AN: What a bunch of paranoid readers we've got here. Rodney sneezes, and you all automatically think 'ruh, roh raggy'...snicker...we've trained you good... I tease more than Dr. Z, sorry!...mostly...

Not the Daddy…part 23

Pregnancy clock: 7 months, 2 weeks

"Don't you have pills for that?" Sheppard handed McKay a tissue and tried to wipe off his arm.

Rodney took it and mopped his nose. "Of course I do, and I took one an hour ago. I don't know why it's not working – ask that man who thinks he's a doctor."

"Did you stop to think it might not be allergies?"

Rodney's eyes widened. "You think so? Because I've been so worried about you and the baby, that I haven't been sleeping well, and eating – I know I've been coming up short on the recommended daily vitamin amounts."

Sheppard was torn. On one hand, the urge to poke McKay into more ranting was pretty high, because at this point, it was kind of the highlight of his day, but on the other hand, Rodney had just confessed that he was so worried he's been losing sleep and skipping meals. Can you be touched, and disappointed at the same time?

"You've been losing sleep over me?" he asked softly, deciding the teasing can always be put off for another time. After all, McKay tended to 'open mouth, insert foot' more times in a day then most people did in a week. So, he was good.

"The bags under my eyes didn't give it away? Honestly, do you ever notice your surroundings? You're the head of the military contingent, what kind of faith does that instill if you don't even notice simple observations in your surroundings!"

Defensive Rodney. Which John knew equaled nervous Rodney. Sheppard narrowed his eyes shrewdly at him. "What's up, Rodney, something you want to tell me?"

McKay reached for the handles on John's wheelchair, and started it in a turn, heading back inside. "Look at the time, Carson will have my head if I don't get you back to bed."

And now…retreating Rodney.

"McKay -" Sheppard tried to confront him, but Traitor did a flip that almost felt like he popped out of his belly. He flinched, and pushed a hand against the bulging part, which still had his mind reeling because there wasn't really a bulging part there.

The wheelchair stopped, and McKay dropped in front of him. "Are you okay? Not a contraction, please tell me it isn't a contraction – you tell that baby to stop being so inconsiderate."

That was typical McKay and kids. And then Rodney just rolled on and on and on. He was starting to creep John out.

"Would you stop," he said churlishly, pushing McKay's hand off his stomach. "It was only a hard kick, relax already."

McKay almost lingered as if he thought Sheppard was lying, but finally stood back up. Even as John relaxed, McKay's hand shot out, and back to his belly.

"Rodney!"

"Just checking," he said. But he did pull his hand back. Rodney peered at John's abdomen and lectured, "Stop pestering him, kid. Be good. I'll even make you a rattle that plays Mozart, and Bach – none of that evil lullaby stuff, it'll give you nightmares."

"What about Beethoven? The Fifth is my favorite."

McKay met his eyes. "You would like the Fifth," he said.

And he'd passed up the opportunity to poke him. Damn it…

"Can we just go?" he asked irritably. Traitor was beginning to move about, his back was aching and he wanted out of this wheelchair. And truthfully, he wished he hadn't bypassed the sandwich earlier.

"Fine. You're looking pale anyway," said McKay, before he was caught up in another sneeze.

Sheppard ducked, hollering "tissue!"

Rodney apologized, but Sheppard had had enough. He'd been sneezed on, relegated to this stupid chair – okay, the chair was pissing him off the most. Either way, he just wanted to retreat to his room.

Only ten more weeks…ten more long unbearable weeks.

OoO

The rest of the day didn't go much better. Beckett had McKay deliver him to the infirmary for a check-up. There he found out his blood pressure was up and despite eventually passing the glucose test that he'd been forced to repeat, the one he'd told Beckett that he'd passed good enough the first time, he was going to have to take another one next week.

When he pointed out that Beckett had said '24 weeks and 32 weeks', Carson had replied, "Aye, but I figure if I say 31 weeks, then maybe it'll get done before the baby is born!"

Ten more weeks. Just ten more weeks.

That night, when Sheppard was wondering why he felt so tired after spending the day in bed except for a few hours, McKay showed up again. John wasn't really in the mood, but Rodney looked even more disgruntled than usual.

He sulked in the door, and kicked back in a chair. "It's not allergies."

Sheppard peered over the book he was reading. "I never thought it was."

McKay folded his arms and kept sulking.

"Look, Rodney, why don't you go get some sleep. You look like you could use a few days."

"I don't want to. If I go anywhere, it should be back to the lab. I'm so behind it'll be next year before I'm caught up," he sighed and glared at John's belly before adding, "and it's all your fault. Not even born, and you're making me miss work. If we were on Earth, I'd be fired."

"If we were on Earth, this isn't a conversation we'd ever be having," snorted Sheppard. But, he put his book down. "You do realize that this baby isn't ours, right?"

"Sure he is." McKay didn't even sound nonplussed over Sheppard's denial. "And you can teach him football, while I make sure he learns the fine art of hockey, the real mans sport."

There were so many disturbing implications in that sentence that Sheppard had a hard time choosing which one to address first. "What if 'he' is a 'she'?"

McKay shrugged, clearly not worried. "It's 2005, Colonel. Girls can play as well as boys. She's our kid, she'll be tough enough. Besides, I think it's a boy and I'm always right."

Ours? "Am I missing something, because this kid doesn't have any genetic material from me, and when did the kid become part you? I haven't seen you throwing up, or getting kicked or any of the other gems I've gotten to deal with -"

"Biology plays a small part in being a parent. Besides, he likes me."

And Sheppard wondered at times what it was like living in Rodney's world.

"What are you going to do when Dreya takes the baby back to Eradia?" he asked quietly.

It was a question he'd been asking himself lately. Despite his intentions, he was falling for the baby. The kicks reassured and delighted him, almost as much as it scared him. Now that Dreya was staying in the city, the thought of her leaving made him want to panic.

And if he thought it made him panic, the look of horror on McKay's face was exponentially greater than his. "You're not going to let her?"

"McKay, I'm not her husband!"

"No, but -"

Sheppard interrupted, "There's no buts, it's that simple."

"You can't let her just walk away, take the baby -"

The pillow that smacked Rodney hit with a pleasing thud, and Sheppard rolled to his side, sending a clear message for him to get out, because he didn't want to let her just walk away with the baby, but how to get her to stay?

McKay didn't get the message, and Sheppard felt Rodney's weight pull the edge of the bed downward. McKay tugged at his shoulder, till John rolled back to face his nemesis.

"You're afraid," accused Rodney. "So why are you giving up?"

"I don't have the right to make her stay," John admitted, feeling uncomfortable not only with the conversation but with how close McKay was sitting.

"Yes, you do!" McKay exploded, thumping the mattress. "Damn it, Sheppard, she gave you the right when she did this to you! Don't you walk away from this baby. You earned the right to see that kid grow up, I've earned the right. Don't give up, for both of us." And the last part was more begging than either man expected.

The moment was tense, and thick, their faces only inches apart, and then Rodney sneezed.

Sheppard jerked back, swearing. "Go to bed!" he snapped, wiping his face.

"Fine, fine, but I'm not forgetting our conversation, and I'm not going to let you!"

McKay got up, but pushed the pillow towards John's head on his way up. "I'll be back in the morning. Stay in bed!"

Sheppard was so relieved for it to be over that he didn't even protest the mothering. But as he lay there, his mind refused to stop replaying the entire thing over and over again.

OoO

When he woke in the morning, he knew he'd caught McKay's cold. His head felt heavy, his nose stuffed, and his throat was sore. As if he didn't have enough to make him miserable.

And on that cue, Traitor kicked him, and rolled. John tried to rub him into quietness, but Traitor continued to move about, as if trying to find a comfortable spot.

"Suppose it's getting kind of cramped in there," he mused. "Good thing you're in her, and not me, or it'd be a lot more than cramped. Talk about being in a locked spot and no way out."

His door chimed, and before he could even say 'come in', McKay stormed through like a whirlwind.

"Do you know what that hair-brained Czech did now?" he demanded.

Sheppard would've defended Zelenka before, but after the teasing, well – Zelenka could stand to take a few hits. "What?" he drawled trying to inflect the right amount of sympathy.

McKay pulled a baby bottle out from behind his back. Inside the bottle was clear liquid.

"Water?" tried Sheppard.

The bottle was thrust under John's nose. Woah. That was impressive, especially when you counted the state of stuffiness going on in there. That was better than Vicks Vapor Rub.

"Okay, I give. I can't see why Zelenka filled a baby bottle with moonshine."

A note was thrust in his face.

Frowning, John opened the note, and read.

For every daddy-to-be,

Courage in a bottle.

It'll see you through the long labor ahead.

Stay strong, Rodney, and I'll sign the cast when Colonel Sheppard breaks bones next time.

R.Z.

Oh, my. Looks like Dr. Z was being true to his word, and took the teasing off of John, but transferred it to McKay.

"I'll take it," said Sheppard, reaching for the bottle.

"No, you won't!" McKay yanked the bottle back. "Pregnant – people shouldn't drink."

His stumble almost made Sheppard laugh. If it hadn't pissed him off so much. "You know," he was interrupted by a sneeze, "for someone who is so worried over my well-being, you sure show it in a weird way. I caught you cold. I've been infected by Rodney germs, and I can already feel my cells shriveling from the contact."

That stopped McKay. He paled. "You're sick?"

Now he'd done it. Crap. "It's only a cold," he backpedaled.

But Rodney was already hitting the ear piece. "Carson, Sheppard's sick, I need you to -"

Sheppard lurched at him, cursing at a bulky stomach that wasn't there, but hitting his mark. McKay's hand flew off the ear piece. However, Sheppard hadn't planned on momentum, and they wound up falling to the floor in a heap.

John rolled, groaning. God, that hurt, and then Traitor kicked him a good one somewhere up high to add insult to injury.

"What were you thinking?" snapped McKay, recovering faster than Sheppard, and trying to help him back up.

"What were you thinking?" retorted Sheppard. "It's a cold, McKay. People get colds all the time. God damn it, quit hovering like some obsessive -"

The door opened, and Beckett and Weir jogged in, both looking slightly breathless, and stopping in surprise at finding John and Rodney tangled up on the floor.

"We, uh, heard the call cut out, and thought something was wrong," stumbled Elizabeth. She studied the two men puzzled before asking, "Are you two all right?"

Sheppard pushed a hand against McKay's shoulders, levering himself up towards the bed, and trying to ignore the ache in his stomach. "Get. Him. Out. Of. Here!" he growled. "In fact, all of you, GET OUT!"

Everyone retreated – except Beckett. He stepped aside for Rodney and Elizabeth, who took turns discussing Sheppard's irritability, and that only made the steam that he was sure was pouring off him, increase.

"I don't need a doctor," he said crossly.

"I'm just going to take a listen, you don't want any nasties developing in your condition."

"You promise you'll leave then, and I can finally get some peace?" Sheppard was desperate for some alone time. It almost seemed like a conspiracy the way people kept descending upon him.

Carson nodded, "But, you need to promise to stay in bed, understood?"

"I'll kiss your own mother, Doc, just – finish and go," he pleaded.

The exam didn't take long, and the good news was that Beckett wasn't hauling him to the infirmary, the bad news was that doc was frowning at him.

"Your lungs sound a bit junky, and if you weren't -"

"Don't say it," Sheppard interrupted sharply. "Just – don't say it."

"Pregnant," said Beckett purposefully. "I'd give you some Albuterol, or Xoponex, to clear the airways but bronchodilators are a class C, and I'd rather hold off since we aren't exactly sure how the bond works with medications and the baby. I can't see how it could possibly cross the placenta, but -"

"It's okay, Doc. I feel fine, a little congested, but I'm sure I'll live." He tried to assure Carson, because he understood how frustrating this bond was for everyone else. As much as it was driving him near to crazy, he knew it had almost everyone else seeing cross-eyed.

"I'll have someone check on you a little later today. Have you had your breakfast, yet?"

His stomach rumbled and Traitor kicked out in surprise. "That would be a no."

"I'll have some sent your way, and I want you to eat it all. You're not running a temperature and we want to keep it that way."

There was something in the way Carson said it that had Sheppard's hair prickling on his back. "Doc, something you want to explain?" And it took all he had not to add 'like before' when Beckett had failed to explain their suspicions of the intensity of the bond.

The frown deepened. "Unchecked fevers, especially high, can be dangerous for an unborn baby."

"But it's not in me, Doc," said Sheppard tersely.

"Neither was the uterus that responded to the medications that stopped Dreya's premature labor."

And didn't that just figure. Somehow he thought he was getting the short end of the stick with this deal, but now maybe the one really getting screwed was Traitor. Not only mom's health caused complications, but Dad's as well. Wasn't that double jeopardy?

"I promise to be good, okay? Now go." The ironic thing is, he would follow orders now, because the dangers to Traitor kept it real, and he wouldn't risk the kid's life for his own selfish reasons. Not after all he'd gone through to get here. Ten more weeks, but only six more till Doc was happy about Traitor's odds. He could do six more weeks of being a model patient.

Maybe a decent patient, he amended to himself, because he needed the outlet in complaining and whining, and generally being a bear.

Carson looked like he believed John, and he headed towards the door. "Remember," he admonished, tipping the stethoscope in his hands towards Sheppard, "eat everything."

Finally, the door shut behind the man, and Sheppard was alone, blissfully, peacefully, alone.

OoO

He must have dozed off, because he was being woken by someone gently shaking his shoulder.

"John," she called.

Sheppard thought about feigning he was still sleeping, but he knew the voice, and he'd missed talking to her lately.

"Elizabeth, what brings you into Sheppard's Haven for the Lost and Confused Pregnant People?" he drawled sleepily.

"Carson asked me to bring you some breakfast, and see how you're feeling." She looked ruefully at the clock. "Though it's more like brunch."

John squinted at the clock. Eleven. He'd slept for a few hours, and still felt sluggish. His throat hurt enough to take his appetite away, because the thought of trying to force food past that soreness wasn't a good thought. Then he caught a whiff of the plate.

His face broke into a relieved grin. "Is that scrambled eggs?"

She returned his smile, and whisked the lid off with dramatic whirls. "It is."

He was so hungry the thought of those eggs was almost better than thinking about sex. You know you're pretty damn hungry if you think that. Sheppard reached for the tray even as he sat up.

Traitor was quiet, still sleeping he guessed. Seeing the glass of orange juice next to the plate of eggs, John figured he'd be in for some acrobatics soon. All the sugar in orange juice gave the kid Olympic endurance. In fact, he suspected it's why McKay had started insisting John have two glasses a day, and he always seemed to hang around after giving Sheppard his glass. Then laid his hand on Sheppard's belly and proclaimed the little Traitor liked him.

He took a bite, and chewed slowly, reverently.

Elizabeth sat in the chair and her lips quirked in amusement. "That good, hmm?"

He chewed a bit and answered, "You have no idea."

While he ate, Elizabeth brought him up to date on the issues with the city. The Athosians had a viral outbreak, but Beckett's team had kept it isolated to the mainland. The new alpha site was compromised, so another search was underway – and Teyla and Ronon had gone on another trade mission. That brought to mind McKay's question in the infirmary. If there wasn't something up between the two. If there was, he could only hope they'd keep it quiet. As team leader, you can't have two people involved on the same team. It compromises mission safety. It affects decisions. It was bad business.

John pushed the now empty tray away, and finished his juice. "When are they due back?" he asked about Ronon and Teyla.

"Tomorrow, but I gave them a twenty-four window to use at their discretion. Teyla said the Baku people can be…difficult."

If Teyla said the people were difficult, you can bet they were ten shades of obstinate, and she'd need that window. He didn't like his people out on missions without him. It left him feeling uneasy, helpless – out of control.

There wasn't anything he could do, and with a savage kick from down below, he guessed some things were worth it. Maybe.

And who turned up the heat? He lifted a paper and fanned his face, only to stop when Elizabeth stared at him. "It's hot," he said, defensively. Beckett had told him that it was normal.

"It's not hot, John." She reached forward and tried to put a hand against his forehead, but he jerked back.

"I'm fine. Beckett said it's normal to feel hot."

"Normal to feel warm, maybe, but you're flushed. Stop acting like a baby, and hold still," she scolded, before reaching for a second time.

This time he didn't pull back, but he wanted to. Do you get points for intent?

She yanked her hand back, and staring at him fearfully, paged Beckett. Damn damn damn. Rodney and his geek germs, always trying to be an overachiever. Even his viral cells had to create problems for him.

He leaned back, and closed his eyes, knowing it'd only be moments before Carson and his goons descended on him. This sucked.

OoO

It was a testament to how high his fever climbed, that he didn't complain about the ride via gurney to the infirmary, but he drew the line at being hooked to the heartbeat and contraction monitors. When he'd asked why he needed that, the nurse had said it's standard procedure when a pregnant – person (and yes, stumbled right there) was admitted and they were in their second or third trimester.

He told her where to stick the standard procedure, which earned him some harsh words from Carson, and he apologized – for her being so close minded by her training to fail to realize that he wasn't pregnant and he wasn't standard procedure.

Then Beckett had dismissed the crying nurse, and stuck the thermometer in his mouth none too gently. He imagined some day he'd feel apologetic, but today wasn't that day.

"102.3, Colonel – looks like you'll be staying."

As if he had any doubt. Looking at the belts dubiously he asked, "Not on this thing the whole time?"

"If you shout at my nurses like that again, yes – otherwise, I'll see what we can do about those."

Beckett poked and prodded, gave him a shot of ibuprofen, and started him on some antibiotics. "Looks like a secondary infection, possibly pneumonia, but it's mild. You stay down and follow orders, it'll clear."

And Sheppard made his second mistake for the day. "You said that before."

The antibiotic shot hurt a lot more than any other.

He was finally left alone, after his fever had dropped to 99.8 about forty minutes after the medicine. Carson thought that was a good sign, and left him to rest.

Rest and infirmary were conflicting statements. You didn't get one in the other, period. Unless you had serious problems, and then generally you didn't care where you were.

Traitor kicked wearily in his belly, and John rubbed the parts prodding him. "I know kid, I'm beat, too."

He found his eyes drifting shut on their own, totally ignoring his thoughts on rest and the infirmary.

OoO

The remainder of his week passed with a lot of annoyance, and grumpiness on his part. The antibiotics did work, but Carson wouldn't let him go until he was sure that John was recovering. He also made him do that glucose test while he was stuck in the infirmary.

If that wasn't bad enough, his blood pressure was even higher, and Carson was starting to get concerned.

"Colonel, you're almost 31 weeks along, this is the prime spot for women to develop pre-eclampsia."

To which, he'd exploded "I'm not a woman!"

Calmly, Carson had held up his prenatal folder and said, "But you're pregnant, and seeing how the big day is getting closer, I'd think you'd be over the denial stage. Aye, there is no physical body, but everything else is as it should be, and I dare imagine, come delivery, you're going to be begging for the same drugs any pregnant woman would – unless I'm wrong?" he phrased the last as a question, and lifted an eyebrow at Sheppard, knowing full well the answer.

"Yes," gritted John. "I would take a damn epidural now if you'd do it, so have your fun at the pregnant man with the non-existent baby in his stomach."

That's when Dreya showed up. They say that timing is everything, and she seemed to have a doozy ability with it. First nailing him on Eradia, and ever since.

"Doctor Beckett said I could visit now," she said, looking back at the door upon seeing the stiff posture of Beckett and the scowling face on Sheppard. "If it's a bad…time…" she trailed off uncertainly.

"It's fine," said Sheppard. Good as time as any.

She seemed to accept it, and came closer. "How are you feeling? Rodney told me how sick you were. He was very upset."

Rodney? Upset – "McKay's been seeing you?"

She positively beamed. "Oh, yes! He's been very kind, telling me the stories of how you met, and -"

"How we met?" Sheppard echoed. Rodney kind, went through his mind next. Then he got suspicious. "What kind of stories?"

She giggled. "The time you got lost on the way back to your friends, and then the time the kids took you prisoner, you've had some funny adventures."

He'd warped her. That was the only explanation. He'd gotten to her, and contaminated her.

"And, what else did he say?"

Now the grin fell, and she grew sober. "He asked if I would consider staying. That you could use another engineer in the city, and that we'd be cared for here."

Sheppard felt his insides freeze. He'd wanted to be the one to approach Dreya. He didn't trust McKay with the job. Rodney and tact were polar opposites, like oil and water, there wasn't any mixing, and nowhere in the middle.

Traitor rolled lazily to the side, and he felt the strong sense of skin stretching outwards, to the point where he pushed downward automatically. It was kind of alarming to see Dreya mimicking the same movement. Or he was mimicking her…or, god this was so confusing, and he'd been doing it for a while.

"I'm thinking about it," she answered honestly. "Am I really welcome?"

He tripped over his tongue trying to assure her she was.

Her easy grin returned, and he felt his hopes jump. He rubbed Traitor some more, and actually wondered what the kid would look like.

Curiously he asked, "Do you have any pictures of your husband?"

Her face drooped, and he regretted the question.

"Never mind, that was thoughtless," he hurried to say.

"It's all right, John. It is something I have begun to get used to. The bond, part of it, well – it helps. I don't feel so alone. Does that make sense?"

It did, and for a first, he didn't feel a flash of anger towards her.

"I'm glad," he said sincerely. It still didn't change that he'd hated it in the beginning. It didn't erase how angry he'd felt, or how used, and resentful – but it was something.

And as the day waned outside, the two conversed quietly, till Sheppard was wore out again, and fell asleep, and Dreya found herself leaving towards the rooms she'd been assigned with a smile and a new spring to her step. For the first time in ten months, she didn't cry herself to sleep.

TBC