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Chapter 2
For the Show
"Vala!" He shouts for her even though he knows she's long gone.
"No. No. No. No." Allowed a grace period of a few seconds for whoever wrongfully beamed her out of her own goddamn house to put her back, then runs to the back closet. "No. No. No. No."
Who would want her?
She's five months pregnant, not exactly as lithe as she used to be, though he still has no complaints. She's gorgeous and vibrant and when she's not throwing more food than she's ever put into her or falling into a coma-level of sleep where her snoring—because she's congested, because this planet makes her congested—is so loud it rattles the inside of his ears, she's exactly like her old self. Except she's starting to look like she's smuggling a basketball everywhere.
"Shit." It's probably someone she did a contract for coming for retaliation and the thought of how many ways—on how many levels—they can retaliate makes him nauseous.
They worked so hard to cover their asses. Enough gate jumps to make them both physically sick several times over. Hopped to a planet, vomited, and dialed out. Just that over twenty times until they finally got back to Thea without a breadcrumb trail.
They stayed indoors for almost a week, brainstorming a game plan, talked about what they wanted to do and how they could do it. Through the calmness and cooing of 'love yous' and his hands brushing through her hair while she sighed heavily and happily against his chest, he told her he wanted to plant something. Wanted to be rid of gates and ships and zats, wanted no technology at all despite Thea having an advancement level similar to Earth's. Indoor plumbing is great, satellite tv not that much.
Just her and him and a bushel full of kids working the land.
Digs through the contents of the closet where he sets his rubber boots and hangs his coat, and she just tosses everything out and into the kitchen. She's so messy and—God he loves her and if anything happens to her or their baby he's gonna—"Fuck."
Finds what he's looking for, a gun like a shotgun, that he bought under the pretense of shooting things like coyotes away from the fields where he hasn't even begun to grow crops, and the pitiful coop where he plans to get this planet's version of poultry. He hasn't worked himself up to it yet because he misses Earth and on times when he's alone, he just thinks of gating back to see his folks and let them know he's okay.
Really the gun is for protecting her, protecting his family, and when he brought it into the house—that she bought flat out and could stand to do several more times, so again, why the hell does she even need to be going on—she rolled her eyes at him and left the room.
Really has no fucking clue what he's doing, his hands shaking as he inserts the cartridges, but going to the front lawn and shooting blindly up into the sky is the only attack he has.
Stomps back across the kitchen, through the living room, tracking mud from the fields he was working in earlier—while she was out in some swamp puking her guts out for their only income—across the house and out onto the front porch. Listens for the angry creak of the stairs, but it's drowned out by the sound of a cloaked ship.
Still draws the gun, tracing the sky for what he knows is there. Closes an eye, tracking through the sight, shallows his breathing, and watches the air ripple around the heat from the ship's exhaust.
It's not until the dust clouds into the air that he realizes the ship is landing, not speeding away into the atmosphere as he assumed it would. Keeping his aim, his gun ready, the overwhelming sound of an engine and the harsh landing give him somewhere to focus.
"Baby please tell me you knocked them on their asses and stole the ship back."
There's a hiss as the door disengages, and the immediate sound of her voice and he relaxes, lets out the breath he was holding in, and flicks the safety on, gun barrel facing down to the porch. When she appears from nothing, the ship still cloaked, her hand rubbing the top of her stomach, he full out drops the gun and takes off towards her.
Her combat boots clomp down the invisible, but obviously metallic stairs and she turns berating whoever else was in the ship.
"If you idiots ever try something like this again, if I don't mangle you first, Cameron will—Darling, we're fine—"
Tries to comfort him, but he doesn't hear, just grabs her and holds her because it could have been Athena, this whole thing could have happened with Athena as the ringleader and what would he do? Doesn't have the skill to get her back, the galactic knowhow. Can't go back to SGC because they sort of burned all those bridges—or so he thought.
Behind her Jackson followed by another Jackson start to file out of the ship.
"You're okay?"
"Yes."
Pulls back, stares in her eyes for any of her tells, and replaces her hand with his atop her stomach. This time his voice is tenser. "You're okay?"
Cold hand caresses his cheek and she grins at him, rubbing her nose off his. "We're fine."
She still smells like vomit, and he's dizzy from the instant relief of having her back, the turmoil of how to get her replaced with the turmoil of how to protect her when she can just get beamed out of the goddamn house by any ship with Asgardian technology.
"I guess the next time—"
"—we'll just land the ship—"
"—in your front yard—"
"—because that'll go over well."
Releases her and slams the first Jackson he can grab into the side of the still invisible ship, his hand all twisted up in his perfect black BDU shirt. "You just beam her up?"
"Mitchell."
"Mitchell!"
"Cameron—"
"No Vala, we don't know what kind of effects that technology can have on—" Finds his grip relaxing, and then tightens it, holding this Jackson still. The other stands idle on the stairs, floating above them, ascending again. "They know you're pregnant."
"We also knew—" The one under his hands grunts out.
The one ascending finishes, "—that it wouldn't hurt her."
"Or the baby?" Asks One who sort of gaks out a reply.
Then he turns to Two, who answers, "or the baby."
Should probably let his hand drop at this point, let One go, but the rage, the uselessness he felt, is so much more than when he was left on base and she was out waltzing around the universe.
"Cameron." Her voice is soft and floats from behind him, calming him, cooling him. She cups her hand around his shoulder tugging a bit. "Your child is famished."
Her current way of suggesting he make her up a plate of food. Likes to make him guess what she wants and so far he's actually doing pretty good at it, mostly because when they go into the city on weekend trips to stock up on groceries, he pays attention to what she buys and tries to cook what he can from them.
"Let's get you a burger."
"Just one?" Her eyebrows raise in surprise and she halts her walking to the kitchen.
Slides his arm around her waist, "as many as you want, Princess."
"You know we actually came here for a reason." Two thumps down the stairs, giving a quick glance back to One, who's still trying to catch a bit of breath—which he thinks is a ploy for sympathy, he could have—should have—been a lot rougher.
"You mean your sole intention wasn't to momentarily kidnap me to disrupt the lovely calm we're trying to cultivate in our pleasant home?" Her words hit harder than he even could. He chuckles, proud and still partly out of relief, and hugs her side to him tighter as he feels the slight waddle of her walk.
"We came here to discuss—"
"Not now." Throws his hand up into the air to stop any conversation they plan on having on his front lawn, as the sun sets, and the night bugs chirp up. But then he waves them towards the house. "Now is family dinner time."
Vala packs away three and a half hamburgers, and almost polishes off the ketchup preserves they let stew for an entire day before jarring. He offers to do the cleaning up while she has a shower, but then the Jacksons clear their throats and it becomes clear that they weren't just in the neighborhood to stop by for a barbeque.
Now, sitting beside her on the couch facing two Jacksons, each taking up a gaudy floral armchair she picked up at a second-hand store, he doesn't know where the hell she shops, what second-hand store she goes to almost once a week, but all their furniture looks like it was taken from some French King in the sixteenth Century.
"Sam and O'Neill are on the Odyssey now." Daniel Two catches them up in the lives they left behind. "He's the highest-ranking officer on board, but we all know who the crew answers to."
He doesn't have a tiny teacup for catching up parties, he doesn't have that much of an interest to hear about how Earth is doing after the way things ended—he'd rather have a clean split—he doesn't have the patience for their beating around the bush no matter how hard she's shimmying from excitement beside him on the couch. Wants to think it's because she finally got to use her tiny tea set, or because someone else has been allowed into their house, into their lives for the first time in six weeks, but he knows it's because of the excitement from their old life bleeding back in, from her yearning to put back on the BDUs and hop through the gate again.
"Why are you here?"
"Cameron." She slaps his arm with her hand, her mouth wide at his bad manners.
"No, it's been like an hour and we still don't know why the Wonder Twins are here."
"What would your mother say."
"Probably that we did a piss poor job of gate jumping if it only took them a year to find us."
"Actually," Daniel Two interjects, his tiny teacup a few inches before his face. "It only took us two days—"
"Why. Are. You. Here?"
Daniel One rolls his eyes as Daniel Two takes a sip of his tiny teacup, raising his eyes at Vala who simply shakes her head. One groans, "If it's not obvious, we're here because we need your help."
"Uh-uh." Stands from the couch, his knee jostling the refurbished garden cart she picked to use as their coffee table. There's ornate little pink flowers and vines painted into the light gray wood and why does everything have to have flowers on it now. "I'm retired. I'm done risking—"
"Actually." Daniel One interrupts, his teacup still full and probably cold by now.
There's a clack as Daniel Two sets his teacup back onto the saucer and darts his eyes towards Vala. "We're asking her."
She's caught off-guard, stretching her arms above her head mid-yawn. "Me?"
"Oh no. No." The SGC doesn't get to royally screw them, to try and separate them, to kick her off the damn planet, to do what they did and then crawl back asking for help. "Not interested."
"Cameron, Darling, they've travelled all this way, wouldn't it be at least prudent to hear them out?"
"We're retired."
"You're retired, I still have a job."
"Yeah," his voice drops to a low growl as he leans in, "and you shouldn't."
She just yawns again as he sits beside her again—an overexciting day full of physical activity, and adrenaline pumping, followed by a full stomach, there's usually three outcomes, sleeping, puking, or sex. With the Jacksons here, one of those is already off the table.
"We found more evidence of the Clava Thessara Infinitas." One is leaning forward, like the information is top secret, like he didn't spout those words once a day for almost four years.
"Well I'd hate to be the one to tell you this—" she tucks into his side with content closed eyes and nuzzles her face into his shoulder "—but I'm not your commanding officer anymore."
"Oh, we're well aware of that."
"Things have never run smoother actually."
"Great, then you might wanna hightail it before anyone follows you to what was supposed to be our very private address."
"Vala gave it to us—"
"—and as much as she wants you to think she kicked our asses on that ship—"
"—she hugged us and cried."
"All lies," she mumbles and pulls away from him, cozying up to the opposite arm of the loveseat, her feet hanging awkwardly over the edge because of her heavy boots.
He grabs one of her feet and slowly unthreads the laces, pulling the tongue and loosening the first boot off. "She do the headlock one?"
"Several times."
He chuckles and sets the first foot in his lap while he works on the laces of the second boot. "Look, where do we fall into this?"
"Long story short—"
"The information points us back to the Ancient ruins we researched four years ago."
"There was a lot of ruins, guys." Sets her boot down beside the other and holds her feet in his lap.
"The one where we got cloned."
"The Xerox ruins," she adds, her voice sounding far away, and her legs start to relax. "We can go."
"You'll have to excuse her, she's had a long day of doing stupidly dangerous things." He pauses waiting for her retort, and when she doesn't offer one, he continues, "we're not going."
She sits up with half-lidded eyes and her hair all mussed from the fabric static. "It's too late now. We can discuss this in the morning. I'm getting cleaned up and going to bed. Be a dear and help the Daniel's get set up in the guest room."
As she waddles away, she loses more balance when she's sleepy, One checks his watch. "It's 9:30."
"Jackson," groans as he collects the elaborate enameled teacups she brought out after dinner, because they don't have guests—ever. "She's making a person, let her do what she wants."
Two says nothing, only sips his tea.
"Really Mitchell, how long are you two going to stay here?" One abandons the remaining dishes on the garden cart, trailing him to the kitchen, bringing only a mildly irritated tone. "When you know you can go back to Earth."
"Shhh." His hush is harsh as his hands slam into the sink with the dirty dishes. One doesn't look intimidated, instead just rolls his eyes. A quick glance back to the washroom tells him that she's probably blissed out in the shower right now, curls of moisture wafting up from under the door. "Keep your damn voice down."
"Oh my God, you didn't even tell her, did you?" One's jaw drops and Two scurries off the couch, bringing the dishes to join the conversation.
"Damn right I didn't." Shoves his hands far into the water, that's too hot and prickling at his skin. When they breech the water again, they're red.
"Why not?" Two slips the dishes into the sink.
"Because I'm not entirely sure this isn't a huge trap to get us back there."
"Teal'c is already back—"
"—next time we com in with great news, we'll let him deliver it."
"Look, it's not just that." Finishes the last dish to the ornate little set she picked up while they were at a downtown market. Said she didn't have any use for a tea set, but that it was still so pretty, and while she was having a bout of morning sickness in the public washrooms, he scooped up the set for her.
One grabs the towel he chucks across the counter to him and plucks up a saucer. "We already told you that Woolsey was transferred back to Atlantis three weeks after you left. Landry's thinking about putting up a bulletin for you guys. When Sam found out what happened she—"
"Maybe I don't want to go back to a planet that made us leave the way we had to in the first place." He releases the water from the sink, wiping around the metallic edge and hanging the towel to dry over the faucet. "I don't think that place is safe for her."
"Is any? I mean—you both have your fair share of personal enemies, coupled in with the ones you inherited from the SGC—"
"I think what he's trying to say—" and it's a rare occurrence of Jackson death glaring himself "—is that there's safety in numbers, and numbers back at the SGC."
He strolls across the kitchen, hitting the lights, leaving only the table lamp in the living room on. He cracks the door to the spare bedroom, still not done up as a nursery, because as she put it so eloquently, there's no cute wallpapers of teddy bears.
So he painted the walls a royal purple instead.
"The ruins are completely harmless." Two revitalizes the conversation, sort of staring at the room which right now has the single bed it came with.
"If I got a dollar every time one of you told me that before a mission only to walkie me halfway through saying you had a problem." He folds the closet doors back and drags out a cot, which was also left with the house. Vala really didn't have a backstory on how she got it, or why it was for sale, and there's a feeling in him that tells him not to ask.
"The ruins have a guardian—"
Reaching up in the closet for the spare set of sheets, he rolls his eyes. "And there it is."
"Which the size of a big laptop—"
"—and happy to help us last time."
"Good then it can help you this time."
"We need her, Mitchell."
"Oh no you don't," his chuckle is dry and there's no humor in this for him at all. "We're not part of the SGC, and since when do you need her? You're both fluent in most dialects of—"
"Because of the guardian."
"I don't think I want to know."
"The guardian likes her."
"I said I didn't want to know."
"No, it likes her because she interacts with it—is kind to it."
"Then try being nicer." Tosses the final pillow from the closet shelf onto the bed and shuts the door behind him without saying another word.
He tidies the front room a bit, locking up the house for the night, brushes his teeth while doing so, which is usually a her thing, and it's usually his thing to tell her it's not cool to brush her teeth in the kitchen, but right now he can kind of see the purpose of it.
Finally, he cracks the bedroom door and the cool air from inside snakes around him, making him shiver. Tries to be as quiet as possible, but the house is still humid and the wooden door cracks and stretches when he shuts it.
Her arms fall over her head, the sheets clumping at her knees as she stretches her back out, releasing a fatigued groan. "Cameron?"
"Just me."
She beckons him with a curl of her finger and a little wicked twist in her smile—it doesn't take more than that. It never did. "I should hope so, or I'd assume one of the Daniels had a bad dream."
Rushes to the bed, half-stuck in the shirt he's trying to yank off. "If any Daniel ever crosses through that door in the middle of the night, I'm shooting to kill."
"While your macho attitude is certainly stimulating—" she prolongs the word has his hand traces her thigh, following the curve of it inwards "—it's unnecessary here. The Daniels are friends. They're harmless."
"Like a ruin guardian?" Shuffles into bed, her lips already grazing his neck. Flips to his side, then back, rolling her on top of him without warrant.
She shrieks, but his thumb traces her grin as she rolls her hips forward, over him, over his boxers which aren't going to last long. His hand slides down, drops the strings of her nightie over her shoulders.
"Why is it?" Encourages his movements with a hand cupping at the back of his head, his lips working over her collarbone and dropping. She breathes deep with a tremor in her voice. "That you are so against going to these ruins?"
He tugs the nightie down so the silk fabric pools against her stomach, and while he nuzzles, while he licks and sucks, his thumbs race up her spine working over all the muscles knotted earlier in a smelly swamp. "Because there's always an evil clone," speaks against her so his words tickle and moisten her skin, "and I don't want to find out which of them is the evil one."
When he wakes up, she's already gone, but that's the usual now. She doesn't sleep for very long anymore for any number of reasons. The difference is a little off putting where before, back on Earth, back with the SGC they would sometimes spend their entire day off in bed: order in, watch cartoons and documentaries, she might read a book while he wrote up mission reports on his laptop—she was usually the one who grew bored. Not bored—distracting.
Now she's only good for four or five hours before her back starts to hurt, or she gets nauseous, or hungry. But he has a lingering feeling that she can't sleep because she's anxious, she's scared that someone might find them here—someone not as benevolent as the Jacksons.
He's told her to wake him, but she never does.
It's a little after four in the morning, and through the wall he can hear two sets of snoring from the Jacksons that got a room for the night. It's good to know that if the baby is in the other room, they'll hear it cry, but he doesn't think he'll be letting their kid out of his sight for the first twenty or so years of their life.
He switches on the kettle for tea, he's off coffee now, and although he had a massive headache for a week straight, he feels better about it, he doesn't crash in the middle of the day anymore. The house is always eerie in the morning, especially since it's starting to cool down, a mist rolls in over the fields that he still has no idea what to do with, because he doesn't know if the dirt is acidic or basic, doesn't know how fertile it is, or how the seasons on Thea work yet, and he hates it because he's as useless as firing a shotgun off to the sky.
She's right—they're basically hemorrhaging money.
But not once has she told him to do something about it.
Yawns and tugs his sweater off the back of the bathroom door, slipping on his boots and unhinging the creaky back door. Knows exactly where she is because she's at the same spot every morning—although he usually just watches her from the back window.
She's only in her nightie, crouching at the top of the back-porch stairs with some of their table scraps set out on a little wooden floral tray. About five cats surround her, one in each color and when he steps out onto the porch with his cup of tea, she and cats get wide-eyed and freeze.
"Morning Honey." Just walks out to the hanging swing, sitting down in it with a creak as six pairs of eyes trace his movements.
"This is the first time I've fed them, I swear." A skinny black cat bops into her outstretched hand and she scratches its head.
"I can hear that thing purring from over here."
In the pause the cat's purr grows louder and it rubs against her knee in a tight spin. Her mouth skews to the side. "Her name is Josie, and she's a good cat."
"It's fine if they hang around," he chuckles because he doesn't care about the cats. "They'll probably do a good job of mousing the fields."
She scratches a tabby's chin, while the others are busy munching away at poultry giblets, and pads barefoot towards him, her breath is almost a wisp in the air, hugging herself tightly. When she plops down beside him, he opens his sweater, stretching his arms out and letting her snuggle in beside him.
"I want to help the Daniels."
"I know you do."
"I'm going to help the Daniels."
"It's too damn early in the morning for this, Vala." He can't take another round of these debates. They're not even debates anymore, more like scheduled PowerPoint presentations where she reiterates her opinion, and he restates his, and they both disagree and then just drop it.
Why did he have to like rural areas so much, why could he like islands. If they retired to live on an island she would never leave.
Bet she will always find a way to leave.
"You're upset." Not so much a question as it is a statement. She probably felt him tense up because she's going again, back into the fray, and he hates it. Wants her to be happy, but just through different ways.
"We don't owe them anything."
"The Daniels were an integral part in our escape."
"I meant the SGC."
"Well, the SGC didn't ask for my help, the Daniels did."
"As far as I'm concerned, when we left Earth, we severed all ties."
And he said something wrong because she's shifting away from him. Out if his sweater, his arms, to the opposite side of the swing. Watches her, the way her jaw clicks into place, as she shakes her head at him. "Its funny how you're so involved with the past that you can't focus on similarities in the present."
"What do you mean?"
"You're so preoccupied with keeping me safe that you're letting the big picture slip through your fingers."
Man does he ever hate it when she starts talking cryptically, like there's a master plan everyone else is in on—hell the baby might be in on it at this point—but no one bothered to fill him in. Sets his tea cup, just a plain porcelain one, on the ground and slides towards her, the swing rocking a bit. "So enlighten me."
There's another pause, filled with cats munching away to his left, and her focus disappears somewhere over the fields and into the hazy pinks and oranges of the morning. She rubs her stomach, he always wonders if it's indigestion, or the baby kicking, or just a habit now. "We need to start thinking bigger, thinking of the future."
"Okay, well, the big picture is in a few months we're going to have a kid—"
"Oh I know, believe me I know." Rolls her eyes at him, and then turns her attention away again, ignoring his advances, the underlying concern in his words. "If I were to forget it for even a moment, I'm sure you would be quick to remind me."
"Look, I know you like adventure and being on the move. It's just how you are, and I love every bit of it—" When he attempts to hug her close to him again, dropping his arm around her shoulders, he only gets a graze of her icy skin before she shrugs him off. Can't even pretend it doesn't hurt. "Honey, going out to dangerous ruins and—"
"I'm still able to help—"
"I know you are, but you don't have—"
"Then why was it so acceptable for me to be so self-sacrificing before?"
It wasn't.
Every damn time she left through the gate, once, twice, sometimes three times a week, he would get scared as hell that something would happen. The sleepless nights, the waiting, the fear of her going out and not coming back and now when she leaves, she takes the whole family with her.
But if he told her any of this, she would say she knows, and the stalemate would continue. Knows her well enough to sidestep the answer.
"It's who you are."
"It's who I have to be."
"No." The space between them on the swing is dangerous, just a chasm of disagreement. "Not anymore."
"Being pregnant, having a child, does not justify not trying to help where it's needed. To sacrifice what I can, especially for them." Rubs at her stomach, but this time stares directly at him. "To keep them safe."
"And you're just going to risk being discovered, by enemies, by Athena, hell by the SGC, for some carvings in the wall of a really old place."
"Yes, because this is a very selfish act." Her hand stills and whatever horrible things she's thinking about creep over her face, the neutral expression washed away into one of regret, pure sorrow. "No one depends on this child being born. The Ori needed Adria—and—Qetesh—Qetesh—"
"This is our kid, Vala." His hand flattens over hers, they rock a bit and he chances scooting closer. "I need this kid." With a hopeful grin he adds, "I'm selfish as hell."
Blinks and the first and only tear falls, her body loses the rigidity and her free hand rests on top of his. Wears a weak smile, one he knows is only ever for him. He loves it and he hates it because it usually means something bad is about to happen. "Then we need to help the Daniels."
"Why?"
"If they've truly found evidence of the Clava Thessara Infinitas, then we need to find it before Athena does." Tugs his hand to just below her navel and with a pinched face she stretches out her back. "Do you feel that?"
"No." Strums his fingers, just waiting for the response from within, thinks he's been waiting his whole life for it. Slides her back closer to him because she allows him to and he's always grateful for that. He opens his sweater wide again and she buries herself back inside. "Would we be able to defund Athena?"
"Not fully, but it would be the first step." Her cheek is cold against his neck and the words are almost automated from her mouth, just blank, like her expression. "We could use the capital to make mercenaries of her men or legally go after the Trust."
Shit.
Shit because she won.
"We can give them a day."
"Cameron, she has the use of a sarcophagus, she has near unlimited funds, she will not stop until—"
"Honey—" taps her lower back so she scoots away. The cats watch him with an unwavering gaze and unmoving bodies as he stands, his thigh aching in the morning cold. "—One day is more than enough time to look at some symbols on a wall. We're not going on a galactic crusade, or volunteering for any wars, or battles, or anything that can be remotely dangerous."
Offers her his hand to help her stand, hauling her up from the squeaky swing. She grins at him and uses her thumb to wipe away some tea from the corner of his mouth. "But that sounds like such fun."
"We're going to be parents." Holds her as the cats scurry down the stairs and back out into the limitless emptiness of the fields. The black one lingers, cleaning its paws. "We're done having fun for the rest of our lives."
"And yet you make it seem so appealing." Grabs his hand again, positioning it at the side, stamping to her tightly. "Did you feel that one?"
"Nothing yet, Princess."
She pouts, rewrapping her arms around his waist, resting her head back against his chest. "I just want you to share in it."
He wants to too.
They don't talk much about her pregnancy with Adria, because he wants this one to be different, to be supportive and magical and erase any lingering fears she has. "If it's anything like you kicking me in tender areas while we sleep, I think I got the gist of it."
Her mouth falls open in a mock of a gasp, in her theatric portrayal of shock, but before she can hand him a rebuttal, they both hear the morning grumbling of two pissy archaeologists who just found out there's no coffee in the house.
The backdoor swings open, hitting the chipping paint on the siding and shudders back into place, as the Jacksons, in matching pajamas, toddle out onto the porch. Two rubs at his eyes and lets out a loud yawn, while One crosses his arms.
"You're out of coffee."
"Look at my boys." Vala clasps her hands to the side, and maybe he didn't realize how much she really missed the Jacksons. They are the closest thing to family she has, he was the first person to truly believe in her—since being a God to millions of worshippers—but she looks so proud. So purely content.
"You're out of coffee," Two adds with sleepier eyes—he obviously lost the rock, paper, scissors, for the cot.
The lack of caffeine slowing their reactions, she openly embraces them again in that deadly double headlock she's perfected over the years.
"My boys," she cries against them, tightening her elbows and pulling them closers, taking turns nuzzling each of their cheeks like a momma cat.
"Vala." One wiggles his hand between their bodies and uses his palm to try and pry her off, and a few years ago he's be jealous, how she just openly embraces the Jacksons whenever given the chance, but it's taken him this long to only begin to understand the relationship.
"Oh my darlings, I'd forgotten you'd stayed the night." They're back in the chokehold and she's preening them again.
"Vala!" One is done and manages to break free of her iron hold, stumbling backwards on the rickety porch.
Two holds on for longer, not that much, but Two always was a little more concerned for her, the one who accepted her caring a little more easily.
She releases him from her hug and rubs a hand over his cheek taping a bit. "I hate your beards."
"You. Are. Out. Of. Coffee." One presses his fingers into his temple, teeth gritting, eyes wincing shut at the sunrise.
"No coffee on this planet, Sunshine." Bends and grabs the tray, still painted with the flowers she added. His thigh is beginning to ache, but he has an easier time bending now than she does, guess he's playing catch up with her for the last four years. "But I could wrangle up some breakfast if you're hungry."
"Coffee." One sort of pouts, while Vala reaches over, dusting cat hair from his shoulder.
The black cat watches him with curious eyes from the top porch step as he flings the leftover giblets into the field, then wipes his hand on his pants. "How about eggs?"
"That sounds dreadful." She tugs on the sleeve of the still mopey Jackson, and her bright grin makes him relax a bit. "Who wants sugary coated puffed cocoa crunches?"
"That sounds—"
"Really good actually—"
"I haven't had sugary cereals since—"
"I was a kid."
"No sugar cereal, Vala," he groans because she gets a rush for about ninety minutes and then falls flat on her face for three or four hours. It's not healthy. At this point he would just start to cook up hamburgers for breakfast if she would eat them. "You need—"
"Sugary coated puffed cocoa crunches." She places a finger over his lips to silent him, and his gaze falls half-lidded at her antics. They have no access to a doctor, haven't found one they trust enough—both of them would probably prefer to go back to Lam—and there's no way of knowing if she's getting all the vitamins she needs, from eight hamburgers a day and three boxes of cereal.
Two holds the door for her while One stops mid-step just behind her. "You know I think we brought coffee in the MREs."
"Excellent Darling, go retrieve it and we can have a proper breakfast."
"Hey, no coffee." By the time he grabs his tea mug they've locked the back door, which doesn't bother him that much because it's about time for his morning jog, but for added emphasis he pounds a fist on the door and shouts, "No coffee."