AN: Just a really quick "I LOVE YOU GUYS!" I'm trying to rush this up this morning in between dealing with school, and escaping schnauzer's, and a computer that is taking about two minutes just to run a simple request (ie it's about to give me the blue screen of death), so won't linger, but had to say 'Yes, this fic is a blast to write' in fact, I will admit, to laughing even while typing! And, starting with this chapter, here comes some action -

And, promise an update for Insomnia will be arriving soon, for those of you reading both!

NOT THE DADDY...part 14

Pregnancy clock: 4 months, 3 weeks

John hated resting. He hated it almost as much as he hated puking. Which, ironically, was starting to get better. He didn't puke every day now, and even when he did puke, it was usually only once. Usually. But he still wasn't putting any weight on and Beckett was threatening to put in a feeding tube. John was pretty sure he was kidding. Pretty sure.

There were other things John hated. Back aches. He really hated back aches. They sucked, a lot, especially since in order to ease the pain in his back he needed to hold himself a certain way, which just happened to make his appendix wound ache, even though it was healing nicely. It also made his, non-existent, uterus pull, and that pain was a lot more vibrant. Which, bottom line, meant that John had a hard time finding a position comfortable enough for him to sleep in. Which meant he wasn't sleeping well, in spite of the fact of still feeling so tired all of the time. Which meant he was getting cranky. No, scratch that. He had passed cranky a long time ago. Right now he was bitchy as hell and hiding out in his room. At least this time everyone left him to it, mainly because he was under strict orders - from Beckett - to rest.

But he couldn't rest and he couldn't stop aching and he was bored out of his skull. He couldn't keep down the lunch Weir had brought him either, which pissed him off as well. So, John decided to leave his room, stalking through the hallways until he reached the west end balcony on the tenth level, high above the ocean. The air was cool and crisp and John was in his t-shirt, so it was a bit chilly, but he welcomed the freshness of the air as it breezed over his skin. He sucked in lungfuls of salty air and tried to exhale out his negativity. It wasn't working all that well. But John was so wrapped up in his attempts that he didn't hear the whoosh of the doors or the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. So when a voice called his name he jumped, twisting and pulling everything at once. "Shit!" John hissed, curling one arm around his middle as he folded in half. Which made his back hurt more.

"Sorry...sorry..." Rodney apologized, as he moved to John's side. "I'll call Beckett."

"No...don't!" John gasped. "Just...just give me a minute."

Rodney hovered but otherwise remained still and quiet. After a time he asked, "You okay?"

John managed to straighten up without feeling like he was tearing himself apart on the inside. "Yeah...I'm good. Well...as good as a non-pregnant pregnant man can be." His words were softly spoken, but there was a thread of anger that couldn't be ignored.

"You're cold," Rodney said, shrugging his jacket off. "Put this on." He held it out.

"No." John could be mulishly stubborn when he wanted too. He was cold but damned if he would do as he was told. He was tired of doing that.

Rodney sighed, rolled his eyes, then tapped his ear piece. "Beckett...I'm bringing Sheppard in to see you. He's out in the cold and I think he hurt himself -" Rodney broke off with a yelp when John pinched him. Hard. He rubbed his arm and glared. "What did you do that for?"

John glared back. "You turned me in you rat bastard!"

"Blame yourself for that one," Rodney replied. "You're acting like a juvenile and so I'm responding to you accordingly."

"I hate you!" John spat, knowing that he could do so without Rodney taking offense. At least not permanently.

Rodney sighed again. "You hate everyone right now."

John could not, and would not, deny the truth of that. "Go away." He turned his back on Rodney, hoping the man would get the hint. Which he did not because a moment later John felt Rodney's jacket draped over his shoulders. It did feel good, easing the chill that riddled his exposed flesh with goosebumps. John knew he should thank Rodney, but he was feeling downright petty so he remained, sullenly, silent.

"Ready to go?" Rodney asked, moving to stand beside John.

"Go where?" John asked, scowling at McKay.

Rodney made a face. "I told Beckett I'm bringing you in. If you don't go he'll come looking for you and then you're really going to suffer."

John almost choked on his laughter. "Like I'm not suffering already? I doubt there is anything Beckett could do to me to make my life any more miserable than it already is." And John firmly believed what he said.

"Fine." Rodney reached for his earpiece. "If you won't come quietly then I'll just have to give Beckett our location."

"No!" John batted Rodney's hand down. He knew it was time to surrender to the inevitable. "I'll go already." That said he stalked over to the doors. Once inside, John headed for the nearest transporter. He wasn't surprised when Rodney stepped in right behind him. John shrugged the jacket off his shoulders and held it out. "Here."

Rodney glared at him. "Keep it on you idiot, you're shivering." He tried to put it back over John's shoulders.

John yanked it off. "I'm not cold!" he insisted, which was such an obvious lie but he didn't care. His bitchy-mood was ratcheting up to new levels. And he had accused Rodney of having PMS. Guess that had come back around to bite him on the ass.

"That's it!" Rodney snapped, his blue eyes just about flashing sparks. "I'm cutting you off! No more blue Jell-o for you!"

"Big deal!" John shouted back, although a tiny voice in his head screamed at him to shut up. If Rodney refused to be his blue Jell-o supplier, then he was shit out of luck and he knew it. Still, John was pissed off enough to give the voice a mental kick into the corner.

Rodney puffed up, his face grew red, a vein throbbed in his temple and he looked ready to explode. But before he could say a word the transporter doors whooshed open. Rodney turned around and stared.

So did John and knew he was in trouble when he spotted the look in Beckett's eyes. "Shit," he mumbled beneath his breath.

"Come with me, Colonel," Carson ordered. And it was very – clearly – just that. An order.

"Bite me!" John hissed, before he could stop himself. And boy, he didn't know Carson's eyes turn that shade of ice-blue. The glare sent his way made John shudder. He considered pushing Rodney out of the transporter and making a run for it, but steel fingers clamped around his arm, tugging John out of the transporter.

Carson didn't say a word as he tugged John down the corridor. He was still silent when they entered the infirmary and he pushed John towards a med bed. "Sit!" Carson's tone was sharp as a blade and reverberated in the air.

John sat. He remained silent and complacent while Beckett took his temp. He let himself be manhandled into scrubs and didn't even glare at the doc when he was poked and prodded. Then several blankets were draped over him before Beckett stuck him with an IV needle. John didn't ask what was in it. He could guess when his eyelids started drooping and a warm heaviness settled into his limbs. Heaving a sigh of relief, John slid into darkness.

oOo

Sixteen hours and a hot shower later, John felt less tired, but he was still cranky. And when the nurse tried to get him to eat he had to resist the urge to fling his psuedo-mashed potatoes at her.

Carson entered at that moment and must have been able to read the look in John's eyes. He dismissed the nurse and moved the tray out of reach before pulling a stool over to the bedside and settling himself upon it. "All right now, Colonel...are you done acting like a twelve-year old?"

"No." John crossed his arms over his chest and felt his lower lip jutting out into a pout.

"Want to talk about it?" Carson's smile was tired but sympathetic.

John knew he was being an ass and he hated the fact that he couldn't seem to stop himself. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he heaved a sigh and said, "Sorry. Just...lock me in a room and leave me alone for the next four months, one week and counting."

Carson reached out to pat his knee. "I know this is hard on you, son. And I know you're tired of hearing people say that. Maybe you should talk to Kate. She's a woman and a psychologist. I'm betting she could help you get through the rough spots."

"No...she can't." John was adamant about that. "She'd just make me more pissed off. I'm just...I'm feeling ornery. I hate that this is happening to me without my consent. I hate that I have no control over my own body. I hate my fucking life!" John's voice rose in pitch and he didn't care.

"Bottom line is that we can't change what's happened." Carson locked eyes with John. "You have to take care of yourself. You're still dropping weight and I know you're not sleeping."

John snorted at that. "How can I? Everything hurts or aches or...whatever. I can't sleep."

Carson stood up. "I can help you with that. I can give you a mild sleeping pill at night. At least until your body heals a bit more and gets back into it's normal cycle."

"Normal cycle?" John almost choked on the words. "What part of anything going on with my body right now is normal?" he countered, anger crackling through his tone.

"Colonel..." Carson began.

John waved a hand to cut him off. "Never mind. Just...ignore me, okay? Call it hormones or something."

Carson smiled. "Actually...it probably is hormones. You should count yourself lucky you're not suffering crying jags."

"Don't even go there," John moaned, burying his face in his hands. That would be just his luck to suddenly become weepy at the drop of a hat. He might as well give up his commission right now and head back to earth. His career would be over and done. And that would really suck given the fact that coming to Atlantis had finally given him his career back. "Can I go now?" he mumbled the question into his palms.

"Maybe," Carson allowed, then he tapped John's knee and waited for him to look up at him. "I'll release you to your room. But I'm going to be doing check ups, either me or a nurse, every four hours. And we'll be bringing food. You really do need to get your weight back up, Colonel. It's getting serious."

John nodded. "Fine...whatever." He picked at the tape over the IV needle on his left hand. "So...I'm good to go now?"

Carson batted his hand away, peeled off the tape and slid the needle out. "Aye...you're free to go."

"Thanks." John said nothing more as he slid out of bed. He accepted his boots and pulled them on, then headed for the door. Once back in his room he changed into sweats then stretched out on his bed. Carefully. His appendix wound didn't bother him much, and he was always hyper aware of the lingering threat of round ligament pain. What bothered him most at the moment was his back. It was a never ending ache that seemed to never entirely ease up or go away.

John tried to curl up on his right side and closed his eyes but he wasn't really sleepy. He got up and figured maybe he'd try to do some reports when a knock sounded. "Come in!" John called out, figuring it would be one of Beckett's nurses, checking to make sure he actually was in his room. But when the doors opened, Teyla stepped inside. "You're brave," John told her, unable to keep the crankiness out of his tone.

Teyla shrugged. "How are you feeling?"

"Miserable, thanks for asking. You?" John winced at his own rudeness. "Sorry."

"I understand." Teyla moved to his side. "I think I may be able to help you. Remember how I offered a back rub? Will you let me try now?"

John was about to refuse but he figured it couldn't hurt. "Sure...why not. Where do you want me?"

Teyla pointed to the bed. Lie on your side, I assume to lie on your stomach would be uncomfortable?"

"You assume right." John might not have an actual baby inside of him, but his body believed he did and acted accordingly, so lying on his stomach - his favorite sleeping position - was out of the question.

"Lie on your side then," Teyla instructed. Once he was settled, she climbed onto the bed behind him, tugging up his sweatshirt. "Relax and close your eyes," she said, then she pressed her fingers into the small of his back.

John bit back a moan as the pressure of her strong fingers made him twitch in pain, but after a moment the pain faded and he felt himself relaxing. "God...that feels good. Real good." John knew he was blissing out.

Teyla laughed softly. "I am glad. Try to rest as I continue."

"Okay...thanks." John kept his eyes closed and let himself drift on a wave of warm relief. Eventually he found himself dozing off. When he woke up, Beckett was there with a tray of food. John realized he was hungry. "What time is it?" he asked, as he pushed himself up right. His back was a bit sore, but the ache was gone. He knew it wouldn't last, but he would enjoy it for as long as it did.

"You've slept for nearly eight hours."

John was surprised. "That would explain the really full bladder." He made a mad dash to the bathroom to relieve himself. He then splashed cold water on his face to wake up a bit more before returning to the other room. "Teyla was here," he said, conversationally, as he sat down at the side table where Beckett was perched.

Carson nodded. "I know. She came by after she left you to tell me you were sleeping. I've checked on you twice. Now eat."

"Eating." John picked up his fork and dug in. Everything tasted good and, so far, his stomach was not rebelling. "Hey doc...think I can go back on missions soon?" No way in hell was he going to stay grounded for another four months.

"We'll see how you do," Carson replied. "Put on a pound or two, get back into sleeping good and I might let you through the gate. But only to places we've already been and deemed safe," he warned.

John could accept that. He smiled around a mouthful of peas then reached for the ever present glass of milk. It did not escape his notice that there was a big cup of blue Jell-o for dessert. "I guess Rodney isn't pissed at me?"

Carson chuckled. "He got over it. He seems to understand, better than you do, that you're going through a hormonal phase."

"Great." John winced at the thought that Rodney had a better grasp of his condition than he did. But he didn't want to think about it. John decided, since he was feeling a bit more human, he would focus on gaining some weight and getting back out through the gate.

OoO

John spent the next two weeks getting nightly back rubs from Teyla, which allowed him to sleep. She also, during another one of his pissy moods, offered some words of wisdom that helped John to put things into perspective. She reminded him that Dreya couldn't walk away from her condition anymore than he could. And although John had wanted to argue that he was suffering more than Dreya, given their unique bond, he didn't. He just told himself that if women could do this, he could do this, and cheered himself up further with the reminder that when it came time for Dreya to give birth, he would be - blissfully - unconscious. Rodney's constant comments about being John's labor coach aside.

Since he was in a better mood, rested and puking a bit less, John was able to gain a pound and then he was able to convince Beckett to clear him for a mission. Together they talked Weir into letting him and his team go to Baltar. A very primitive world inhabited by monk-like people. Quiet and pleasant and always willing to trade goods. So John was in a great mood when he entered Rodney's lab to tell him the good news. "Get a good night's sleep," he offered in greeting.

"Why?" Rodney asked, without looking up from his laptop.

"We're going to Baltar tomorrow. Mission time." John couldn't keep the happiness out of his voice.

Rodney's head shot up and he stared at John as if he had suddenly developed two heads. "Are you insane? You can't go out on missions! Beckett would never allow it anyway!"

John smirked. "I can and he did. As did Weir. We're good to go."

"But...but..." Rodney spluttered. "You can't go on missions," he repeated, lamely.

"Yes...I can," John countered.

Rodney shook his head. "No...not in your...uh...delicate...condition."

John felt his happiness fading. "Look, McKay!" he snapped. "I am not pregnant!" He roared the last word then doubled over and gasped, a hand pressed to his stomach.

"Oh my god! What's wrong? Is the baby coming? It's too soon. Oh, god!" Rodney was in a full blown panic.

"Chill out!" John hissed at him. "I'm fine. And I'm not having a baby...remember? It's just...it moved."

Rodney paled then he blinked hard, staring at John's stomach. "It did?" he whispered.

John nodded, feeling a grin creep across his face as it happened again. He should have been used to the feeling now since the baby moved more and more often as time went by. But it caught him off guard every time. He was feeling a life, moving inside him. It was beyond surreal. He realized Rodney was still staring at his stomach and wouldn't have seen him nod. Without thinking he reached for Rodney's hand, pulling him in so he could press it against his flat abdomen. He saw Rodney light up when the baby moved against his palm.

"Oh...wow," Rodney breathed.

"Yeah." John knew what he meant. The baby moved again and they both grinned like fools and only then did John realize he had Rodney's hand pressed against his belly in a rather intimate fashion. Embarrassment washed over him and he released Rodney's wrist and stepped away. "Um...anyway...we have a mission tomorrow so get some sleep." That said, John turned on his heel and fled the lab.

oOo

John was in a good mood. They had stepped through the gate just ten minutes ago and he was feeling good. No puking for three days in a row. His backache was a little more than annoying, but easy to ignore, twinge. The sun was bright in the sky, the day was warm and everything finally felt right with his world. Until Ronon had to go and ruin it.

"Something feels off," he stated, as he surveyed their surroundings through a narrowed gaze.

"What are you talking about?" Rodney shot back, looking irritated. He had a scanner in one hand and a powerbar in the other.

John stopped walking, instinct suddenly kicking in and raising the hairs on the back of his neck. Ronon was right. Something was wrong. And he realized what it was a moment later when a dozen armed men appeared. In the blink of an eye John and his team were surrounded. He raised his P90 but he knew it was a useless gesture. "Shit," he muttered to himself, then he forced a smile and said, "We come in peace."

One man stepped forward, his own weapon raised. He grinned, revealing crooked teeth. "Welcome to the new world order of Baltar," he drawled. "Now drop your weapons or I kill the pudgy one first."

"Pudgy!" Rodney protested, but he shut up when a hand smacked him in the back of the head. Ronon's hand.

"Lower your weapons," John ordered his team, even as he dropped his own to the ground. He said nothing more as his hands were pulled behind him, his wrists bound. But he did bite his lip against a moan as a ripple in his stomach reminded him about his non-existent uterus. And as he and his team were marched off, John felt his stomach coil with nausea. This was not going to be a good day after all.

THE END...of part 14