Author: Porthos

Author's notes: Continuation of the episode Critical Mass, and beyond.

oOo

"C'mon, now, lass. It couldn't have been that bad." Carson was trying to be understanding, but so far all it was doing was ticking me off further.

"No, Carson, you didn't hear what he said! He actually accused me of working for the Trust!" I was practically yelling. "How am I supposed to have a baby with this jerk when he doesn't even like me? Let alone trust me!"

"Laura, you know you haven't exactly spent the last month building a friendship with the man. He's bound to feel a little…put off by you." I glared at him, but mostly because I knew he was right. It didn't make me feel any less angry at Rodney, though. "Besides," he continued uncertainly, "far be it from me to doubt a friend, but how do you know Rodney will even want to be involved with the baby? He's not exactly child-friendly."

I think about that a moment, and I have to admit, Rodney is about as far from a full-size walking teletubby as you can get. I've heard stories of course, about the kids from M7G-677, the planet where Rodney just sent Zelenka. I was amused at the time, but now I don't like how much that upsets me. I had loving parents, I just want my child to have the same.

"It'll be all right, love," Carson gently squeezes my hand before releasing it. "When you tell him the news, I'll make sure to have Zelenka record his reaction. Whether he faints dead or screams and runs away like a wee girly, at least we'll have something to amuse ourselves with for quite a good while." I can't help the chuckle that escapes my throat, but then we turn the corner and run right into the Dreaded McKay.

"Ah, Carson. Hermiod's just beginning the initial calculations on the extraction."

I ignore the fact that he didn't bother to greet me along with Carson. "Extraction?" I ask, totally confused.

"Now?" Well, at least Carson seems to get what's going on.

"Mmm-hmm. Hermiod's going to attempt to extract the Goa'uld from Colonel Caldwell using Asgard beaming technology."

"Quite remarkable, actually." Carson looks at me, and I wonder if he's thinking what I'm thinking. Easy, no-suture cesarean! Just beam my baby out! Seriously, I'm not looking forward to labor. If it's anywhere near half as painful as it looks in the movies, I'm willing to avoid it at all costs.

"And complicated," McKay adds. "The calculations are impossibly intricate. You don't want to go beaming out a chunk of his brain."

Okay, well, maybe not all costs.

"Lovely Rodney," Carson concurs.

"Hey, look who's back!" McKay seems way too excited, and my curiosity is piqued. Carson and I turn to see…Oh my…is that…Radek? "It's Mr. Mom! How were the kids?"

I don't think I've ever seen Zelenka that furious. I don't think I've seen anyone that furious. And that includes my very scary father, when he caught me sneaking back into the house the Halloween that I was 16, not to mention the daughter of a cop who was so good at his job he could take your blood alcohol level just by looking at you. Yeah, not a fun experience. Actually, with Zelenka's face painted like that, he kinda reminds me of the guy I made out with at that party…

"Do not even speak to me." And wow, McKay's got brass ones. Zelenka's tone would have me shaking in my military-issue boots, but Rodney just grins back smugly. Either he has no clue what he's in for, or he's not afraid of the "accidental" lack of hot water that awaits him for the next month. Either way, I at least manage to hold my giggle fit under control until Zelenka is out of earshot. Far, far out of earshot.

oOo

A few hours later, I sit down at a table by myself, and examine my plate of food. Carson's meds have taken care of my nausea, and now my appetite has returned with a vengeance. I've heard of pregnancy giving you strange food cravings, but peanut butter and pickles? I don't even like pickles!

I take a tentative bite because, let's face it, even if my body is screaming that this is going to be the best meal since my Aunt Jessi's spicy cheese taters, my head can't wrap itself around the idea of pickles and peanut butter. Seriously. I nibble a little at the end of one of the pickles, and the next thing I know, I'm biting off huge chunks that I can hardly manage to chew. Geez, who knew pickles could be so good! And with peanut butter!

Then out of nowhere, McKay sits down across from me with a look of total revulsion. "Ugh. And I thought Ronon's table manners were disgusting." I try to tell him that if he finds it so disgusting, then he can just go find somewhere else to sit, but my mouth is full.

After a few difficult swallows, I'm able to talk again, but I can only stare in shock at the man in front of me. After a moment, he pauses in his voracious shoveling to ask past a mouth full of mashed potato-things, "What?"

I refrain from pointing out that he's not exactly Ms. Manners, either. "What do you want?" I ask snippily. Blame it on the hormones.

Rodney looks at me like I've got a third arm growing out of my face and I'm trying to use it to slap him silly. "I'm eating," he says, spitting a few not-potato particles onto the tray in front of him. Ew.

"No, I mean why are you here? With me? You hate me! Save it, McKay," I held my hands up to stop his protests. "I already heard the 'Cadman is the Bringer of Doom' speech you gave to Weir, so don't even bother trying to talk yourself out of it."

"Oh, please, don't tell me you're still upset about that!"

I squinted harshly at him. Man, what I wouldn't give to have laser vision right about now. I could burn a whole right through that over-inflated head of his. "Yes, McKay, I am surprisingly still upset about you trying to convince the rest of Atlantis that I'm trying to blow them all up."

"Look, I didn't—"

"I don't get it. You and I were very close for a couple of days," McKay winces at the reminder, but I continue, "in which I did nothing but try to help you out, maybe loosen you up a bit. I was willing to sacrifice myself so your 'magnificent brain' could go on functioning and saving Atlantis on a regular basis. I helped you out today with figuring out who was the actual spy for the Trust. Why don't you trust me?"

Rodney didn't answer, he just set his face in a resolute expression. "Look, I just thought you should know, I was planning to apologize before this little temper tantrum of yours."

I raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Really?"

"Really!"

I examined McKay through narrowed eyes, and we stared at each other for several increasingly uncomfortable seconds. I waited for the vein in McKay's forehead to start doing the cha-cha before I asked my next question. "Did Colonel Sheppard put you up to this?"

Trigger the eye-roll. "Not that it should really matter, but he and I may have had a discussion…"

"How did he convince you to come talk to me? He beat you at Prime-Not-Prime, didn't he?" I really tried to hide the smile, I swear. "When are you going to realize he's got you beat when it comes to math?"

His eyes narrowed dangerously. It seems I'd forgotten one of the primary rules when dealing with Rodney: Never cast doubt on the McKay brilliance, at least if you value your life. "I came up here to tell you that you did a good job today. Don't ever plan on hearing me say it again."

He got up to leave, and I reached out to grab his wrist. "Wait, Rodney. I'm sorry, sometimes I just let my mouth run away with me." Listen to me! After all the crap this guy put me through today, I'm the one stuck apologizing! As he sat back down sulkily, I decided to go for broke. "I know that means a lot coming from you." He gave a stiff nod, but still wouldn't look at me. I finally broke the awkward silence that had briefly descended. I just couldn't help myself. "If you think that was good, just wait until you see me tap dance."

Rodney rolled his eyes in apparent exasperation, but I managed to catch the hint of a smile that he hid behind a forkful of food.

We managed to get through the rest of the meal with only a few minor flare ups, and yes, I did instigate a few of them. Rodney is just so hilarious when he's flustered and angry, and I think I deserved a little entertainment after having to sit through his recital of every single time he'd almost won the Nobel Prize in physics.

"And then, in 2001 I was so close, I had this brilliant theory on the role of neutrinos in cosmic particle-antiparticle conductivity, which was actually partially confirmed during one of SG-1's missions, but they ended up giving it to some guy from—"

"Tell me about your mission to M7G-677." I surprised myself with the question, but it wasn't like I could take it back now. And really, anything was better than another "Why I'm more brilliant than this guy" speech.

Rodney paused, mid-gloat, and looked at me. "The planet with all the kids? Why do you want to hear about that?"

Because it's a sneaky way to evaluate your fatherhood skills. "I dunno," I shrugged. "Intellectual curiosity. Zelenka seemed to have quite a time there."

Rodney didn't even bother hiding the grin. "Yes, he did, didn't he? I almost feel sorry for him, but better him than me."

"You don't like kids?" Way to be subtle there, Laura.

"No, kids are fine. My sister has kids. I like kids, in the…abstract sense of the word. They're just sort of…sticky. And loud. And then they start poking you, asking ridiculous questions, demanding attention and food, making a mess, wasting valuable time that you could be using to make groundbreaking discoveries—"

"So, you like kids fine when they don't have anything to do with you."

McKay pointed his finger at me in the universal gesture of "You get it!" With a half-grin, he said, "Exactly!"

Strike one. "But if the kids were yours…" I trailed off at Rodney's odd look. "I mean, hypothetically speaking of course, would you feel differently?"

McKay gave a thoughtful shrug. "I don't know. It doesn't matter anyway, because I don't plan on ever having kids."

Strike two. "You can't control everything, Rodney. After all, this is the Pegasus Galaxy, and things don't always go according to plan."

Rodney cast a withering glance my way, then spoke to me like I was one of his lab assistants having difficulty grasping the most elementary of concepts. "Look, having a kid or not having a kid is something that is easily controlled. Besides, I have more important things to do in this city than take care of some brat. If I had to stop and change diapers or feed and burp the rugrat every time I turned around, then this city would fall apart. Sure, I realize it's my theoretical duty to ensure that my superior genes are passed on to future generations, but in reality I'm just too important for the whole fatherhood thing."

Strike three. Well, Cadman, looks like you're on your own, because McKay is definitely out.

"Out of curiosity," Rodney asks past another mouth full of food, "what brought this up?" He took in the sight of the peanut butter-smeared pickle that I was eating, and a spark seemed to flicker behind his eyes. "Are you pregnant or something?"

oOo

Author's notes 2: Okay, this chapter was originally a lot longer, but it's taking me so long to finish that I just decided to chop it up and post this part. The good news is that this means I already have part of the next chapter written. The bad news is that I'm a teacher and I have the end of the 3rd quarter coming up, so it might not get posted for about 2 more weeks, when spring break finally rolls around. Also, I want to post something for the other fic I'm working on, Whale Song, before I update this again, because that one seems to have more readers. Although if I get a lot of reviews, it might make me work a little faster (Wink wink, nudge nudge.) :D