Two Birds, Two Stones

Chapter 20

Spit Up

When she blinks awake, her eyes immediately train on the red numbers on the side of John's bed dictating Earth's current time. From their routine for the past now nine days, it's still early in the morning to be up, yet he is not in bed beside her. Carefully, mindful of her ribs, she stretches a hand across to his side, finding the sheet cold.

"John?"

Forces herself up in the bed, at first resting against the concrete wall, ignoring the burning in her chest as she lets her legs fall off the side, her feet chilled by the floor. He was going to relieve himself, and then join her in bed, with the tempered temperature, having him as a source of heat while sleeping is preferable, yet knows by the ache in her bones, that he hasn't been to bed.

Stabilizes herself on two feet in the darkness of the room, the only light coming from the washroom, which appears empty as she retrieves a sweater with the military insignia from where she discarded it early against a softback chair.

"John?"

The adjacent living quarters is also empty of any sign of her husband, save for the indents on the couch he made while checking the evening televised newscasts, does so every night to make sure this planet runs parallel to his own Earth, and is not another era in the same timeline.

Hesitates only briefly before entering the digits to unlock the door to their cell masquerading as a dormitory, light pouring in the from the hallway momentarily stunning her, causing her to hunch her shoulders away, irritating, but not further injuring her side. Underneath the ache that pulsates with each of her inhalations, is the constant pinch in her abdomen, causing her to grin coyly.

She is permitted very few areas on the military base, as since she isn't cleared for combat, and will not submit to a full body scan, they still view her warily. The medical unit is where she's sent to most often, but knows John's injury wasn't serious enough for him to be seeking additional treatment, the doctor was hesitant to release her, but again, her husband's quickness with words and a promise to return her at the first sight of her injury growing worse allowed them to celebrate the reappearance of a little life in private.

The doctor's lab is off limits for another reason. They never explained the cause of the explosion, only that it had to deal with the unbearable heat, although keeping silent in the medical unit, she learned that the location of the explosion destroyed many internal support columns and was too well planned to be coincidental.

If she wasn't already on edge from all the incidents she's incurred since first setting foot in that dreaded white room, knowing that this military has traitors in it's ranks, that everyone who still hasn't earned her trust, may not be trustworthy after all is more than stressing.

Instead, as she depresses the button for the elevator, she focuses on the constants. Her husband, the pinch within her, and even the flaring pain of her side. All things she relies on to navigate her, to let her know what is true.

The hallways are bare, John stated they only keep essential personnel on for the graveyard shift—then explained that graveyard meant overnight. Very few people pass her, and all too preoccupied to acknowledge her. Though they haven't explicitly said as much, she and John know they're meant to stay in their accommodations at night, although, they can only trust if it's night through word of mouth.

She hasn't seen this Earth's sky yet.

Her journey ends at the only other room she's been privy to since the humans have decided to treat her with a modicum of trust. A debate room, or debriefing room of sorts, equipped with a long table, and chairs that swivel, which she learned the hard way.

Doesn't think to look through the window, as her own mind is addled, preoccupied by other matters, then she opens the door to find the doctor, the general, the colonel, the large one who doesn't speak, and John sitting around the table, apparently in the middle of an important discussion, which she interrupted.

Immediately, everyone ceases speaking, a hush falls over the room as all eyes travel to her, some wide, like the colonel's who offers her the weakest of smiles with the basis of pity, the doctor looks perturbed by her action, more upset that she interrupted, than anything else, but what's most disturbing, is that she cannot read the emotion on John's face. It's not the mask of his quiet, but dangerous stoicism, or his snarky optimism; if anything, he appears as though to be submitting to his strenuous exhaustion.

"I apologize for the interruption—" she begins her speech slowly, but is purposeful with her tone and timing, not allowing them any time to create false reasons for their early morning meeting, or more so, their reasons for excluding her. Chooses particular words so that they will still not know the strength and level of her English comprehension "—I was wondering where my husband went."

But the silence continues to befall the room, which is better than being on the receiving end of bold-faced lies. However, it offers her time to think, to reflect on the notion that despite not having a wailing newborn, who could possibly be suffering from the mismanagement of their genetics, that despite being a galaxy away from their precious son for whom they went to war, her husband still sneaks from bed with no pretense to do so.

Perhaps it's not the idea of a dirty diaper, or a hungry son, or staring into a version of her eyes that could be suffering from heat delirium without them knowing—he's comforted her several times, stated that the baby was hot, but not fever hot, which is no comfort at all when his tiny brain could be frying in his body.

Perhaps the reason he strays from her is simply that; her.

He stated that after the war, after he forced both sides into a peace treaty he wasn't there to see signed, that everything was moving too fast for him. That his body and mind still hadn't adjusted to being in space despite remaining there for several years in a row.

Despite choosing to remain space and with her when giving the chance to return to his own Earth, his own father, sisters, family, and friends. His own blonde human waiting for him with open arms among other things.

Perhaps he didn't choose to remain with her in space, perhaps he chose to remain in space and she just happened to be there as well.

The distracting pinch wants to support otherwise, that he truly cares for her, for Deke, for whomever is within her as he so eloquently spoke—but knows why he doesn't help with Deke. Knows that once this child is born—if this child is born—that he will favor them over their firstborn with no outward indication why, and that she will have to sit Deke down and explain to him the difference in relationship.

No longer cares why he runs from her through Moya's labyrinth corridors, slipping silently into the shadows and always ending up in the command room, staring out into space and speaking with the ghosts of old friends. It no longer matters why he distances himself from her physically, except during points of recreation when he yearns for her. Why he doesn't tell her what he does with these humans, and how it's helping them get back to Deke, or even if he still wants to return to their first, perhaps forgotten, son.

Another wave of emotions rushes through her, ones she can't control as images of her family, Deke, the others on Moya, the prospective pinch within her, the current situation, and she finds her normally calm, if not brash exterior, faltering because perhaps it doesn't matter where they are, and what temperature it is, and if they're injured or healthy. Maybe this is just how their relationship is meant to be. She ran from him first, to Talyn, away from Moya, and now he runs from her because the responsibilities of family are too dire, because his son is legitimate while also illegitimate, runs because his closest friend is deceased, and his body and mind are spent.

Runs because he can. Because she allows him to. Because he allowed her to.

Blinks down at the ground, at the room of strangers staring at her, John included, because whenever she thinks she's figured him out entirely, there is some portion within him left dark and unexplored. Left foreign to her.

So, she allows him what he requests. Obviously didn't want her present at this meeting, privy to the conversations or subject matter, so she turns to the hallway dejected, and exits the room without a word.

She'll have to wait until he's ready to discuss whatever this is, just as she waited until they thought it was too late to tell him about the baby.

The corridor is colder, and she snuffles to herself, aware of where the emotions stem from, but still unsure as to why they were activated when a cycle ago, simple frivolities wouldn't affect her in such a way. Associates it with stress but she was reared on stress. Knows this, but still cannot comprehend.

Makes it to the twist in the corridor before the conferring room door opens, and she expects John's sloppy gait, his footsteps sliding across the frequently cleaned tiles, to follow her down, but instead she hears the footfalls of a soldier.

Assumes it's the colonel, who only grins at her with pity while explaining things to her, which she already has a vast knowledge on, like a patient parent, or worse perhaps it's the general who hides things behind his squinting eyes, who speaks with a stern voice commanding respect, yet she can tell he is doubtful of himself, so he places all his reassurances on the members of the team wanting them to succeed where he failed. Wanting a reason to be proud.

Or perhaps the tall quiet one, whom she still prefers the company of, their longest exchange the sharing of a wordless hot beverage in the meal area. It was far too hot for her at the time, and when she sipped the cream-colored liquid, it was sweet enough to burn her tongue. He sensed this, removing the cup from before her with an apology, stating her counterpart preferred it this way.

But it is none of them.

Not even the doctor who's penetrating stare is still off putting after over a week.

"Officer Sun." He beckons her with a wave, legs no longer limp and precarious over unknown floors, but walking with stride, with strength and duty. His steps increase when hers don't cease, and he manages to catch up in a few steps after the bend, a hand falling on her bicep to still her, to restrain her.

She wrenches her arm away, biting her lip and curling her fingers in order not to lash out with a punch. With the pain, anger, and fear she feels, the same she felt when she became aware that he was taking narcotics.

His hands raise in surrender, flat and high before him in a weak self defense. "Sorry, I—"

"Do not placate me, Crichton." Should bellow it because perhaps the dranit will finally hear her, listen to the broken English that is harsh on her tongue, but the words drop heavy from her mouth, a growl. A warning.

"I'm not, I'm trying to tell you Offic—"

"I'm so pleased that you trust these humans enough to meet in late night cohorts with them—"

"Just stop for a sec and listen—"

"I will not." Exhales harshly, placing a hand to her ribs at the flare up of pain. His eyes travel from hers, to her side as she reclines against a wall. Her voice hoarser, more strained, "every time I think we finally comprehend each other, we end up at another impasse."

"Are you okay?" Approaches her, but keeps a respectable distance, unusual because as long as she has known him, even before they recreated together, he was never shy to touched her.

Her brows crease as she examines him, the bags under his eyes rivaling her own, perhaps his shoulder is irritating him more than he's let on. Perhaps there's another reason for him to lose sleep. To be concerned for her.

"I'm fine."

"Is—"

"The baby is fine too." Waves off his question because she can already predict it, his eyes sort of widen, as if he's shocked by her knowledge. Examines him closer, how his stance has changed, how he's favoring one of his legs. "Are you all right, John?"

Despite all her inner turmoil and arguments, despite the conflicting emotions and how she feels as if she could sob for days while simultaneously punching a hole through his body, she reaches a hand out to his cheek, to feel his skin, the temperature, the hair growing in from a recent shave.

But he stops her, softly plucks her hand before she touches his face, and lowering it to rest between them. "I'm fine, Officer Sun, I'm just not John."

Her hand recoils to her body and her eyebrows drop, knows she can't keep the tremble from her lower lip, so she allows it just this once, because she was created to endure stress, but there is a maximum capacity which she can withstand. Swallowing away the distant feeling of betrayal, instead implementing the more prominent feeling of abandonment, she corrects, "Officer Sun."

Despite his reassurances, his playfully dragging her up to the observation deck to share in a wondrous light show with him, a memory only they will share together, there's a part of her telling her to be wary, the part of her that knows men too well, that knows that sometimes they don't think with the right organ and that leads to many avoidable shenanigans.

She slows the kiss this time, but he doesn't initially take her unresponsiveness as an indication to stop, instead moving to trail his lips over her jawline, then bowing to the side of her neck, almost immediately finding the spot that sends shivers through her.

"Cameron." His name leaves her mouth breathlessly, and she becomes distracted in the movements of his hand tracing over her uninjured side, fingers tickling at the bottom of her t-shirt.

He hums an answers, still preoccupied at her neck, moving his other hand to slowly slide over her behind and she shivers from the contact, arching into him, realizing that perhaps she's apprehensive for an entirely different reason, the excitement of having a tumble with Cameron unlike any of her recent flings within the last years.

More serious, the idea of being physical with him, more important than the idea of merely being physical.

So, she submits—no, agrees.

Bringing her hands to his body, to trace up his arm, the side of his neck, his responses eliciting reactions from her, encouraging, feeding. Directs his face back to hers, kissing him, breathing in the scent of him as his hand slips beneath her shirt tickling the skin across her stomach to her hip.

And then it stops.

Actually, he stops.

Physically stops, his body tensing in her arms, and at first she assumes he's had a bite of pain, the same she's ignoring to continue their exploration. Her lips stay pressed to his, trying to help him through, direct him back, but then she has the fear again, that perhaps he's realized she's not good enough—a thought that just happens to coincide with him wrenching his eyes open and shoving her away by her shoulder.

Her bad shoulder.

She yipes out in pain, the level no where near as unbearable as it's been, in fact after each of the applications of salve, the pain level has dwindled significantly. His eyes are still wide, watching her as she rolls her shoulder out, pressing her fingers delicately into the still blistered skin to determine if it's cracked, relieved to find that it hasn't.

"A simple 'no' would've been sufficient enough, Mitchell."

"What?" Asks his eyes narrowing, then blinking several times, attempting to focus on her, but being drawn away by the lights.

"Also, if you could possibly stop manhandling my injured arm, I'd greatly—" She stops speaking when she notices the creasing in his brows, the unsteadiness on his feet, and becomes all too aware what's happened. "You're not Cameron, are you?"

"N—No." He spins in a gentle half turn, taking in the room, his mouth slightly agape, but she's not sure he's reveling in the sea of colors. "Observation deck?"

"Yes." She takes a step forward because the half turn has sent him a little uneven on his feet. "Crichton?"

"Yeah. Vala?"

"Yes." Reaches for him as he takes his first topple forward. His hand comes down hard, but thankfully on her good shoulder, seems to already learned what Cameron has forgotten time and time again. Manages to stabilize him by slinging his arm over her good shoulder and walking with him to the bench she takes naps with Deke on. "Is this your first time transporting?"

"Second, the first one caused this mess." His voice is strained, and she doesn't recognize why, until he sits down and immediately vomits, his head turned away from her, but that doesn't stop his puke splattering over the floor.

Her nose twitches, and she shifts back while he wipes his mouth off on the back of his hand. He gives her the same lopsided grin she's witnessed on three different males now, and offers, "sorry."

"It's a niche talent."

"One I apparently don't have, despite years of navigating worm holes." His drops his head to his hands, then lowers his head to rest between his knees, she can see the sweat start to bead on his skin, mirroring the colors above them. "Please tell me your boy had a good reason for activating the stone."

"He didn't."

"So, he just did it for fun?"

"No." Drops to the bench beside him. He attempts to shift over but stops when his feet border on his vomit. "He didn't physically activate it."

"So, he activated it with his mind?"

"Crichton," she groans into her hand before flicking it before her, showcasing the vastly empty room. "Do you see the long-range communication device anywhere?"

"No—"

"We didn't activate it—you must've activated it somehow on your end."

"The wife and I weren't anywhere near the stupid hookah thing."

"You're sure?"

"Aeryn was asleep and I was taking a piss."

Allows for one last exhale before clapping her hands together and standing. "Well then, it seems as if neither of us caused this occurrence, but what we need to do is find a way to switch you back."

"That's gonna have to wait, I've got a big boy headache from the galaxy jumping." Rubs at his forehead, his skin still very shiny, a little red. "Besides, why don't you just jump back and then this mess will be sorted out."

"Because you're in Cameron's body."

His nose hooks, the same upset expression crossing his face. "Do I want to know how you know that?"

"Check your left thigh for a scar."

He starts to unbuckle his pants, but when he glances up, his face falls slack and may just get a little more red. "A little privacy?"

She rolls her eyes with a scoff, but pivots on her heel, allowing him to discover that he isn't exactly himself, hoping that he just pops back to the SGC, because her and Cameron were in the middle of something somewhat important.

"Damn, this is one hell of a scar." There's the clatter of his buckle and the zipping of his pants, followed by his precarious footsteps forward. "What's it from?"

"I believe he was in a plane crash." Slows her pace so he can keep up with her, taking the tiniest of baby steps. At this length, returning to command is going to take an hour.

"He should sue the pilot."

"Then he'd be suing himself." She stops at the door, activating the opening mechanism, waiting for him to actually get there, and ignoring the confused expression on his face. "So, do you have any ideas on how we can return you to your own body?"

"I think I need to do a few things. I want to see my son, and check in on Pip, and by then I'll need to lay down. Then we can have some sort of meeting to brainstorm ideas." He uses a hand to scale the wall in the corridor, the other still holding his forehead in pain. "Does this guy's hip always hurt this much?"

"I know it gets rather stiff after he's slept, but I didn't know it was overly painful."

"Maybe, he—" He emits a grunt like a harmed animal as he continues to reinforce himself against the wall, what drives him, she's not entirely sure, the want to return to his wife, the desire to see his child again after over a week, the need to appear masculine before her, whatever the cause, he is dedicated. "Maybe he's just used to the pain now."

"That's an awful thought." She stops her steps, then backtracks until she's able to swoop underneath his arm again, help take a bit of his weight off his leg.

"Thanks." He leans against her and after a few steps they find a shared gait. He is very hot, sweat still sheening his skin, and he rolls his shoulder, once, then twice. "Hey, what's wrong with his—"

"He was shot by an acid round while we were on Valdun." His arm tightens a bit around her neck, the movement puling at her injured skin. Carefully she resets his arm, so it will not encroach on her injury, and softly explains. "So was I."

"Sorry."

They continue in silence for some time, navigating Mayo's twisting and sprawling corridors until she realizes his intentions of heading back to the bedroom. When she tries to veer him off course, directing him towards the medical unit, he offers resistance, causing them to pause, which might be necessary as both of them are coming close to being out of breath from the strain.

"I want to see—"

"Your son is most likely with Noranti, and she is most likely in the medical unit caring for Chiana."

"Oh." In Cameron's body, with Cameron's face he creates an expression she's never seen on him before, so quick, just a flash of doubt, of hopelessness. Then he nods and they rotate slowly to backtrack and take the corridor leading to Chiana. "How's she doing?"

"She's medically unconscious, but stable, her skin is healing very slowly—quicker than ours however, which makes me a little envious."

"She needs the sleep, between the baby and D'argo—" He slows his words, skewing his mouth to the side, though not in the familiar lopsided grin, more like the words he spoke were privileged and she is not worthy of hearing them.

"Chiana, spoke of him to me." Nudges his shoulder, wary of his injury, so they can keep walking. "I'm presuming that's where the blade indentation on the table in the command room came from."

"Things got a little heated after he—" pauses his words now, emotion incapacitating his ability to do so, just as it did to her when they forced her to leave Daniel to battle Adria.

"The hardest part of losing someone is continuing to live after their gone."

She tries to continue their trek, but he halts in place, his bad leg hobbling a bit, balancing off ground, just watching her, eyes squinting, as if trying to decipher her. To have that deciphering look come from Cameron's face, it hurts just a tad. It feels like they should know each other better after the last eight—almost nine—days.

"How is Daniel?" Asks, trying to divert the attention away, trying to perk up their dreary exchange.

"He's fine, kind of a butthole, but fine."

"How wonderful. And Sam?"

"She's good. She has the patience of a saint and works too much."

"Good. Good." She leans in to resume helping him, but he kindly waves a hand at her efforts, managing to walk, somewhat stunted, on his own two feet.

"So, how are you and this colonel guy?"

"We're okay, adjusting as much as possible to the current—"

He chuckles, stopping at a doorway and allowing her through first. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"What did you mean?"

"Well judging by what you two were doing when I—"

"We have a problem."

Thankfully, Noranti scurries into the room quick enough to abort that conversation, though she's not particularly excited by the tone of her voice, she's more than relieved she doesn't have to explain her tumultuous relationship with Cameron to a different man masquerading around in his body, while she doesn't know how to rightly define it herself.

"Hey Little Man." Crichton reaches forward, scooping up his son from Noranti's arms. For a moment Deke appears concerned, his mouth falling slack as he floats in his father's arms, but once close enough to see his face, his whimpers settle.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but I've just finished feeding the child, and we have no more Peacekeeper pablum on Moya."

"Whatduya mean?" Crichton's holding of the baby leaves something to be desired, he holds him more like a weapon, or sports equipment, then the coddling an infant deserves. He flips Deke, so his son is facing towards him, little eyebrows knit in worry about the way he's being jostled. "We stocked up enough for a month last time."

"Yes, and it's been a month, Crichton."

She points to Crichton and the baby. "He is going to vomit on you if you don't burp him immediately—" then points back to Noranti "—how did you know that wasn't Cameron?"

"That's Cameron." Noranti's mouth twitches to the side as she doesn't even bother to observe the man who is very shortly going to be covered in baby vomit. "But Crichton is in his body."

"How do you know that though?"

"It's obvious."

"Hey. Hey." He flips the baby to the other shoulder now, and she watches as his little face pinches in the middle with a dislike for the swift movement, while Crichton continues to bop him around in his arms. "Can we go back to the fact that my son has no—"

As if on cue, she and Noranti step back as Deke expels most of what he just ate, green viscous goop splattering with force over Crichton's cheek, neck, and shoulder before dripping to the ground.

Crichton's face sours, much in the same way his son's did moments ago, pinching in the middle, before he lets out a violent, "yuck!"