A/N1: I'd still like a better title. I find it interesting, however, that all the titles that were suggested were one word only. Any suggestions?
A/N2: Yes, things are going nicely by the end of the chapter. Don't expect a descent into syrupy sweetness, however; ain't gonna happen.
Jack watched the woman who was both his second in command and the mother of his unborn child walk out the door and sank back on to the chair she had just left. Man, if he ever needed a drink, it was now. Charlie's face floated in front of his eyes, as a baby, as a kid, and covered with blood as they waited for the ambulance to arrive, praying frantically. Because having another child? So much more terrifying than fighting the Goa'uld. Jack loved kids, but the idea that he might fail another one as badly as he'd failed Charlie was enough to make him break out in a cold sweat.
And that was assuming that Carter—Sam—didn't choose to get rid of it. He'd heard it all, a woman's body, a woman's right to choose, but the kid was half his. Shouldn't he get some say in it? Abortion seemed a worse failure than what he'd let happen to Charlie; at least Charlie had had eight good years in a loving home, which was eight more years than this child would have if Sam didn't want it. He understood why she might want to, under the circumstances, but still. Besides, while he'd been halfway lapsed even before Charlie and hadn't set foot in any church since the funeral, there was enough left of what his devout Catholic mother had tried to pound into his head about abortion being murder.
Pie. No beer because he was on duty, but pie was always a good substitute. It helped him think, which was part of the reason he often wrote at least portions of his reports there. Doc Fraiser could page him if she needed him. He'd mention it to a nurse on his way out.
All things considered, Sam was mildly surprised that she made it home with out killing herself accidentally and therefore solving her dilemma. Between what she suspected might be a mild case of shock and low blood pressure (she'd been so engrossed in that alien device that she'd forgotten lunch), she hadn't exactly been the best driver on the road. Still, she'd gotten home all right.
Now that she was home, the question became what to do with herself. Sam was not a person who spent much time just hanging out, and as a result was uncomfortable doing it. True, she was supposed to be figuring out what she was going to do, but she couldn't just sit around. She wished she'd made more effort make and keep female friends over the years, as she really needed someone to talk to, but working and studying in predominantly male fields as she did, the pool of women she knew was actually pretty small. And she didn't really feel comfortable talking about it with any of her male friends. Well, Daniel seemed like a good guy, not macho and sensitive enough to try and see things from her point of view, but she didn't know him that well. And the fact that his wife had been a gift, and the way he'd reacted to Melosha's rape on the first trip to the land of the Touched, made her uncertain of how sympathetic he'd be with female issues. Teal'c wasn't exactly macho in the traditional sense either, but he was alien in many ways and quiet enough that she still had no idea what his personality was like. The colonel? He had his own issues to deal with. A list of other friends from previous postings came up with the same deficiencies—she didn't really have any friends close enough to talk about this with about something this big.
Unpacking the boxes that still sat around. That would keep her occupied while she tried to sort through her initial reaction to the news. Trying to ignore the suspicion that she was "nesting," Sam grabbed the first box that came to hand. Kitchen supplies. She didn't choose to cook often; it was time-consuming and somewhat boring. With the base cafeteria was always available, and several good places that did take-out near her apartment, it wasn't something Sam had found much need to do since moving to the Springs. Still, she was a good enough cook when she put her mind to it, and liked to have a well-stocked kitchen when she did. It was a boring kitchen with a view over the parking-lot and the house next door, but the cabinets were good quality and the appliances were relatively new. All told, it was a much better kitchen than she'd had in DC, where rent was much higher.
Alas, the landlord didn't allow hanging racks for pots; she put some under the stove and found a logical cupboard for the rest of them and the baking equipment. Now that she wouldn't be going on missions for at least nine months, she'd probably have more time on her hands; maybe she'd start cooking more, she thought as she adjusted the wok so it would fit. It'd probably be healthier; the cafeteria wasn't exactly renowned for its high-quality ingredients. No missions also meant no hazard pay as well, which meant she'd have less to live on at a time when her expenses would be going up. Medical was covered by the Air Force, of course, but baby supplies were her own responsibility. If she chose to keep it.
Which begged the question: would she keep it? Sam wasn't thrilled by the prospect of abortion; as career-focused as she was, she'd never had much time for romantic relationships, despite numerous offers. She might never get another chance, and while it had never been a priority of hers, the idea of having a child (in the abstract) wasn't unpleasant. It would be a lot easier to get rid of it, but she hadn't gotten where she was by taking the easy solution. If she got rid of it, she'd at least be transferred to a different team; she doubted General Hammond would press for any more serious repercussions, under the circumstances. If he wasn't going to bring courts-martial, boards of inquiry, or even letters of reprimand for murders committed while under the influence of the virus, she doubted he'd do so for fraternization violations. She frowned, looking at the book in her hands. So that's where that book had gotten to! How Dr. Kaufman's latest work on string theory had gotten in among her cookbooks she'd never know, but she just shrugged her shoulders and went out to put it in its place on the bookshelves in the living room. They were by far the most put-together part of the apartment so far.
So what would happen if she were to keep the baby? She'd probably be able to join another team, if she wanted to, once she was back in condition after the baby was born. Any other professional consequences would come whether she had an abortion or not; she could only hope the General was willing to continue handling things as he had been. Childcare would be a problem, but the Colonel—Jack—would help, at least financially. She thought. From what she knew of him, he didn't seem the type to forget his obligations and he certainly wasn't the type to abandon his own child. Daycare shouldn't be too big of a problem, should it?
Most of the time she and … and Jack wouldn't be offworld at the same time; even with the occasional overnight or multiday mission, all the teams so far spent the vast majority of their time on base. A couple of missions a month was the rule; unless they could speed up the stellar drift calculations (and one of the computer specialists had some interesting ideas in that area) they simply didn't have enough workable addresses to go on more, even if the budget were increased to the level they wanted. Surely she'd be able to find someone to take the baby on those rare occasions when they were both offworld. She'd heard Airman Freeman, for example, complain about how expensive it was to take care of two kids. Maybe he and his wife would be interested in picking up some extra cash every now and again by watching a third child.
Going offworld was very risky; look at the rate of casualties they'd had so far. On the other hand, as they learned more about what was out there, that risk would probably decrease at least a little, and a large proportion of those injuries and deaths had occurred on base, so it wasn't as if staying wrapped up in her lab was so much safer. Jack or Mark could take the kid if anything happened to her; she was not about to give up the SGC. The baby would need the most care during the first few months, and she was likely to be sleep deprived during that time. Maybe she could work as a sort of consultant during that period—going out only when a team found something that was specifically of interest in her field—then returning to a formal team once it was sleeping through the night regularly. It depended on what Hammond thought.
The next box was her mother's fine china. Sam had asked Mark if he wanted it a few years ago, when they'd been on better terms (after all, he and his wife were far more likely to entertain than she was), but he'd turned it down. She hadn't even unpacked in during her two years in DC. She'd leave it packed; it wasn't as if she was likely to need it soon. Besides, if she did keep the baby she'd have to move soon as a one-bedroom apartment wouldn't be big enough for more than a year. It would probably be more expensive, but she could handle that; it wasn't like she spent everything she made as it was.
It sounded like she was seriously leaning towards keeping it, Sam realized. Huh. She was going to be a mother.