Two Birds, Two Stones

Chapter 19

Millions of Marbles

"Who do you think is in there?"

His fingers draw over her skin, still feeling accomplished when he manages to illicit a shudder from light tickles. His hardcore, ex-peacekeeper, ass-kicking wife is sensitive to the tickles only in a direct line from hip to hip.

"Another hybrid, most likely." Jitters her hips to knock his hand away, and when he plays dumb, acting like he doesn't get the intention, she plucks it up by the wrist and directs it back to him.

Chuckles at her a second, still snuggling up beside her, happy that they can actually canoodle without her being fully uncomfortable—exempting two and a half ribs of course—before her jab actually sinks in. "Wait—what do you mean 'most likely'."

She relaxes onto her back, half underneath him and his fingers. "There is the issue of seven years—I can still retain an embryo from—"

"Do not—" he points at her, catching the crack of a smile she tries to hide "—start with that dren again, Aeryn. Last time—"

"Was more dangerous and complicated." Tugs his pointing finger to her lips, kissing the tip before nuzzling her cheek against his palm.

It relaxes him, makes him unclench and settle back into the mattress beside her again, his fingers caressing across her cheek and softly into her hair, enjoying the slight pressure she puts as she leans against him, closing her eyes, sighing.

"This time—"

"This time will be simple and safe." The words are a bit of a drawl because she's falling asleep.

He's so good at relaxing his pregnant wife that she falls asleep.

So good, that he wakes up hiding, snoozing babies.

"Why's that?" Asks as he leans forward, pecking the hilt of her shoulder softly.

She smiles, her fingers tickling at the back of his neck. "Because we're not releasing the egg from stasis for at least two solar cycles."

"Two cycles?" Ducks back trying to gauge if this is another example of Aeryn's wit which consists of just saying things that freak him out and then laughing. "Honey, isn't that being a little—"

"I held Deke for over a solar cycle."

"Yeah and look how that ended up."

"We have a beautiful son."

"Not before he spent a quadmester in the belly of the beast, with us scattered at the bottom of the damn ocean—"

Every time his voice raises an octave, her drops one, keeping the calm, continuing to rub at his neck while teetering on the edge of sleep. "We'll just have to be more careful this time."

"Last time you were an assassin."

That gets him an eyebrow arched his way, because they still haven't fully discussed what exactly she did.

"And you made a wormhole weapon."

Her voice is a little harder, more edged, and he knows that after all the heat, all the explosions, all the broken bones and slashed shoulders, that he's gotta ease up a bit. There's no way to even release the baby now, so why worry about it—because he has to worry about it, just like he worried about Deke, even after he knew he wasn't fully his.

He leans forward, pecking a kiss onto her forehead, which she thankfully still accepts. "We'll be more careful this time."

She hums in agreement, her hand slowing on the back of his neck as he dips down, even with the sliver of skin peaking out from between where her t-shirt and sweatpants don't meet. He's cautious with his hand at first, not knowing if she's in the mood to be touched, but when he glances up, she's smiling.

"You honestly don't wanna know who's in there?"

"Not badly enough that I want another newborn when we're struggling to raise the one we already have."

"Well, they say three is the magic number."

"Yes, but I don't think they intended for us to count quite so fast." Her voice starts to get that edge to it, but it's meant more to end the conversation than as a warning.

Again, he nods, surrendering the conversation to her, as he places his cheek flat against her stomach, feeling her twitch from the tickling of the scruff he's gonna have to shave off before he goes through the gate again. Wouldn't want to embarrass the team as they sit in front of another cave for six hours.

"I don't think we're struggling with Deke." Beneath him, her stomach bounces as a dry, laugh escapes her. "What?"

Her fingers still dance across his cheek and over his neck, though. "We're not even in the same galaxy as him, John."

"So, we're a little locationally challenged." He tucks his chin against the jut of her hip—the birthmark one, not the scar one—glancing up at her, even though her eyes are closed. "At lot of first-time parents deal with worse."

Now her hand stops, tenses and then falls slack to her side—she'd probably try to flip over if he wasn't laying over the bottom half of her body. So, he breaks from preening over their itty-bitty baby that's already good with a disappearing act, and crawls up the bed to lay beside her, facing her, his hand stroking up and down her arm. "What's wrong?"

"I just want to be with him." While admitting it to him, she ducks her head in against his arm, either hiding from her answer, or from his response.

"I do too." He wants to let her know both are okay. "But until we can, at least we have look-a-likes that can."

"It should be us, John." She tries to push herself up, manages too, but strains her voice through the pain of broken ribs, "We're not there to discover things with him. What if he's sensitive to heat? What if—"

Places gentle fingers on her shoulder to direct her back towards the bed to relax. They have to meet with the team in the morning if they're 'up to it' to talk about the current state of the zen stones and the fact that Aeryn brought interdimensional garbage back with her. "Everyone on that ship is going to—"

"Who? Two humans uneducated in Sebacean anatomy? Chiana who is most likely still unconscious? Stark who no one has mentioned—"

"You know Chiana, she's gonna be up and slinking around there in a matter of arns—" says it more for his relief than hers because if he keeps saying the words, maybe they'll come true, like some incantation "—Stark will help if he's needed. Pilot has our backs, and Noranti is one hell of a babysitter."

"He's our son."

"I know, I know." Pecks her on the forehead again, though this time she isn't as into it. He rests back against the pillow, and collects her hair from over her shoulder, beyond relived that she's a normal temperature. "We're gonna be back there in no time. Back to midnight feedings and his nonstop crying, and when we finally get used to the chaos, when Deke is walking and talking and flushing our comms—" he drops his hand to the exposed sliver of skin again, tucking his fingertips under her shirt and against her stomach "—then we'll have this one."

"Can you promise me that?"

"Done."

And he kisses her, because he can—he doesn't know why he doesn't do it more often, constantly, as he leans into her, aware of her ribs and ready to stop at her first sharp intake of breath, but until then, he lets his fingers splay over her skin, his lips play over hers.

Right around that time the first sharp inhale happens—it's his fault, because his hand slipped down to pull her shirt up, and he must've traced over the wrong ribs. Nudges her shirt back down, the fire stoked between then slowly simmering as he glances behind him—an action that still hurts his saran wrapped shoulder—and notes that it's time for their pills.

He can take the serious stuff, stuff with an actual effect, but because of the stowaway, Aeryn can only take the over-the-counter crap that barely does anything.

"Something wrong?" Her skin still has that flush he loves trailing, following like a map, and he licks his lower lip out of habit—and hunger.

"Nothing." Kisses her cheek and shifts to get a little more comfortable in his own pants—well not his pants, but the pants this Earth's military has lent him. "It's just time for our pills."

"Those pills don't do anything." Her hand trails his back as he sits at the side of the bed.

He has to remind himself reasons this can't happen now. She's hurt. He's hurt. They need to be rested for a meeting to get home. They have a newborn. They have one ready to be put in the oven when the time is right. They don't need—

"Hey, I've been meaning to ask." Stands from the side of the bed, because if he doesn't, whatever happens next is literally his fault. Doesn't look back at her because he knows the scow—the glare she's giving him—so he continues to try to talk nonchalantly while bolting to the bathroom to grab a cup of water and their meds, addressing himself in the mirror, and taking a sec to check out his shoulder. Yep, still wrapped fresh. "I can't knock you up again, can I?"

"Knock up?" Her eyebrows are knit when he comes back, not really sure why this is an awkward conversation to have, they're married after all—maybe that's it, he probably should've asked her sooner. He should already know.

She accepts the pills and the cup from him, throwing back two with a gulp before handing him back the cup. "Is it an idiom? I don't—"

"I can't get you pregnant again, right?"

"You already have."

"No, I mean—" he downs his pain reliever in front of his pregnant wife, who is in more pain than him, who can't have the pill, because he knocked her up. "We can't have two potential Crichtons in waiting?"

"John." She sighs into her hand. "Without the microbes your phrases—"

"Can I get you pregnant while you're already pregnant?"

"What?"

"If we have sex, is it possible for there to be a second paused baby? A third?"

"Oh." Thinks she nods because she understands him, but then she does it again and he realizes she just wants the rest of the water, which he hands back to her. "No, my body will only hold one fertilized egg per donor."

"Per donor?"

She gulps down the rest of the water and hands him back the cup to take care of apparently, then shifts back up the bed, careful of her bad side, and tucks her feet under the sheets. "Monogamous relationships are nonexistent with Peacekeepers."

"Yeah, I know that. I wanna hear about this 'per donor' thing."

"If I had one or several other recreation partners, I could potentially become pregnant and withhold an embryo by each." His face must turn bitter because despite whatever pain she's still feeling, or whatever vendetta she's holding against him for stopping their playtime—partly in fear of the crop of children they might make—she holds a slanted grin for him, finding the jest in a situation he doesn't even want to think about.

She gestures for him, and he reluctantly leans over so she can place a quick kiss on his lips, nudging his nose a bit with hers. "I only want one recreation partner, John."

When he only grunts in response, because he honestly doesn't want to think about what it was like on a command carrier, what her previous relationships were like, if she ever considered having a kid before his.

She holds that grin and taps his cheek twice. "Go return the glass and urinate so we can get some sleep."

He grunts again, mostly just to get a rise out of her. She laughs, and taps his cheek harder, then pushes away his shoulder as nuzzles the side of her neck that drives her crazy. "Go."

He laughs as he retreats to the bathroom because he does have to piss—she knows him that well—dropping the cup on the counter and pulling the threads of comfort he can find right now. Only one baby at a time, she doesn't want another partner, at least one of their kids is stuck with them now, so they're easier to protect

Drops trow—or sweats—at the porcelain throne, flipping the lid up and staring at the gray concrete wall as he starts to piss.

It's easier to protect the kid while she's pregnant, but she's gonna be pregnant for at least a year, and his worry last time drove him so insane he took drugs to quell it. Now he's got to deal with the fact that if someone—someone not of her choice—decides to—and he doesn't want to think about it, but now that he's aware of the consequences, he can't not—if someone ra—

And man is he tired of randomly falling unconscious

The old woman finds him out on that deck Vala spends so much of her time on. He's a little intimidated by it, just a glass—if glass is even organic—dome protecting him from a universe, from swirls of comet tails and the rings around planets he's never heard of. Moya's not moving right now, when he asked, Pilot informed him that she was tired from starbursting away from Valdun and was taking a nap in some cosmic stardust that shimmers like a metallic rainbow.

"Pretty good place to nap." Speaks first to the old woman, which usually isn't the case with anyone here, but Vala. Doesn't feel like he has the authority, even though all of them turn to him to lead, but when he adds up the population of this ship, it's not really hard to see why.

"I expected you to be back in your chambers with her." She stands beside him, and she's holding Deke who stares out at the glittering colors like a cat at a Christmas tree. "I went to return the baby and found her sleeping away her pain."

"She tell you that?" Holds out his arms to accept the baby, but she keeps the kid tucked against her shoulder.

"She didn't have to; I could sense her pain through her sleep."

He doesn't owe Noranti any explanation, any reason to why he acted how he did, or for what happened between him and Vala—but she stands at about the same height his grandma did before she became bedridden. The height he remembers her being at when he was in high school and would visit her every Sunday just to get away from the farmhouse that was getting more and more cramped with his dad and his mom fighting all the time, and his brother sneaking out and getting brought home by the cops.

The same height she was when he'd help her into the passenger's seat of the old beat up car she got him for his last birthday, when his parents said they didn't have it in the budget, and drive her to church in his Sunday best.

The same height as he sat at her waxy kitchen table and accepted macaroon after macaroon because that's what it felt like when someone loved him unconditionally. Sure, she would preach the bible until she was blue in the face, but she would collect her china plate littered with crumbs, and the soda she gave him in lieu of coffee, and place a hand on his shoulder and ask how he was—a question no one was asking him those days.

The same height and he thinks that he can trust her now.

"I don't know—" he pauses trying to keep his voice level, trying not to think of the pain on Vala's face when he grabbed her arm, remembering too late that without the treatment it was incapacitated. How it was the same face she gave him when he told her that he didn't want her not because it was against protocol, but because if everyone else had had her, it wasn't special. She wasn't special. She wasn't worth his time. "I don't know why I hurt her."

"You've both been thrust into a very difficult situation." Noranti's voice is calm, even, not a whisper, but at a cadence that it's not judgemental, not harsh.

"Hey, I think we're doing pretty well despite everything."

The eye on her forehead closes into wrinkled lids. "You're both moderately injured, Chiana returned from your excursion severely injured, a marauder is possibly aware of us, and the most progress you've made on returning home is switching your partner for three arns."

"Touché."

"Not only have your environment and responsibilities changed, but you're learning things about yourselves, about each other, about how you interact, and despite how it feels natural, you're both choosing to fight against it."

"Now that, I'm not so—"

"She adores you, Colonel." Noranti turns towards him, a wry grin on her gentle face. "She's happier when she's around you. From what I've gathered, she doesn't trust easily, but she trusts you."

Shakes his head, turning his attention back towards the stars and constellations he doesn't know. Planets that aren't gas giants or named after Gods no one thought were real but are actually real and not really Gods—classified bullshit that makes him dizzy sometimes, and he can't share it with anyone. "She doesn't trust me."

Amazingly, Noranti blows a raspberry at him—something she must've picked up from Crichton—and when Deke starts to fuss, she bounces him a little, settling him down. "She implicitly trusts you."

"She didn't even tell me she got shot."

"She doesn't want to disappoint you. Your brain was scattered, you had an injury, you were tending to Chiana. I'm willing to wager that you sought solace in the fact that she was unharmed."

She's right, he's not gonna tell her she's right, but man, old ladies have the wisdom of galaxies.

Sure, his grandma would always spew some biblical passages, but she would always set him straight, let him know the right thing to do and for the right reasons. Noranti is spiritual from what he knows, and despite not being from any religion he's familiar with, she sees right through his bullshit.

"Colonel." She places a gentle hand on his bare arm, and she's warmer than he thought she would be. Remembers his grandma's paper-thin skin near the end, how she was as white as the hospital sheets, how the hand that touched his shoulder in guidance was wet and cold and could barely squeeze his fingers back. "She seeks you out for safety."

"She seeks me out because I'm familiar and an easy mark—"

"No." It's stern, a scolding for a dog. "She's comfortable up here, or speaking with Pilot, or visiting Chiana, but think about it. She seeks you out when she needs to feel protected."

"We've been on the same team for years now—"

"Would she do this to any other member? Would she relax with them the way she does with you?"

Tries not to think about it, how she couldn't sleep from pain, from cramps, from an acid round to the side, from discomfort and disorientation. How she calmed her shifting around in bed as soon as he scooted in behind her, how her skin warmed up when he touched her, how she relaxed and didn't want him to leave.

Would she be that way with Jackson?

"I said some—" he huffs out another breath because he doesn't even remember what he said to her, only the tone of it, only the way her beautiful face fell and he was proud he hurt her "—some really bad things to her."

"Did you apologize?"

"I did, but I don't think it was clear."

"If you apologized, she'll know. She'll accept."

"She shouldn't." His eyes are teary as he watches the ebb and flow of space dust, of rainbows he's never seen or will see again. Ones he'll never be able to describe and won't be able to share with anyone. The space is safe, calm, even Deke isn't making a sound. "I think I did it because she made me feel like nothing to her—and I wanted to do the same."

"Whatever she did, wasn't intentional."

"You don't know—"

"I do, Colonel." She holds the baby out for him now, bending her arms to slip Deke into his. He's warm and coos at the lights. Like he understands the importance of them. She stands beside him, silent, her eye opening to a bright blue, just like the stones and she nods to the baby. "Look what you're missing out on."

"Hey—" He walks in on her changing her shirt, the salve and the drainage from the blisters probably drenching the material of the old one. The words die in his mouth as he pivots so quickly on his feet that maybe his grandma won't be that upset.

"Honestly, Mitchell," she sighs, and he can hear the exhaustion in her voice, hear her footsteps over the floor and he takes a peek to find her in a similar black t-shirt. "You need to learn how to knock."

"Sorry." His lips twitch into a lopsided grin and jeez, that kid does look a bit like him if he thinks about it. "I just really need to show you something."

When he reaches for her hand to guide her through Moya's hallways, she snatches it up, eyeing his outstretched palm with caution. "Show me what?"

"It's a surprise."

"Oh, well, if it's a surprise—" she rolls her eyes at him, turning back to the three-bed bed, and shaking out the blankets before piling them on the ground.

"No, Vala, you'll love it."

"I'm sorry, but I don't have time. Someone needs to wash the—"

He takes a chance, reaching out again, this time grasping her hand as she reaches for the mound of blankets. She doesn't tug away but gives him an expression that all warning.

He drops her hand, but makes a plea, "it'll only take a second and you'll love it. Trust me."

She observes him for a hot minute, scouring her mouth to the side, and then reaches out a hand to take his own, nodding her head. "Okay."

He makes her keep her eyes closed the entire way up. Would clasp his hands over her eyes if he didn't think he was already pushing strained boundaries with her. "You gotta keep them closed."

"At this point, I'm just expecting you to push me through an airlock or something."

"What?" He stops point blank in the middle of the hallway just outside the observation deck.

To her resolve, she still manages to keep her eyes closed, except now she's addressing the door, not him. "It's a joke, Darling."

"That's not funny."

A beat passes where neither says anything, until she relents, her eyes still smashed shut tight. "All right, sorry."

"No—no, it's okay." Grabs her hand again, slowly to not startle her, and opens the door to the room.

The dust is still refracting perfectly, like millions of marbles dancing overhead. He pulls her into the middle of the room, "stay right there."

Then slips behind her, his hands on her shoulders, and she doesn't jolt, just waits for him to give her directions. "Okay, open them."

She does and she blinks back the brightness immediately, but then falls into the same wonder he did, absorbed by simple dancing colors. He follows her careful steps forward, her gaze still above them, her mouth open in awe. "Mitchell, it's beautiful."

"It's stardust, Moya's taking a nap in it."

"Moya?"

"Mayo."

"Oh, how lovely."

They stop when they meet the glass and when he glances over, she still has the same look of awe, her eyes tracing the flow, the colors mirror off her skin. "Thank you for sharing this with me."

The same feeling of warmth surrounds them, silent despite the constant shifting of the dust. He can't bring himself to look at her when he speaks, but it's important that she hear the words. "I'm sorry for what I said."

"I know you are."

"I just—" and the words escape him. Can't really explain how he feels about her because he doesn't really know. He wants her to be safe, and happy, and when he sees her with that kid his heart just melts because it's natural.

He's always served his county, adhered to the rules set by the military, but when he thinks that she could have that with someone else, he gets jealous, angry, says mean things that make him appear the opposite of what he's feeling.

Her hand clasps around his, her fingers thin and cold and she swings his arm with hers. "I know."

He needs to do this. Needs to see the happiness on her face. To have happiness himself. Being in the air force, making sacrifices for his country always made him happy, but maybe not anymore.

Maybe something else could make him happier.

His hand cups her cheek, getting her to turn towards him, and he leans him. They're so close, growing closer until her hand presses into his chest, halting him, not harsh, just making him aware.

"Mitchell—" Her lips plump together in a worried pout, her eyes a little glassy—just swirling lights.

He's not gonna turn this around on her.

"Not anymore."

Offers the reassurance before he swoops in, capturing her lips with his own.