AN:Lilas and rogue, not sure what time zone you're in, but here's the next update. We've been writing a lot faster than ever with these, and you're right, my brain is starting to feel like mush! But, it's a good kind of mush. Shelly has always motored through faster than me, but my stint when we moved served to ignite a writing flurry.

Krys, another reader actually emailed us the other day about that particular plot hole, and I'll be editing the appropriate chapter and putting in the explanation. Sometimes you get hyperfocused on the main concept and forgot to add supporting details. Thanks to you, and Roxann for the tip about that goof!

And to everybody, THANK YOU! You're making this story just amazing. We write these because we love to write, we love Sheppard and the McShep dynamic, and we'd be doing it anyway, but having a response like this makes it a very special experience.

chaps - thanks for the month catch, my tired brain was thinking of the amount of time left till the bond was over, not when Traitor is full-term.

Not the Daddy…part 19

Pregnancy Clock: 6 months, 2 weeks

After he'd landed the Jumper, and tried to help unload the supplies they'd returned with – note, tried, because he was firmly told by Ronon, no less, that someone in his condition shouldn't be lifting heavy objects – he headed to his quarters.

He just needed some time to think. He'd been teased, been the butt of jokes, even sympathy, but a victim? Maybe Ronon had been the only one to really feel that side of what had been done to Sheppard, but it had a ring of unsettling truth to it.

Dreya had used him without any thought to his life. The problem with being angry with her, and hating her, was that damn if he didn't feel sorry and understand at least a little of why she did it. Her husband was dead, she was raw from the culling and newly pregnant, and god knows, he now understood more about pregnancy hormones and emotions than any man had a right to.

But that didn't give him back the past four months, or take away all the hell he'd gone through to get to here, and the remaining fourteen weeks. Actually, it was eighteen weeks, if you tagged on that extra month after the baby was born, but somehow he didn't think that was going to have the huge negative impact that the whole pregnancy part had. And really, at that point, he'd be almost over it for good, and John couldn't imagine anything being as horrible that he wouldn't be able to keep his eyes fixed on the light at the end of tunnel.

But what if she breastfed?

John suddenly felt a lot worse. This was depressing.

He tried to settle on the bed in a comfortable position. Sheppard leaned over to take his boots off and fought to bend past the imaginary bump. He wound up trying to stretch and pull laces. Another month, and he wouldn't be able to reach at all if he couldn't get his mind to accept that there wasn't anything there! The pressure resulted in another kick, and John rubbed his stomach thoughtfully.

Things like this were happening more often, and he began to question whether the bond was as one-way as Dreya had said in the beginning. There'd been enough moments like this over the past two weeks that he was going to finally take the plunge and discuss it with Beckett. It might be that his little trip with the gunshot wound may not have registered with Dreya, but it may have with Traitor, except back then, the baby wasn't big enough to be affected all that much. If John hadn't gotten medical care though - sobering thought.

John looked over at the clock. Twenty-thirty hours, another hour and he'd be comatose. The trip to the mainland had taken more time then planned because Sheppard hadn't wanted it to end. He'd purposefully delayed as long as possible.

His door chimed.

Sheppard stared at it suspiciously. It was probably Rodney. Running a little early, but maybe John's little breakdown and depression of late were bringing out McKay's maternal feelings – or paternal. Whatever. Jesus, gender roles were so mixed up right now that he wouldn't be surprised if Elizabeth suddenly sprouted pecs and started swinging from vines.

"I know you're in there Sheppard. I come bearing gifts."

Sigh. Rodney…

"If it's anything except my smurf food, don't bother," grouched Sheppard. Truly, he wasn't even sure the Jell-o was worth the price of admitting McKay.

"Open up, or I'll get Beckett," Rodney threatened irritably.

Everyone plays the Beckett trump card. He sent the 'open' thought to the city, and tried to pretend he hadn't given in, when McKay waltzed through the door.

Rodney put the Jell-o on John's desk, and folded his arms, studying him. "You look like hell."

"Thanks, Rodney, love you to."

"No, seriously, what's it going to take to get you from 'denial and depression' to 'acceptance, and move forward' stage? Because you seem to be stuck somewhere between denial and depression, and nowhere near acceptance."

If Sheppard were a bigger man, he would've been thankful for having a friend to care about him. But Sheppard wasn't a bigger man – he was a slightly pregnant pissed off man.

So, he threw the Jell-o at Rodney. "Get out, and don't come back until you can understand what it's like."

There were a lot of things that Sheppard could be accused of being. Temperamental, demanding, loyal – but patient wasn't one of them, and lately a whole lot of people had forgotten that little aspect of Sheppard.

Rodney looked him right in the face and…sat down.

Huh.

Sighing, Sheppard stepped over to his bathroom, picked up a towel and dampened it, before heading back and tossing it at McKay. "I hate you."

Rodney wiped off the Jell-o and said, "I'm not getting you more tonight, think about that next time you get the urge to toss your favorite food at me."

"It's not my favorite food!" snapped Sheppard, exasperated. "I didn't even like it before – all of this started."

Rodney paused wiping his right cheek. "I'm being serious. You need to accept the situation and get past it, otherwise, it's going to -"

"What, Rodney?" interrupted Sheppard. "It's going to what? Make life miserable? Because if that's what you were going to say, I think you've missed the bulletin over the past four months!"

Rodney finished wiping and finally seemed stymied. "Fine. More miserable, then."

"Tell me how," said John quietly. He looked away from his feet, and locked eyes with McKay. "Because I don't know. I keep almost getting there – sometimes I can forget, until a passing comment, a laugh, a kick – but then it's shoved back in my face, and all I want to do is close my eyes and imagine it's been a bad dream."

McKay got up, and approached Sheppard, who had slumped back on the bed. He sat beside him, and put a hand on John's belly. Traitor liked McKay, again, something that made Sheppard suspect the one-way crap was not the truth. He kept his hand there for a moment, and John didn't shove him off for once.

Finally, he looked at Sheppard. "You feel that?"

"If I don't, I've got more problems than this bond with Dreya," said Sheppard dryly.

"Shut up, and be serious. You started this, I'm going to end it." Rodney took Sheppard's hand with his free one, and pushed it over his other, on John's stomach. "That, Colonel, is a miracle. For whatever reason, you're the one that's experiencing this. It may be inconvenient, and physically exhausting, but it's a miracle. You're the only man who actually knows what it feels like to be pregnant. It's a shame if you're too wrapped up in your own self-pity to see that."

McKay dropped John's hand, and got up. He left the room without saying anything more. And in the silence, Sheppard sat, feeling Traitor kick, as if he'd collaborated with Rodney and told the kid to keep up with the reminders that he wasn't alone in this.

OoO

Sheppard was woken in the night by a painful tightening of his abdominal muscles. It didn't last long before it lightened up, but it was unsettling. It happened a few more times before it seemed to taper off, and he was able to fall asleep again.

When morning arrived, John was tired, but he got dressed and headed to the infirmary. He needed to talk to Beckett, and it was long overdue. The halls were deserted, which was unusual for this time of the day. O630, but maybe he just got lucky and was able to avoid people.

The infirmary doors opened, and he walked in, trying to walk like normal and instead of someone six and a half months pregnant. Problem was, he had almost forgotten what walking normal was like. He didn't see Beckett out in the general area, so headed for the doc's office.

Paydirt. Beckett was sitting at his desk, typing up notes on his computer. Sheppard rapped lightly on the frame.

Carson looked up and his fingers stilled. Almost guiltily, he closed the lid quickly. "Colonel! Good morning, what can I do for you? Your appointment isn't till this afternoon."

Without asking, Sheppard dropped into the chair across from Beckett. Ten to one, he'd been typing a report about him. "Got a minute?"

"Aye, and a bit more. What's troubling you?"

"How sure are you that this bond is only the one-way deal?" he asked carefully.

Carson frowned. "Why, you aren't thinking of doing anything rash -"

Rash? Did Carson think he was having 'let's end it for good' thoughts? Or what? "Doc, I assure you, the only rash thinking going on in here is about the rash I've got on my -," Sheppard broke off and coughed self-consciously, "anyway, what I mean to say, is that I've had some reasons to suspect the baby is connected to me, and not just the pregnancy itself."

That took some guts to admit. And if he could, he would've gotten up and ran. But he came here to figure it out, and one thing that was also true about Sheppard, is that he didn't run like a coward from situations - most of the time.

"And what would those reasons be?" Carson asked sharply, watching him very closely.

You know that old saying 'in for a penny, in for a pound', suddenly John thought a penny was all he could give, and he wanted change.

"Kicks. Certain times I'll feel kicks that almost seem in reaction to things happening with me."

Carson kept staring at him, as if waiting for the big bang.

Finally, John elaborated dramatically, "Me, Doc. Not Dreya, me. If I lean over and squish a belly that isn't even there, I'll get a kick. If, in the rare times that I do now, throw up, I get kicks telling me to knock it off. That's not exactly what I'd call one way."

It must have finally gotten through, because Beckett leaned back in his chair, draped a hand across the armrest, while leaving the other on the desktop, and started to tap them, one by one, starting with his index finger, all the way to his pinky, and then back to his index finger. It was – unsettling.

"Well?" he prompted.

"The midwife I talked to, when we went back after you were getting so sick – she looked up past cases. She found some vague references to bonds with the ATA gene as strong as yours – in their distant past, mind you, it's been fair on a hundred years or more since the last case."

Sheppard felt a pit of anxiety start up in his stomach, and also felt his abdominal muscles tense again, like they'd done the night before. Hurt about as much, also. Kind of like the precursor to a charley horse. Not really painful, but with a subtle message that it's gonna get a lot worse.

"And?"

Carson looked very reluctant to continue, but he did anyway. "There was more to the bond in those cases than in regular bonds. The man and child do share, and there's a connection between the man and the woman in regards to the pregnancy then there is in regular pregnancies. The midwife thought that was how the bond was supposed to work, but the dilution of the gene caused the bond to become almost a fraction of it's original purpose."

Sheppard felt even colder. "Dreya knew, didn't she? She sensed the stronger gene, and that's why she bonded me and not someone else on her world!"

"I think so, son." Beckett admitted. "We didn't want to bring it up unless there were reasons to think that was happening between you and the baby. I asked you the other day if -"

"Who else," asked Sheppard, angry.

"What?"

"You said 'we'. Who else knew this might happen?"

Beckett shifted uncomfortably. "Everyone, Colonel. We believed telling you would only make things worse."

Sheppard jumped out of the chair, suddenly wanting to be anywhere but here. They'd all known this might happen. Elizabeth, Rodney, Teyla – even Ronon!

"Sit down, Colonel!" Carson ordered sternly. "You will sit, and you will listen, am I clear?"

If it'd been anyone else, John would've left. But knowing that Beckett had say over everything regarding him at the moment, he sat. "You should've told me."

"And when would that have been, Colonel? When you were going around biting everyone's head off because of it? Or when you were throwing up your insides and miserable? Or better yet, when you were ten steps from losing it over hearing the heartbeat?"

Okay, that pissed him off – and it was because Beckett was right. There'd never been a good time to tell him this, nor was there still a good time. Knowing that his body was interacting with the baby brought new levels of panic to his already horrified mind.

His stomach tightened again, and he rubbed it absently.

"What does this mean, then? That if I die, it'll possibly kill the baby?" Sheppard asked, trying to push out everything else from going round and round.

"It might," he answered honestly. "I know that isn't what you want to hear -"

He wondered if he covered his ears with his hands and taunted 'I'm not listening', would they lock him up and throw away the key?

"I want to go on a mission. Something simple. Cake walk. I need to get my mind off all of this."

Before he'd even finished, Beckett was shaking his head no. "Colonel, you've been pressing everyone hard, and the answer stays the same. If you were honest, you'd know you were in no shape."

Another strong tightening. John rubbed harder.

"I'm in perfect shape. It's not my shape that's the problem. It's Dreya's shape, apparently!" he shouted.

Beckett didn't even blink. "The answer is no."

John closed his eyes and counted to ten – maybe next time he'd try twenty, because he still felt pretty mad. He got up, "I listened to you, and I've told you about the baby, so now we're good, right? Because I've suddenly got the urge to go sit in my quarters and do nothing at all."

This time, Carson had the grace to look a little embarrassed. But then it was gone before John barely had the time to gloat in getting a hit in, and Beckett was lifting the laptop and saying, "I wanted to talk with you anyway, you're glucose tolerance test, the one you missed and didn't get done until a few days ago, came back borderline – I need you to go and get another one."

"Doc, that stuff was disgusting. Borderline is still passing! Heck, for all I know, the nurse drew blood a little early -"

"The nurse didn't draw blood early." Beckett handed him the new slip. "This is for the three-hour test, call the lab and get specific times and instructions, and Colonel, don't be late, I want this done by the end of the week."

Another tightening, and this one lasted longer and hurt just a little bit more. Crap.

"Fine," he swore. He just wanted to get out of here.

John stormed out, and headed for his quarters. Wisely, nobody stopped to chat.

OoO

That afternoon, he was back in the infirmary for his regular check-up. He didn't say much to Beckett. Yes, or no, and a few words when asked about unusual symptoms or anything that would stick out.

Almost on cue, he felt another wretched tightening, but aside from telling Beckett that everything he felt lately could be deemed unusual, it was hard to figure out exactly what he wanted.

Carson's jaw flexed, but he didn't take the bait. John almost felt disappointed. Just as Beckett was finishing up, Rodney walked in. Quickly, Sheppard hopped off the exam table. "We're done, right?" he asked Beckett.

Carson nodded, and gestured for Rodney to get on the gurney.

As Sheppard was shrugging into his jacket he asked, "Hemorrhoids bugging you, Rodney?"

Paybacks are a bitch.

But McKay merely grinned smugly and held up his casted wrist. "Getting this obnoxious thing off today, you? I've got some helpful cream if you're having problems -"

Sheppard glared, and left. Leave it to McKay to keep remaining so damn – unruffled by it all.

He spent the evening playing solitaire, and trying to ignore the increasing intermittent pains in his stomach. He was going to take that three-hour glucose test in the morning, and just the thought of drinking that sugary mixture made his insides flip again. Last time he'd gotten it down once, only to throw it back up, and have to try again. The entire debacle had sucked, and he kept telling himself never again – and yet, here he was.

And McKay wondered why he was stuck halfway between denial and depression.

OoO

He woke up to his door chiming. Rolling over, he groaned. His abdominals were tight in another one of those cramps, and the clock read 0700. He'd overslept. "Come in!" he called, trying to push himself into a sitting position even while the tightening increased and almost took his breath away. For the first time since it'd started, he began to wonder if something wasn't really wrong.

Teyla came in, and she was carrying a breakfast tray. If he hadn't been so tired, he would've laughed. He couldn't eat. "I've got a test, Teyla, no eating until afterwards."

She set it aside. "I see. When you get back from this test, you can eat."

"Did you want something?"

She was watching him and he had the distinct impression he was a piece of favorite candy about to be gobbled up. "Colonel, Ronon talked to me about your conversation the other day."

He did, did he? Great. Big guy was turning – Traitor, and the dang kid kicked him hard right on that thought, and then a strong cramp wrapped around his middle, and almost took his breath away.

Forcing himself to stay still and not give in to wanting to fold over, "I've given it some thought," he said.

"What Dreya did was wrong, but what she also did was give you a chance to be a part of something beautiful. I think it's time you see it for what it is, and stop regretting how events have unfolded."

If he'd had some Jell-o, he would've thrown it at her, too. But the only thing he had handy was his pillow, and he kind of thought it might be a good idea to leave it where it was, because not long after the last cramp released his muscles, another was starting, slowly at first but rising in intensity.

"Teyla, I appreciate what you're trying to do. And, I understand, really – but, you've got to remember, men aren't women. We work, we hunt, we kill, we fight – we do a lot of things, but being pregnant isn't one of them."

"But you are," she stated wisely.

And he was. She had him there. Just then, another cramp ripped through his stomach, and this time he couldn't hold back the moan of pain.

Suddenly, she was up next to him, "John? What's wrong? Should I call Doctor Beckett?"

Mutely, he nodded, because the pain was just growing this time, not having reached a peak like the others. Finally, when he almost thought it'd been too long, it began to ease. Taking a deep breath in, he opened his eyes all the way. "Cramps," he explained, winded from it. "Started last night, or the night before, can't remember. They've been mild, till now."

Teyla's look sharpened tightly. "Describe these – cramps."

"They come and go, and get stronger. Like I said, they weren't much before now."

"Colonel, I think you're experiencing birthing pains," Teyla said carefully. "Are you certain this began last night?"

John repeated it in his head. Birthing pains? Contractions! Teyla thought he was having contractions? Oh, shit, "Dreya!"

She nodded, "I will see to it, you will go with Doctor Beckett."

And as if on cue, the door slid open, love that medical override, and Carson rushed in. He could see a gurney waiting in the hall.

"Colonel?" he asked, breathless from running all the way.

"I can walk!" Sheppard insisted. "It's just – cramps." So help him, he wasn't going to say birthing pains, or contractions, or anything else that may resemble the two.

Apparently, Teyla had no such reservations because she supplied, "I believe he is experiencing birthing pains, Doctor. We must go for Dreya."

"I'm not experiencing birthing pains!" he protested, but the effect was lost, as he felt his muscles begin to slowly tighten, and despite gritting his teeth against the pain, willing it to just stop and not get worse, it did. It continued an inexorable increase until he was grabbing Carson's lab coat.

"Easy, Colonel. Hang in there, almost over," murmured Beckett.

When it was clear to everyone in the room that it was ending, Carson turned to Teyla and said urgently, "Get to Eradia. I doubt they'll have the medications or equipment to handle preterm labor. She needs to be brought back here."

Sheppard was struggling to his feet, only to have Carson push him back down. "I can walk!" he insisted. Being wheeled through these halls was not something he wanted to do again.

"If it's labor, walking will only make it worse," scolded Beckett.

"You said it was one-way!" That wasn't quite true, at least as of yesterday. But remember, denial and depression.

Carson looked more than a little worried. "When we talked in the office, about the baby responding to you, there's more that I didn't get to explain, Colonel. You're right that the baby is connected to you and not just you to Dreya and the baby. In men with the strong ATA gene, the pregnancy is completely shared. Your actions, state of being, everything, will affect the baby."

After dropping that bombshell, which almost had Sheppard frozen in shock, Carson waved for the gurney to be brought in. He helped John on to the bed, and still, Sheppard felt sluggish. His worst fears were being realized. And then another strong contraction began, and he found himself almost begging for it to be over.

By the time they'd gotten to the infirmary, Sheppard had another contraction, and was eager for Beckett to do whatever he had to do to end this. As unprepared as he'd been for the entire situation, this is one predicament he hadn't been planning on facing yet.

They got him settled on a regular bed, and in between increasing contractions, got him into scrubs. Just as Sheppard was catching his breath from the last one, a nurse wheeled in a huge machine with paper and levers and knobs. He narrowed his eyes at it, distrustful.

"What is that?" he asked.

The nurse looked at Beckett and said, "Doctor Beckett will explain it, for now, lift your back off the bed for me, Sir – there you go, just a bit more, arch, like a cat stretching, perfect!"

Sheppard was following her directions but glaring at Beckett.

Carson sighed, and apparently this was going to be one of those explanations he didn't like.

"It's a monitor to record the strength of your contractions and the baby's heartbeat during the labor," he admitted. "Because of the nature of the bond, I believe the contractions will register, and we already know the heartbeat does. It's not uncomfortable, Colonel."

If it hadn't been for the start of another contraction, he would've said something he regretted, but as it were, the increasing vise around his middle took his full attention. Despite himself, he felt his fingers latching on to the sheets and fisting hard into the material to keep from crying out. Sonofabitch, this hurt.

Somewhere during the peak, the nurse had finished with the monitors, and now the steady beat of the baby's heart echoed loudly in the room, and he could see a thin tracing with a large hill on the paper that was continually spitting out the machine.

Beckett nodded, satisfied. "That, Colonel," he pointed at the hill on the paper, "Is the contraction you just got through."

The contraction that kicked his ass, more like it, thought Sheppard.

Rodney ran in the infirmary, one hand trying to yank up a sock, the other pushing through his t-shirt. He was dressed in his pajamas still, and looked flustered.

"Carson? It's too early, isn't it? I mean, he's only six and a half months along – he can't have the baby now?"

"I'm not having a god damn baby!" shouted Sheppard, and he almost sat up, but the stupid white belts across his midriff reminded him to stay put, that and the warning look from the nurse.

Carson shot him a dirty look, and intercepted McKay. "He's gone into pre-term labor – or, Dreya has. Either one, regardless, we've got to get it stopped because it's too early. Teyla has gone to organize a team to return to Eradia and bring Dreya back to Atlantis, but in the mean time, we've got a few tricks up our sleeve to try."

Just then, another contraction started, and Sheppard groaned. He didn't want to do this again. "Doc?" he croaked, as the pain ratcheted up in that massively fast curve in intensity.

Rodney stepped to him, and took his hand, "Squeeze, Sheppard. It helps. I told you we needed to start doing the Lamaze lessons."

John tried to get his hand back from McKay, but Rodney wasn't letting go, and soon he was squeezing for dear life, in tune with the squeezing in his stomach. Finally it was over. He tried to pull his hand back, but Rodney kept holding tight. "Rodney, I'm fine now," he gritted.

McKay realized what he meant, and let go. "Sorry," he muttered. He turned to Beckett, "You said you had some ideas, what?"

Carson took a hypodermic from a nurse who had arrived moments ago. "Terbutaline. It's a muscle relaxant, will cause the uterus to relax so it will stop contracting. Often, a uterus can get, well – irritable, and it starts contracting and can't get stopped on its own. That's where medication helps."

Sheppard, however, wasn't thinking of stopping. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he thought this was perfect timing. Dreya had the baby, and his ordeal was ended that much sooner.

"Forget it, she can have the baby now," he said.

Rodney twisted back to face Sheppard, and his face said it all. "That's selfish and stupid, Colonel, grow up."

"Selfish?" retorted Sheppard. "I wasn't the one that volunteered for this!"

"No, but you're stuck with it anyway, and you need to quit thinking of only Sheppard, and start thinking of -"

He didn't get any further, because Sheppard suddenly paled. Another contraction. They were coming faster; it'd only been maybe seven or eight minutes since the last one.

Beckett looked at the tracer strip and frowned harder. "Colonel, this is serious. Your body is entering active labor. Without Dreya here, I can't gauge the effect on her cervix -"

"It's about damn time someone -," John grunted as the pain took his breath away, but once the contraction began to ease he continued, "admits that her parts are not my parts!"

"Colonel, if you won't let me treat you, the baby might die. A 26-week baby doesn't have a lot of chances, especially here with limited medical care. We didn't pack a neonatal unit." Beckett didn't look worried, or hesitant, or anything else he'd looked the numerous times he'd delivered bad news for Sheppard over the past four months, but he did look deadly serious. He meant every word.

John almost pleaded with Rodney with his eyes. Let this end now. Let all of it be over so he could just get on with his life, but McKay didn't let him.

"Two and a half months, and that baby gets to live. Two and a half months, in the face of all the years you've lived and have to live. That's all Carson wants to give that baby."

Sheppard shot looks back and forth, from Rodney to Beckett, and he wanted to scream no. He wanted to tell them that he couldn't face another three and half months of this.

But then Traitor kicked.

And John wanted to weep.

"Do it," he said, before he could change his mind.

There were exhaled breaths throughout the infirmary, as not only Rodney and Carson had been hanging on his decision, but the nurses as well. Beckett quickly injected the medication into Sheppard's IV port.

"This'll make you're heart beat fast, and it'll feel a bit odd, but it won't hurt you."

True to Beckett's promise, it did. And then he forgot about his racing heart as another crushing contraction took everything away but the grip Rodney had on his hand, again.

McKay held on tight, and didn't complain even when John was sure he'd broken bones. After it was easing, Rodney begged Carson, "Can't you give him something for the pain?"

"Aye, but first we need to make sure this is working, Rodney. Pain medication can stunt labor, but not stop it. We want to make sure the Terbutaline causes the contractions to stop."

The next two hours were probably the longest he'd ever had, but by the end, his contractions had almost stopped. The medicine had worked, and John almost wished he could go back and not take the stuff. He could've ended it.

Rodney must have sensed his thoughts. He was sitting now, beside John still, but he had a hand draped over the rail of his bed, and had his head resting on the other hand also on the rail.

Sleepily, he stared at John. "You did the right thing. The Sheppard I know would never have put an innocent life at risk for his own."

"I know," admitted Sheppard. "But the Sheppard you know was never forced into being pregnant, either."

McKay's lips twitched, and he took the rag from the bedside table, and swiped it gently across John's forehead. "If it helps any, you're the best looking pregnant guy I've ever known. You've still managed to maintain your girly figure."

John snorted. "I don't have a girly figure."

"Please. You're skinnier than Elizabeth."

"I'm gonna tell her you said that," Sheppard threatened.

The look of fear that came over McKay's face almost made it worthwhile. "I let you almost break my hand! Carson's going to send me to x-ray. And you'd tattle on me? That is so juvenile -"

The monitors were still strapped to his stomach, and the heartbeat sounded strong and reassuringly in the room. Both men fell silent.

Sheppard was tired. More tired than he could remember being in his entire life. He knew Dreya was en route. Knew the labor was stopped for now. Knew that he'd accepted the situation because he'd had to.

And now, all he wanted to do was sleep. The baby kicked again, hard. Sighing softly, John whispered "Traitor."

TBC…