Rating: 13+ for mention of abortion? (I don't understand the system)
Pairings: S/J
Season: Seven, pre-Grace
Spoilers: can't think of any
Disclaimer: not mine.
Summary: How would you react on finding out your girlfriend was pregnant, after your first child had accidentally killed himself with your own gun? SJ
A/N: Erm, I remember hearing people ask how Jack would react to being a father again after losing Charlie, and the question really bothered me. I think this is a good fic idea (yes, I'm big-headed), but I'm not sure I've done it justice. So bring on the criticism: I can take it.
Thanks to Jack for the beta job and to Lyssie for the title. (hugs them both)
This
is the first of two parts: the second is basically done, so I'll have
it up tomorrow or on Saturday, depending on how organised I am
"I think I'm pregnant."
Jack's hand paused halfway to his mouth as he took in her words and then lowered again, thudding his wine glass down onto the table. Drops of crimson liquid spilled over the side and splashed onto the white tablecloth, sinking into it. He ignored them.
He couldn't seem to take her statement in. "When did you find out?" His voice was detached, almost as if he were asking about the weather forecast, or if she'd managed to get some good steaks at the supermarket.
She played with her fork, twisting it into her plate of spaghetti. "Yesterday. That stomach upset I got last week – well, it never went away, so I took a test yesterday morning. Then another in the evening." She paused. "They were both positive."
He stared down at his food, red sauce clinging to yellow strands with small green chunks lurking amongst the tangle. His stomach protested against what he'd already eaten; there was no way he'd be able to finish it. "So you haven't seen a doctor yet?"
She shook her head. "Any doctor I saw off-base would want to take a blood sample, and I didn't want to see Janet until I'd spoken to you." Her eyes narrowed as she stared at him, and her tone changed. "Jack, you're shaking."
He drained his glass, realising that his hand was trembling slightly. "It's the alcohol."
"That's your first glass," she retorted, rising to her feet. "It's not the alcohol."
He also got up, backing away. "I don't feel so good – maybe the meat in the sauce was off, or something." He ignored the hurt that flashed across her face – she'd actually cooked for once. Now he knew why.
"Jack, if you don't want to talk about this, just say so – don't lie to me." Now she was angry. "Don't blame this on me."
Was she talking about the food or the pregnancy? "Fine. I don't want to talk about this."
"So what do you want to do?"
He turned and left the room.
Halfway to the door he heard her call out. "Jack!" She was obviously concerned, but he could also hear anger in her voice. "Where are you going?"
"I'm taking a walk," he replied. "I won't be gone too long. An hour or two."
"An hour!"
And then her voice was cut off by the slam of the door behind him. He looked around, almost baffled by the sunshine. Somehow, this kind of mood could be carried off a lot better in rain: the sun would normally wash it away, but today that wasn't working. He'd just received news that should have sparked off some ounce of parental pride, if not ecstatic joy, but instead of celebrating or even talking about it properly, he'd just turned and run. The worst thing was, he hardly felt bad about it.
It was dark when he returned, and he could see a light burning in Sam's sitting room. It hadn't taken long for his self-justification to turn into regret, but he'd felt too embarrassed and ashamed to come back straight away. He didn't have a key, and considered looking for the spare one, but felt awkward about forcing his way into her home. He rang the bell and stood on the porch, staring at the peephole in the door.
She answered quickly, as if she'd been waiting by the door. She probably had been. Her eyes ran him over and he shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, feeling vulnerable and exposed.
"You'd better come in." She turned away and left the door open; he followed her, relieved, sheepish and afraid at the same time. They entered the kitchen and he saw that she'd cleared away every trace of their meal.
"Do you want coffee?" The words were curt but he couldn't hear anger in her voice. He didn't understand why not.
"Sure. I'll make it."
She shook her head. "I've got it. Besides, I need to make myself some herbal tea." He stared at her – since when did she drink herbal tea? – and she fidgeted, twisting a strand of her about her finger. "I can't drink coffee because of the caffeine – bad for the pregnancy – but I think I've got some chamomile stashed away somewhere." He hadn't even known chamomile was low-caffeine.
She turned and started rummaging through the cupboard. He stood and watched, arms hanging by his sides, feeling helpless.
"I'm sorry I left."
She turned to look at him briefly, before returning to the mugs and kettle, and the intricacies of hot water and coffee grounds. "I know. I should have been more careful in telling you; I didn't think things through properly."
And then she was pouring hot water into a cafetière and staring at him with blue eyes that saw too much. "This is about Charlie, isn't it?"
The words cut into him. His face felt numb, his skin was cold and tingling, and there wasn't enough oxygen in his chest to breathe. He leaned onto the counter for support, desperately trying to buy some time. "I don't know what you mean."
"Hearing me say that I was pregnant brought it all back. And you're afraid that it might happen again."
"No." He shook his head automatically. "It wasn't my fault."
"You're right. It wasn't." Her words carried a heavy emphasis and suddenly he was unable to meet her eyes. He stepped forward and took the tray she'd been preparing. "Can I take this through into the sitting room?"
"Sure." He lifted it up gently, concentrating on not spilling the hot liquid, and walked on, feeling her close behind him.
He set the tray down on the coffee table and chose a lounger to sit in, not wanting any physical contact. She curled up on the corner of the couch nearest to him, hugging her knees with her arms. The silence stretched out.
Finally he couldn't take it any longer. "Have you thought about what you want to do?" He risked a look at her face and saw her frowning. She wore an expression familiar to him from her lab, when she was working on a particularly tricky problem, or from the field, when the team was relying on her to save their sixes. She had a different look of annoyance reserved specially for domestic crises and for when he was being an ass. He didn't like that she was treating this as work-related.
"You don't have to be involved," she stated, and he felt something tighten in his chest. "I can take a few years' absence from the field, catch up with all the work in my lab and rejoin a different SG team when the child is old enough." She paused. "Or I could have a termination."
He hadn't thought she'd consider that. "Would you? I mean... have you ever?"
He saw emotion flicker across her face, but it was gone before he could read it. "No." Her voice was firm. "I made myself consider it as a contingency plan when I was in the Academy, but I always take precautions and I've never had to think about it since." She shrugged. "Up until now, anyway."
"We take precautions."
She glared at him with all the spirit he was used to seeing, as if he was accusing her. "These things aren't always a hundred percent effective, you know!"
He raised his hands in defense. "I know, I'm sorry."
"No, I didn't mean..." Her voice trailed away, the spark she'd just shown disappearing.
Again they sat in silence, and Jack tried to think about what he should say next. His feelings were trapped behind a barrier he couldn't penetrate so his thoughts skated over its surface instead, circling round and round. Then he realised what he should have picked up on. "You don't want me to be involved?"
She looked down towards her hands, holding her teabag by its string and paper tag. Lifting it from her mug and dunking it back in, over and over again. "Yes." It was almost a whisper, but she looked up and returned strength to her voice. "Only if you want to be. I don't want you to do anything or commit yourself to anything just because you think it's your duty. I want more than that."
The curtains were still open and the blackness poured in, drowning the dim light given by the lamp. The situation felt unreal to him; he wanted to pinch or slap himself to prove it wasn't all a dream.
He heard himself speak. "I want to be there for you." And hoped the words were true. He was terrified and frozen, but he didn't want her to feel alone.
She leaned forward. "But have you thought about the consequences? It won't be a continuation of our affair: everyone will have to know. I'll have to resign, you'll have to resign. I'm sure I'll be allowed to stay on as a civilian scientist, they need me to keep everything working, but you'll never get to go through the gate again."
And another tiny part of him wanted to die at the thought. Years ago his world had fallen apart – he shied away from the memories – and then he'd gone through the Stargate, and everything had changed. It had been his life for the last seven years. Never to ever go through it again... it was what he did. Without it he was just an old man with a cabin in the backwoods and a complete set of Simpson DVDs.
She watched him, and he briefly wondered what she saw. Could she read his thoughts from his face or was she stumbling through this as blindly as he was?
"I don't want to rush you, but we're due to go off-world in two days time and I'm not going to go through that gate if there's any chance of it harming this pregnancy." Every word and gesture she made resonated with determination. "That means I have to see Janet tomorrow. If we're going to own up to our fraternisation," the word sounded dirty in her mouth, "Better to do it straightaway."
He knew what he should say – an admission of guilt and a promise to see Hammond in the morning – but the words wouldn't come to his lips. And she saw it, head bowing in defeat. She continued, "I'll go after lunch. If you want to come with me, tell me tomorrow morning. I'll be working in my lab."
"Sam!" He called out her name as she stood to leave and she waited silently for his words. "I'm sorry."
Yet again he saw her disappointment, quickly hidden behind a mask of normalcy, and he leapt up, pulling her clumsily into his arms. He clung to her, desperately, and she clung back. Her hold on him was so tight that it was almost painful, but he reveled in the contact that pushed aside some of the emptiness.
He didn't know who moved first, but suddenly they were kissing with an intensity that he'd thought long forgotten since they'd given up on hiding their feelings behind closed doors. His hands slid up under her top, touching her bare skin, caressing it gently – and then her hands were pushing against his chest, forcing him away. He released her, and he felt alone.
She swallowed hard, her breathing laboured. "Come to my lab tomorrow morning." And then she turned and headed up the stairs to her room.
He gazed at the empty doorway. Normally he'd go up and join her, but she'd made it clear she didn't want company that night. Unless she did, but wouldn't admit it. Or wanted to give him space. Or just wanted to see what he'd do if she left him with the choice.
He sat for a while, staring into space. Then climbed up the stairs and peered into the gloom of her bedroom. She was lying under the covers, totally still, one arm tucked under her pillow and the other lying outside the blankets.
He stripped down to his boxers, leaving his clothes piled outside the doorway, and then fumbled his way to the other side of her bed in the dark. As he stretched out beside her, slipping an arm around her waist, she twitched slightly and he froze, but then her body relaxed again and he relaxed alongside her.
He lay awake for a long time, listening to the sounds of her breathing. Remembering the sounds another woman made breathing in his arms, and the soft snuffles that he remembered hearing from Charlie's room, as he stood in the doorway and watched his son sleep.
TBC
