AN: Okay, for those who wish the sidebar just 'kept scrolling', this segment turned out the longest of any so far, so grab some coffee (and maybe a rag for wiping the monitor)...

Not the Daddy…part 17

Pregnancy Clock: 5 months 2 weeks

When John woke next, he was in the infirmary, a familiar IV line dripping patiently into his hand, clean scrubs and blankets, and combined with the fact that he was in a bed, he felt almost human again. He also felt a reassuring kick from Junior, and with that, he thought that maybe he ought to actually think of something to call it aside from Junior, and wondered almost as much if the affects of his difficulties on Baltar had bothered the little squirt. For a while there, when he'd been throwing up, he could've swore he'd gotten a few kicks in return. Kind of a 'knock off all that heaving' notice. Was it possible that there was some connection to him and the baby?

He was too intimidated over the implications to talk to Beckett about it…yet. His privacy curtain was abruptly pulled back, and speak of the devil –

"Hey, Doc," greeted Sheppard tiredly.

Beckett looked tossed between being pleased that he was awake, and wanting to shake him for going and getting in over his head – again.

"Can't let you out of my sight for even a day, and you go and get yourself almost killed. Demons!" He said appalled. "Did you know that Rodney is traumatized? He thought they'd killed you, and didn't find out until Major Lorne rescued him from a rebel that was about to take out his brain -"

Carson said that part, clearly stymied at how McKay had gotten himself into the predicament, but it almost made John smile. Almost. If he ever got the chance to run into Lathos again, only one of them would be walking away, and seeing how he'd just gotten a new pair of boots –

"Is he okay?"

Teyla had said Ronon and McKay were bruised, battered, but generally fine. Had she missed something?

Carson withdrew a pen from his pocket, and started notating readings on his chart, Sheppard guessed it was how much of that IV bag had disappeared into him, since that's where his focus seemed to be.

"Aye, he's a bed over, more wore out than anything, but the concussion he got from it – it's only a precaution. He's got a fractured wrist from trying to punch the mental bloke that was attacking him, and you'd of thought we'd cut it off when we casted the bloody thing –"

"Ronon?" Sheppard interrupted, knowing that Beckett had the ability to rant second only to Rodney.

"Gone to his quarters to rest," grouched Carson. "At least that's what he was ordered to do. Though, we all know how well your team tends to follow doctor's orders."

"Who pissed in your cheerios, Doc?"

John said that, and at the thunderous narrowing of Beckett's eyes, wished he hadn't. He did tend to speak before thinking sometimes, but normally he had a bit more tact then this. Guess being tired, and pregnant, loosened not only muscles and ligaments, but his common sense.

Carson stood calmly, almost too calmly, and stiffly forced a thermometer probe under John's tongue, before saying tightly, "Apparently it was the Baltarian rebels, seeing how they put two of you in my infirmary, and caused a lot of people to lose sleep over certain individuals who probably had no business going on a mission in the first place."

Uh-oh. John had known he'd be facing this problem when he got back, and he wasn't willing to give in and lie down, forced to stay in the city for the remaining eighteen weeks. "Now, Doc, don't be hasty -"

"Hasty?" Beckett spluttered.

This was a bigger problem than John had thought, and maybe, a retreat was in order, for now – "Well, maybe, you know, I could stay on in the city, for now," he said off handedly.

Doc didn't look entirely mollified, but Sheppard could tell the pulsing vein on his forehead seemed to recede slightly.

"I've ordered two days bed rest, which you will spend here, Colonel," he added as John started to protest, "and then another week of light duty. No buts."

Sheppard sourly watched as Carson left, leaving the curtain open. It wasn't so much the bed rest, or the down time that had him feeling suddenly cranky, but the entire feel of being treated with kid gloves. He didn't need the babying they were giving him, and he didn't think he could handle another eighteen weeks of this.

The other side of his curtain was yanked open, this time roughly, and Sheppard knew who it was before the square face peered in.

"Is it safe?" asked McKay.

"If you mean 'did the angry mean rabid doctor leave', then yes."

McKay stepped in, and pulled the curtain behind him, walking quickly over, albeit with a small amount of unsteadiness, to pull the other part shut as well. "Thank god, I don't often back down from that crazy Scott, but today I'll make an exception."

"Scared you too, huh?"

McKay spun so rapidly, denial of fear on his lips, that he began to fall to the side, and Sheppard lurched forward, trying to twist at his waist to reach for Rodney's arms, but as he did so, the phantom uterus whinged at him, and Sheppard wound up missing McKay, who fell on his ass, and shouted loudly over the pain.

Booted feet pounded towards his bed, the curtain was tossed back, and a worried Beckett took in the sight of a downed McKay, and a folded over Sheppard.

"What the bloody devil do you think you're doing? Alicia, get in here!" he bellowed, not missing a beat, and moving towards Rodney.

McKay scooted back, pushing at Beckett. "I'm fine, Jesus, you never take me seriously when I need it, and when I don't, you won't back off. You're worse than a mother with babies."

Sheppard was being helped into a sitting position by Alicia, and at McKay's choice of words, he cringed.

Carson helped Rodney into a chair, and then stomped off, coming back moments later with a cold cloth, and plopped it into Rodney's hand, guiding both hand and cloth up to his head. "Then stop acting like one."

McKay dropped the cloth to get a better glare at Beckett. "I'm not!"

Beckett shoved it back. "Yes, you are. How's the hand?"

"It's fine, I'm fine, can you just go. I was trying to talk to Sheppard -"

Sheppard was wisely keeping his mouth shut. He'd seen Carson angry a few times, but he really seemed done in by their recent adventure.

"I told you to stay put, Rodney. If it had been okay for you to come visit, I would've said so, and in fact, what was the result? You fell down, and could've re-injured your wrist! And, I take it Sheppard hurt his uterus when he tried to reach for you," Carson looked his way, "am I right, Colonel?"

Up to now, he'd stayed out of it, but now Beckett had gone too far. With as much dignity and distaste as he could muster, Sheppard stated, "I don't have a uterus. We've had this conversation before. And, for the record, the pain was from -" he seemed lost as to what he could blame it on because as much as it annoyed him, it'd been that damnable round ligament pain that seemed to strike him when he least expected it. Of course, that was probably the point. If he kept it in mind, and moved carefully, he was safe. If he forgot, and made sudden movements, hello agony.

McKay, having a rare moment of solidarity with Sheppard, said "It was my fault, I accidentally hit him with my cast when I fell." He jutted out his chin, just daring Beckett to disagree with him.

"Fine," snapped Beckett. "For the record, Colonel, you do have a uterus, by proxy, as we've discussed and I would highly suggest you accept that fact and save yourself further pain. Secondly, Rodney, I'm neither stupid nor blind, you were well out of reach from Sheppard, and unless you've suddenly developed a super stretching ability, it would've been impossible for you to have caused his…discomfort. Ten minutes, no more, and you," Carson pointed a warning finger at Sheppard, "ring the nurse to come and escort Rodney back to his bed, is that clear?"

Both men wisely nodded mutely.

A slow smile broke out across Beckett's face, and he turned around, and left, apparently pleased with how cowed the two had become.

And, it probably would've been all roses, if Sheppard hadn't muttered, louder than he intended, something about psychotic power hungry physicians, but he did, and all he wanted to admit about the next two days were that those were days he never wanted to relive again.

McKay had stayed, and talked to him about what had happened with him and Ronon, and how they'd thought Teyla and Sheppard killed. During the jailbreak, Lathos had fought to get to McKay, thinking he'd caused the rebellion, and that's when he'd swore he was going to carve out Rodney's brains and eat them, and hence, the broken wrist, because McKay really didn't want anyone eating his brains.

Sheppard had murmured in the right places, but inwardly cringed. Lathos was crazy, and Rodney was lucky. What that made him, he didn't know, but they'd all made it out alive, and in the end, that's what you had to take away from it all.

The next week wasn't all that bad. He rested, a lot, and felt better than he had since Dreya had essentially 'knocked him up', as McKay loved to say. He hadn't thrown up since the mission on Baltar, the tiredness had eased, and if you could ignore the backache, and heartburn, and of course being kicked a lot in places where there shouldn't have been anything kicking – okay, forget it, who was he kidding – he felt good, but he was still absolutely weirded out most of the time.

And now he was getting ready to approach Elizabeth about going on a mission. He knew she was going to react from the gut, and say no, but if he could keep working at it…maybe. John had considered a four-step plan of attack. First, let her know he was eager, and feeling good. Second, be a model patient with Carson, go to all these ridiculous prenatal check-ups Beckett had insisted on, preferably without being hogtied and delivered to the infirmary to do so, and eat. Third, he'd continue to plant seeds with Elizabeth about his state of being…and lastly convince both Beckett and Elizabeth that his mental health was as important as his physical and if they didn't let him out the gate, he was going to go crazy.

Sheppard walked awkwardly through the hall, and glared at anyone staring noticeably at him.

"Colonel, a minute please," called a thick accented voice from behind him.

Sheppard groaned. Zelenka. He debated running for it. The Czech had laid off on the jokes since he'd been recovering from the mission to Baltar, but now that he was officially released from Beckett's care, at least in that respect, John had a hunch that all bets were off and it was 'open season on Sheppard' now.

'Course, knowing his luck, he'd probably trip and have to get carted to the infirmary. Nobody had warned him about the clumsiness part of pregnancy, and lately he felt like all he had were two left feet, and about two sizes too big, because damn if things weren't starting to swell lately on top of everything else. His boots were starting to hurt and –

"Colonel? Is good time, baby kicking well? Emotions settled?"

Oh, for crying out loud! "Radek, if you value your life, you'll have a legitimate reason for stopping me. And," before Zelenka could talk, Sheppard held up a warning finger, "asking about Dreya's baby, her emotions, and anything else that might remotely resemble a certain Colonel's status, is not a valid reason!"

Zelenka seemed consternated, but quickly smiled broadly. "Rodney is planning a baby shower, and I need to locate two hundred diaper pins."

Sheppard stood there and wondered about the courage of certain nationalities.

Radek coughed, "Colonel, diaper pins? And, while you're getting those, we'd also like two hundred pacifiers and rattles." Zelenka seemed to scroll through a mental list and mumbled more to himself than Sheppard, "Rodney will just have to find cloth diapers on his own."

Sheppard turned on his heel, and marched away. His additional duty had recently been changed to supply officer. The one before, Sergeant Baker, had to return home on short notice due to a family emergency, and Elizabeth had gotten together with Kate and decided it would give him a valid way of having some kind of job in the city without feeling shoved to the side.

"Colonel? We need them by the end of the month – Colonel!" Radek finally waved a hand and shouted, "Give them to Rodney. Much Thanks!"

Over his non-pregnant dead body.

Sheppard finished the trek to Weir's office, only needing to glare at a couple of people who'd seemed prepared to brave saying hello, and even something more. It was the something more that would've ended with them running for their lives.

He stormed in, his good mood having evaporated at this point, and watched as Elizabeth looked up from her work pad. Her face went from serious to pleased in ten seconds or less, but she also looked…wary.

He raised a hand and said, "Don't get up, this won't take long." And he was pretty sure about that. In fact, it'd probably go like this. 'I want to go on a mission' – and she'd say 'no'. End of conversation. Step one required tact. He needed to make sure that whatever else he did, he did not argue or sulk or any of things he tended to do from time to time to get his way.

"Colonel, you look – good."

He could've sworn she was going to say 'radiant'.

Stuffing down his annoyance he smiled. "I feel good. Which brings me to the reason why I'm here."

"No," she said resolutely.

"I haven't even asked," he protested. Not going to argue, remember, no arguing – yet, she hadn't even given him a chance.

Just then a strong kick made him push a hand against his belly and wince slightly. Traitor, he thought again, because she was watching him as if he were a bug in a microscope.

She slid the work pad to the side, and folded her hands. "John, we could've lost you. I don't think it's safe for you to go on missions right now, in your condition -"

"I don't have a condition!" exploded John.

Shit. So much for not arguing.

She almost verged on pity, but instead swapped it up for a sympathy look. "You do, whether you want to believe it or not. Have you heard the heartbeat this week?"

He stared for a moment then argued, "It's not a condition! It's a -" freaking condition.

She was smiling wider now, enjoying his momentary loss of words. But she also was a diplomat for a reason. She got up from her desk and moved around to face him, folding her arms and leaning against the desk. He knew it for what it was. Tactics. Move closer. Show you aren't the 'separate and above' leader, and be approachable, 'in the trenches'. It was effective, and she knew it.

"Is the baby moving more now?" she asked suddenly, throwing him off-center.

Before he even realized it, he was answering. "A little," but it was grudgingly done. "Kind of strong at times," he admitted gruffly.

"Have you talked to Kate about it?"

Sheppard had a moment of panic. How did she do that? He'd come here to institute a fast 'hit and run' in his 'return Sheppard to active status' plan, and now not only had she told him no, and he'd argued when she'd said no, but now she was getting him to talk about the baby kicking and talking to Kate.

"Uh, you know, I'm kind of feeling a little…tired," he said, backing towards the door.

The knowing smile still beamed at him. "I understand, Colonel."

And indeed she did, thought Sheppard sourly. Apparently, understood a lot more than he'd given her credit for. Crap. Phase one, busted.

OoO

The next week went by without any improvement. Sheppard had tried Beckett, only to get stonewalled. Instead of making any type of agreement over gaining so many pounds for clearance, Beckett threatened the feeding tube again, and started at him with that damnable Doppler machine. Then he'd proceeded to do a full blown examination, and gave him an appointment slip to get something called a glucose tolerance test done.

For once, John had a one-up on the doctor, and told him that the test usually wasn't done till the twenty-eighth week, according to that gag book that he'd wound up reading cover to cover, and he would wait and do it then, but not a moment before. Then Carson deflated him by explaining he'd be getting it twice, at twenty-four weeks and again at thirty-two weeks, because of the unusual circumstances he wanted to make certain things were going right, and that he'd do it, and it was up to him if it was willingly or with Ronon dragging his lily white bum down to the lab.

"He wouldn't," refuted Sheppard, refusing to believe Ronon would be that disloyal.

"You want to risk it, Colonel?"

That would be a no. This entire situation was often humiliating enough. Ronon carrying him to the lab would pretty much seal his coffin for good.

Again, his blood pressure was up, and Sheppard almost mentioned the folder again, but Carson had chosen that moment to pull out a very large needle. He wisely shut up, and the needle was suddenly not for him. Sheppard had muttered something about the Hippocratic oath, but didn't think Beckett had heard him.

And then the heart beat check. He knew now that these routine examinations were monthly in the beginning for women. When he'd found out, he'd gone off on Carson, but then Beckett had explained that the book was only talking about pregnant women, and not pregnant men, and unless he knew of any books covering the subject, he'd shut up and do as he was told.

It wasn't that the exams were that big of a deal. It was just that it was a constant reminder of his situation, and not just to himself, because god knows, he had enough private reminders as it was, especially with the kicking, and phantom aches and pains, and repeated problems with believing his belly was growing rapidly outward, but here, here it was out for everyone to see, or rather hear.

The heart beat check was the most unsettling of those. Often there was a nurse or two, even personnel getting treated for the odd thing, and every time the baby's heart pounded into the room, everyone fell silent, listening raptly. It was embarrassing. And it was amazing.

And now here he was, hiding in his room, because he'd hit a milestone and had heard a rumor floating around that someone was planning on a party, complete with a cake saying 'welcome to the 24th week of your miracle'. As fluffy as that sounded, he was pretty sure Teyla was behind it. He had to go do that glucose tolerance test in the morning, and Traitor was active as hell tonight, making it hard to sleep. He didn't think he'd ever get used to feeling movement inside, regardless of the fact that he knew it wasn't really there. Traitor, as he'd renamed the kid, because he often got him in trouble with his well-timed kicks, was in Dreya, not him – and damnit if it didn't make him just a little bit – disgruntled.

Sometimes, he found himself wishing it really was there. Why? He didn't know. And he wasn't going to find Kate and ask her to explain it to him. He reached down absently and stopped about two feet out, before moving the rest of the way down, and started to rub a sore spot. He knew the baby was getting bigger. He had a feeling of heaviness lately, not all that bad, just mildly disconcerting. He didn't even want to consider how bad it'd be in another sixteen weeks.

His door chimed, and Sheppard contemplated it. If he pretended he was asleep, they might come in anyway, or go get Beckett to check on him. It had to be McKay, Beckett, Teyla, Ronon or Elizabeth. Most likely. Nobody else wanted to risk their neck, and waited till he'd emerged from his self-imposed exile. Everyone knew now that when he retreated to his rooms, it was time to leave him alone. Period.

The chime sounded again.

Great. "Come in!" he shouted.

The door slid open and admitted Rodney. Well, better than Elizabeth or Teyla. Their mothering was driving him batty. Teyla brought him juice, rubbed his back, even massaged his swollen feet the other night. He let her because it did feel good, but then he got pissed because he shouldn't have to be desperate for that kind of attention! Elizabeth fawned over his health; was he eating enough, did he get his exam, and was he sleeping okay – but McKay, he just plowed right through Sheppard's personal space, copped feels on Traitor, and informed him that he needed to eat two servings at dinner and shooed him off to bed if they stayed up late watching a movie.

McKay bounced over, and put a hand on Sheppard's belly.

"Would you stop doing that," grouched Sheppard, pushing Rodney's hand away.

But McKay's hand popped back up, and Rodney shushed him. Traitor rewarded McKay's persistence with a hard kick. John glared, and whispered it again, "Traitor."

"Quit being jealous," tutted Rodney. He pulled a bowl of the blue Jell-o out from behind him. "I brought you something. Finally got a new shipment in."

For the past two weeks, no blue Jell-o. He'd been going through withdrawals. And then the Daedelus had finally arrived back with supplies. But that also meant that Caldwell was back.

So far, Sheppard had avoided him successfully, but he knew time was running against him. Just as he knew that Elizabeth had already briefed him on the situation.

"I'm not jealous," he said, grabbing the dessert, and sitting down at his desk, already eating the first bite with relish. "And quit touching my stomach, it's creeping me out."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Everything creeps you out. It's been months, get used to it. Besides," he said knowingly, "It's only gonna get worse."

Tell him something he didn't know. Sheppard slurped down another spoonful. "So, Teyla have everyone waiting to jump me for this 24th week party?"

McKay shrugged.

"Well, I'm not leaving, and eventually they'll have to get back to work."

"Quit being a baby."

"I'm not!" Sheppard didn't think avoiding a party to celebrate his non-pregnancy was acting like a baby.

"You are. You're having a baby, get over it already. Hello, you are six months along now, you'd think you would've accepted it by now." McKay waved his hands in the air like he did whenever he thought someone was being stupid just for the sake of being stupid, to get his point across.

"I'm not having a baby," gritted Sheppard. "You can go now. You got your nightly Traitor-check, brought my Jell-o, I'm good, you're good, go away."

Except McKay folded his arms and leaned against the edge of the bed, almost enough to topple over. "Nope. I'm staying. So, any new symptoms to talk about? Constipation letting up now that Carson's cut back your iron supplements?"

Sheppard dropped what was left of the Jell-o on the desk. "Rodney, there are some things that men do not talk about with other men. Constipation is one of those things."

"Have you started doing your kick-counts?" McKay pressed on oblivious.

Now John was getting annoyed. What was he playing at? Rodney was normally pushy about things, but this was almost intentional suicide. "Get out," he ordered stiffly. "I'm not talking to you about kick counts, constipation, or anything else related to pregnancy. If you're so curious, go get your own!"

McKay stayed sitting and regarded him smugly.

Sheppard stood up and grabbed his jacket. "Fine, if you won't go, then I will." He stormed out the door and almost peed his pants as a chorus of voices shouted, "Surprise! Happy 24th week!"

Literally stretched through the halls were personnel, headed by Teyla and Elizabeth holding a cake, decorated with a stork flying a baby in a sling across a partly cloudy sky, two large blue numbers, 2 and a 4, and congratulations in big bold blue lettering. And standing next to Elizabeth was Caldwell.

Sonofabitch.

TBC