the motor of a lawnmower, so he has all the time in the world.
She starts to get antsy, bouncing her leg, still not meeting his gaze with a crooked set jaw. Figured waiting her out would be the way to deal with this because from what he saw of the interaction between her and the other members of the team, when she gets all huffy, no one seems to wait her out—the good old doc just skimmed over her and to the next topic.
"Fine." She finally breaks, and he ducks his head to hide his grin of success. "If you really must know, my stomach is upset, and I'd prefer to go lay down."
"Was it something the school lunch lady fed you?"
"Actually, her cooking is quite preferable to the commissary food back on the mountain."
'Then—" but he gets it, just hasn't had to deal with it for a while because all the woman he lives with are aliens with different working 'systems'. "Oh, I get it."
"Get what?"
"There's some—uhh—useful products down in the cargo bay—"
"What—" she stops talking to slam the palm of her hand into her forehead. "This isn't moontides, you idiot."
"Moon—what?"
"This is my actual stomach, it's stinging, I have a bit of a high temperature, and earlier in the refresher I—"
Without any warning at all, Deke blows chunks all over him—the third time on this shirt and the brownish colored Peacekeeper sludge rolls down his chest as his son starts wailing. "Come on!"
"—I did that."
Hands Deke to her, his mind racing, trying to figure out if everyone's just got a bit of the space flu, or if it's something worse—it's always something worse. Using as little of his hand as possible, he sweeps the puke from his shirt and back onto the floor.
Deke gurgles in her arms as she uses the sleeve of Aeryn's shirt to wipe away the food leftover from his mouth, and it doesn't hit him until they both and his son share the same queasy expression.
The food.
The meeting happens later that night—much, much later that night. So much later that they're almost out of day two and into day three—but everyone needed some time in order to process what's happened.
The forensics came back midday on Jackson's lab explosion that was inconclusive on foul play, which just put people more on edge with Aeryn, despite her being in the actual blast from what he's heard. Jackson also pointed out that the explosion didn't damage much in his lab, his computers being all intact, but completely obliterated the maintenance room above, destroying some of the water heaters, a furnace, and part of the air-conditioning system.
Fortunately, in a show of good faith, Landry finally had maintenance reroute the air conditioning from the higher floors down to where Officer Sun's room is located and the floor holding the conference room and mess hall. So, for the time being, she's able to roam those few floors without any medical issues, but eventually there's going to be an overload on the air conditioning system which will probably take out the whole thing.
They're hoping to have this situation sorted by then.
He was hoping this situation would have been sorted by now.
Jackson and Sam have huge cups of coffee in front of them, and his tongue absently touches his lips because, man he could use a big cup of that to wake him up—normally he'd go for a jog, but as good as he is at multitasking, he never would have been able to corral Officer Sun in, while brainstorming ideas with himself, since no one seems that eager to sort out this situation.
Officer Sun is a little more awake than he is, a little more alert, and seems like she actually like might to participate in the round table to have her input heard.
She leans over the table, just a little, almost not even noticeably—he probably wouldn't have noticed it if he wasn't hanging around Vala so much, becoming aware of all her little ticks and her mannerisms—this action doesn't hold the playfulness that he's used to seeing, though.
If she were here, she'd be spinning around, thrown lazily in her chair, barely listening to what they're supposed to do for the day, hair pulled into pigtails and her head tossed back out of boredom.
He smiles thinking of her, really missing her now because at another glance to his watch, it's now day three. He's been away from her for three days, but he's gotten used to her being around, like after she came back to Auburn with him.
Hated the idea of two whole days with her, but when it was over, he didn't want to say goodbye to her, and ended up walking her to her room because he didn't want to part.
Focuses on Officer Sun speaking to Sam and Jackson about their coffees, her head almost angled in question, and her eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the drink. Focuses on her so that he doesn't focus on how afraid he is that something might happen—have already happened—to Vala because he's not there.
Something might happen when he's there anyway, but at least he would know he tried his best to help her.
Here, he's just an idiot standing at the head of the conference table, trying to get attention, and brainstorm methods to get him and his—uh—Vala—back from another galaxy, while Sam procures another disposable cup, pouring some of her coffee in it for Officer Sun to try.
She smells the half-full cup, her nostrils twitching, and her eyes narrowing because the coffee the mess makes on base is so thick and so strong, it's almost like a paste and sometimes when he has a late night and he drinks too much of it, it gives him heartburn.
It's not until Officer Sun starts bringing the Styrofoam cup to her lips, ready to take a sip of the hot liquid, that he remembers his brother's complaints when expecting his second kid—how his wife was craving coffee, but couldn't drink it because the amount of caffeine in it could harm the baby.
They'd suffered a loss between his first nephew being born and his second and were overly cautious the entire duration of the pregnancy to make sure they didn't do anything that could harm the baby.
The baby.
"Officer Sun—" stretches over the table less than gracefully—maybe a little more gracefully than if he had this own body because he doesn't think that his hip could take the weight of his whole body on it like this—and carefully brings her arm down from her mouth, and with it the cup of coffee, before she can take a sip.
Doesn't realize he's actually touching her before he is, and only realizes he is because her skin is ice cold. Colder than Vala's skin gets when exposed to the cool temperatures in their bedroom on Moya. So cold that it almost stings his fingers when he touches the bared skin on her arm.
Always thought that if he touched her—even in a situation that required it, like saving her from drinking something that may or may not harm her baby—that she would just use him as an example and just kick his ass.
She just sort of gives off that aura.
So does Vala.
But she doesn't flip her hand around his arm and break it, or swing out of her chair to hurl it at his face, instead she watches him, a little curious, like he's a cup of coffee, and a little bit irritated, like he's an old, stale cup of coffee with that cream swill on the top.
He can almost see the seconds he has before her calm demeanor fades away and she becomes aggravated with the touch.
Carefully, he reaches his other hand forward—the one not holding her arm—and reclaims the cup from her hand, holding it by the rim with his fingers, and disposing of it in the trashcan behind him.
When he turns back to the table, not only is Officer Sun waiting for an explanation, but so is Jackson, who has been watching their moves, their interactions since he got back, Sam, who sacrificed a bit of her coffee, just to have it thrown out, and General Landry, who is standing in the mouth of the door, confused with the silence and how they all seem to be examining each other.
"We don't really know how caffeine—ugh—will react with her system."
He scratches the back of his neck, turning halfway back to the board behind him where he plans to write down what they know of the device and what they don't. It's as basic of a plan as they have, but sometimes even the knowns and the unknowns can get confusing.
Sam seems to understand as she nods thoughtfully at something she might have overlooked, because Sam is pragmatic and smart as all hell, but sometimes the little things sneak by her.
Jackson doesn't appear fooled though, and the way his eyebrows knot as he fixes his glasses on the bridge of his nose—careful to avoid the near shiner he got in the lab explosion making the one side of his face a little puffy and a little bruised—lets him know he's suspicious.
Opening his mouth—probably to ask what the hell that was—Jackson falters a little.
Vala was sort of his area of expertise—not in that he knew everything about her, because hell, they barely know anything about her—but that he was the one who was able to reign her in during the times that called for it. He was probably her first real friend and true confidant in a long time, and that's still got to amount for something.
But Jackson is still having a hard time discerning that the war hardened soldier sitting in Vala's seat with tired eyes and a blanket expression, is not Vala.
She's not Vala.
Not even close.
Even though the physical similarities are off the charts with comparisons, the emotional and mental similarities are separated by an ocean of difference. He never knows what Officer Sun is thinking, and he doesn't think he'll ever know, so he never tries to, hoping instead she'll tell him when it's important.
With Vala, she displays a wide range of emotions but it's all an act—deep down, Vala definitely feels different than what she lets on, than what they know about her as a teammate, than what he used to believe about her.
Jackson never gets to ask his question though, because Landry—who's now had to stop the schedule of his day twice—interrupts him.
"Colonel Mitchell, I have a list of items I need to see to today—" he walks in, taking a seat at the opposite end of the table "—so if you could start your presentation—"
"Of course, Sir." He stands at the whiteboard, ready to have a good old round robin brainstorm, with the marker in his hand. "I just wanted to make sure that we're all on the same page about what's happened, and what needs to be done."
Everyone keeps quiet, staring at him, maybe waiting for him to elaborate more, but when he doesn't General Landry scopes out the table and then adds with just a slight chuckle, "I think we all know what the main goal is."
"Okay, then I think we all know that the main problem is that we don't have enough intel."
"Intel on what?" Sam's voice disappears into her cup as she takes a sip of whatever little coffee she didn't sacrifice.
"On everything."
"Can you be more specific?" Jackson sighs, tossing his hand out a bit in aggravation.
Never thought how hard it must be on all of them—to deal with two people who look like, but don't act like their teammates, like people they know and go to bat for on a daily basis. How disheartening it can be when they can't trust someone they have been on at team with for years, or when that person suddenly doesn't trust them back.
"Okay—" tries to grin with a little patience, but he's never been the patient kinda guy, that's why he doesn't read much, because he just wants to skip to the end, to hit the punchline so he can put the damn book down and go do something else "—for one, we need to know how this happened."
"But—we know how it happened," Sam angles her head at him curiously, like he's been taken over by a third guy which would be the definition of too many cooks.
"Officer Sun and Crichton shoved the stones into the long-range communication device, which initiated the transfer—" Jackson, as if falling into his rightful spot, begins to retell exactly what they know, how they know it, and how long they've know it for, which also doesn't help at all.
"Then why did Vala and I switch with them?"
"Because we put the stones in a specific recess with a dedicated link to your planet." Officer Sun seems to be the only one who cares about furthering their knowledge, about untangling the one hell of a knot they've got going on.
By the way that everyone becomes silent, this might be new information and it might not be. Maybe they're just as surprised to hear her talk.
"Noranti showed us the spaces we have to use."
"I would be reticent to trust her endeavors."
"But you trust her with Deke?"
"Out of bare necessity."
"I'm sorry—" Jackson waves his hand through the air, a little more ticked off than usual—they all are, lack of sleep, the hot temperature still a threat, lab explosions. "Who's Noranti?"
"An old lady."
"A Traskan"
They both answer at the same time, sort of shrugging off the other's retort, because neither answer is important, because Noranti isn't really important in all of this, even if she is a subpar babysitter.
"Look—" he turns his back to them as he starts to write on the board, feeling like a different person, like someone in a board meeting with a real reason to use a PowerPoint presentation. "I think that we need to concentrate on finding out everything we can about this device."
"But, we have, Cam." Sam glances back at Landry, who's said nothing during the entire exchange—he might actually just be asleep with his eyes open. "We've exhausted all our means for understanding it."
"Yeah, and what about the means that aren't ours?" He keeps the marker on the board, continuing to listen to it shriek as he writes down his list of ideas.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, for starters we could—"
But the familiar feeling of light-headedness clouds behind his eyes, makes him feel really tired, and all he can do is hope Crichton's not pissing this time.