A/N:I apologize for this chapter being late. As I stated in my last update, the ending of his story was suddenly changed and I had to rewrite it. It also doesn't help that this is the longest chapter. Hopefully the last one doesn't take as long.
Bring it all Back
Chapter 29
Another Hitchhiker
Didn't think Gloria getting shot would involve this level of investigation and this much paperwork. From the cleaning crews down to HR, everyone's got their hands in the mess, making it harder for him to do his job: scheduling all the teams, doublechecking planets the Research and Development department send his way and make sure that, yeah they have a breathable atmosphere, and yeah the natives aren't going to go all Hills Have Eyes on the teams.
It's making it harder for him to spend time with what he assumes is his budding family, because in the two weeks since Vala's fever broke, she hasn't spoken of their baby to him. Hasn't even used any coded words, knows since he dissects her sentences now, trying to discern if there's any hidden meanings that she's waiting for him to catch on to.
They haven't had a conversation about what and when to tell their superiors. About how she should've been removed from active duty seven weeks ago. Haven't discussed prenatal vitamins or birthing plans, he's been reading up on shit just in case things go bad, he'll know, he'll be prepared.
But he's never prepared for half the shit she does, and if it weren't for the physical differences in her body—the barely there dip of her stomach, the way she hisses when he paws her breasts too hard—then he'd just assume she chose not to keep it and just didn't tell him.
Doesn't have the time to dwell on how after four years, that's an option.
"Mitchell, why the hell do I have the HR department calling me up on a secure line to complain about you?" Landry's so loud he holds the phone away from his ear and can still hear the General. "They say they you're being too picky with the office temps."
"Well, that's subjective, Sir." Holds his hand up to halt a private at his office door who has probably come to deliver news he didn't want to hear. "I did ask that they do screening to make sure we're not hiring any Goa'uld or Goa'uld sympathizers."
"She says no one from the secure pool of applicants will take the job because they're afraid you're going to shoot them."
"That doesn't even make sense." The private tries to enter his office again, with jittery, wide eyes. When he holds out a hand to stop him again, the solider bounces on his feet, eager or anxious. "Vala shot the last one, they should be afraid of her."
"Speaking of Ms. Mal Doran," Landry's voice takes on a harsher, gruffer tone. "Legal wants to know how she got access to a gun when she was apparently on medical leave."
"I don't know, but she probably saved the lives of several staff members, including my own, when she put Gloria down."
"There's another thing—the IOA want to have a conversation concerning you and her."
Washes a hand over his face, only vaguely aware of the private about to explode in his open doorway. "Why?"
"You know damn well why." Landry almost laughs. This isn't exactly how he thought the revelation of his and Vala's relationship would happen, but he was counting down the days before Landry pulled him aside and asked why the fuck he's signing her out every night like his favorite library book.
Maybe he just likes to read.
Or maybe he's head over heels in love with her and he accidentally knocked her up on an official SGC mission and now he's afraid to leave her anywhere in case something happens to her or the baby they barely agree exists.
He's on the edge of digging out those bracelets she used on Jackson years ago.
"I just wanted to give you a heads up, son." Landry clears his throat and there's shuffling of papers. "If I were you, I'd sort this whole office assistant mess out as fast as possible and prepare for the IOA's investigation."
"Yes sir." When a click on the other end of the line answers him, he pulls the phone away from his ear, presses it into his forehead, closing his eyes in a moment of peace.
This is probably the beginning of the end.
"Colonel Mitchell?" The private steps over the threshold and into his office, back straight, legs twitching.
"Yeah?"
"SG-1 radioed in from the P3X-842, the natives are overly hostile—"
"It was supposed to be an easy first contact." Slams the phone back into the receiver, shooting up from his chair, forgetting about his thigh until the sharp pain bursts through it on his first step making his leg tighten. "Anyone hurt?"
"Dr. Jackson, well one of them, said everyone was fine so far, but that they were breaking for the gate. They're coming in hot in less than ten minutes, Sir."
"Have medical on standby." Hobbles around the desk, his palm digging into his thigh as he tries to straighten his leg. "And tell Research and Development to be better at their damn jobs."
Gets to the gateroom just before they all sprint through. Both Jacksons come through first, Teal'c positioned between them, his back still smoldering from an energy blast. It's only a few seconds, but he doesn't breathe until she backs her way through, gun still aiming at something following her.
Then, right before the portal closes, someone in heavy armor bursts in. By the time his hand falls to his holstered sidearm, she's shot twice, and the lifeless body slides down the ramp.
Huffs in relief as she beams at him, lowering her weapon and almost skipping down the ramp by the crumpled pile of armor, a mixture of what looks like a Kull helmet and less extensive body plates. "Everyone okay?"
"Teal'c took a blast to the back." One of the Jacksons explain as they stumble towards an awaiting stretcher from medical.
"You okay big guy?" Claps a hand down on Teal'c's shoulder as he sits on the side of the stretcher, leaning forward to keep the pressure off his back. When he takes a quick glance, the wound is large, but also mostly cauterized, he'll probably need just basic cleaning and some R and R.
Teal'c is sweating and breathing heavily but manages to crack a small grin. "I believe it is only a flesh wound, Colonel Mitchell."
"Good use of references, Buddy. And good to hear." Pats Teal'c's shoulder one more time, before four or more medical orderlies, begin to wheel him from the gateroom. It would probably just be easier if he walked, but protocols are protocols and what kind of example would he set if he went around breaking them all.
His eyes find her easily, weapon dangling at her side as she steps to the armor-covered body, first kicking their weapon away, and then winds up, punting them in the shoulder our of spite. Next to the armor, to the large body, she looks like the orderlies do next to Teal'c, frantic and scrawny. Maybe not scrawny but definitely scrappy.
Grins a bit out of pride because his girl is tough, she can take care of herself, something she constantly reminds him of when he now frets over every single off-world mission she goes on. Might also grin because she's so spunky, just kicking the shit out of the armored body with dainty little grunts.
One of the Jacksons notices the chuckle he stifles too late, and with a loud exhale, stands beside him. "That guy purposefully shot at her."
Tries not to let it change his disposition. "Yeah?"
"It was weird." The Jackson snatches his glasses off, using an already dirtied rag to clean them. The other Jackson trails along behind Teal'c who has only just made it into the hallway. "He had a better shot at me, or even Teal'c, but he only aimed at her."
"She okay?"
Jackson settles the glasses back on his face and then rolls his eyes at Vala kicking the armored person again. Points to his bicep as he turns to tail the other Jackson. "Grazed in the arm, I think. Everything happened too fast."
Nods, walking in the opposite direction, the muscles in his thigh still tight, still solid every time his foot hits the floor. "Vala," calls to her as she's about to give another kick, her head perks up and she grins at him, still a bounce in her step.
His intentions are to remain professional until they fully disclose their relationship, but he can see the barely there wisps of smoke pluming from the singed jacket material by her arm. Drops his head, trying to will away the irritation he feels, the infuriation, the fear. "What happened?"
Spins back towards the armored body and then back to him, a full grin still gracing her face. "I wanted to make sure he was—"
"Your arm?".
"It's just a graze," she reassures flapping out of her jacket, stretching out her arm, showing him the wound that's already been cauterized by the energy. It's about two inches wide and almost perfectly uniform.
Sets the weight of her arm in his hand, and ghosts his thumb over the scabbing wound, his fingers curling into her skin, hot from running, from adrenaline. Just a few inches. A few inches and it would've been through her chest. "Go to medical."
"Cameron, what—"
"Go get that cleaned up by medical." Turns away from her because he can't not think about how just a few inches saved her life, how the majority of the energy blast miraculously made it between her extended arm and the side of her torso. "We'll talk about this later."
"Talk about what?" Her voice is a little louder than it should be, firearm still swinging from her good arm as she marches after him now, the bounce dead in her steps. "I did my job efficiently and properly, this was—"
Maybe it's the constant buildup of job-related stress, maybe it's the fact that ninety-nine percent of that stress stems from her going out into unknown dangers every time she crosses the event horizon, or maybe it's how when she falls into her defensive mode she talks around his emotions. Whatever it is, it makes him pivot back towards and snap, "You shouldn't be doing this job."
She shouldn't, not now, she should be somewhere safe on the mountain translating Goa'uld dialects, or helping the Jacksons in their lab, or breaking into the cafeteria after it closes and if she were anyone else in the world, that's where he would've sent her.
As the shock drains from her face, quickly replaced by anger, he lowers his voice to a growl that rumbles from somewhere in the back of his throat. "Not right now."
She sets her jaw, and as her eyes narrow, he doesn't think she's scrawny or scrappy anymore, because she is definitely going to ream him out in front of everyone in the gateroom. He doesn't care because after Landry and the IOA are through with them, he probably won't have much say, but for now he has the authority and he's benching her from all off-world missions.
Before she lays into him and they start what would probably be one of the better fights of their relationship—at least he didn't leave her on the base this time—the armored body behind her shudders to life, with a disorientating shake of their head.
Tugs her behind him, while she readies her P90 along with the rest of the armed soldiers in the gateroom. The mountain of black armor sways to their feet, holding their hands up slowly, before reaching to unclasp the helmet.
Doesn't know who he expects to find, probably some low-level Goa'uld sympathizer working for Athena on the trap planet they fell into on some bad intel from the Research and Development department which, now that he thinks about it, has more than likely been compromised.
But nothing is as jarring as who greets them.
"Hi Honey."
Vala groans behind him, and the clacking of most weapons being holstered echoes throughout the room. "What are you doing here, Jacek?"
"Well, I just had some information I thought you'd want to hear." Her dad's voice is strained as he bends, setting the helmet on the ground and beginning to pull off pieces of the armor. He cranes his head up when she doesn't answer him. "You can lower your gun now, Sweetie."
"I'll keep it as is, thank you."
"Vala?" His hand curls around her arm, her bad arm, the one still pulled tight and aiming. Gets her frustration but not the violence, last time they met, Jacek wasn't dangerous, just annoying.
She stands straight, blinking back a tear and shaking her head to knock the hair back from her face. "Why did you shoot me?"
And he's ready to turn his gun on her dad without another word. The two or three inches that spared her life, the energy blast that grazed her arm, came from him.
"Honey, Daddy had to keep his cover."
"You could have—" Her sentence ends abruptly, and in the briefest of touches, her hand skims her stomach, the black shirt still doing a good job of hiding the barely there curve of her stomach. When her eyes flicker back up, the anger is renewed, the gun in her hand shaking from intensity, from stress. Her voice isn't sweet and lilted, but drips from the corner of her mouth. "You have no idea what you—"
He stretches to the nearest solider with nonlethal weaponry, motioning for the Zat, needing to stop the situation before she escalates more. Turning back, he shoots Jacek who continues to talk down to her, not realizing how serious she is.
Not aware of the damage he could have caused.
As her father crumples to the floor, guards swarm him, holding him up, much like the Jacksons just did for Teal'c.
"Sir?"
"Take him to the brig. Let me know when he wakes up, he has a few questions to answer."
She snuffles beside him, her shaky arm relaxing at her side. He waits for her to say something, but she just watches as the soldiers drag her father's unconscious body from the room.
"Vala?"
Shoves her P90 against his thigh, pressing until he takes it from her, then in the same daze, turns and begins walking from him, stopping only a few steps away. Clasps her hand over the wound in her arm, and stares at the floor as she addresses him, "I'm going to medical."
He gets to go interrogate Jacek. Her dad doesn't look up as he enters the room and shows no signs of regret, or even respect while he continues to fiddle with his cuffs. The empty chair grinds off the concrete floor when he yanks it from the table, and only then does he look up, hiding his now loosely cuffed hands in his lap.
Slaps his clipboard onto the table and nods to where he thinks the camera is. He's not too good at this interrogation thing, mostly because he's smack dab in the middle of good cop and bad cop. If it's a guy, Vala usually does the interrogations because her technique of batting her eyelashes and swiveling her hips, usually gets men to talk a lot quicker than Teal'c's whispered threats while he's too midline to either be threatening or friendly. "You don't need another pair of cuffs, do you?"
"I don't know why you put me in these things to begin with." Jacek holds up his hands and when the one cuff falls off he quickly hides them again. "I surrendered willingly. I'm not a threat."
When he was head of SG-1 and responsible for the others, anytime something in his plan went wrong and someone else payed the price for it, he could almost drown in his guilt. Now that SG-1 is fifty percent Jacksons, there's no leader, but it's still his plans. If he hadn't been tired from reviewing all the shit going on with Gloria—who Vala flawlessly took down while feverish and on medication and he's not sure why more people aren't commenting on that—he would have reviewed the plans from Research and Development more closely, realized the planet was still Goa'uld ruled and avoided the whole thing.
Without a change in his pitch, without a flicker of emotion on his face, he reminds, "you shot Vala."
"Oh with this again—you people are like a bunch of broken records." Jacek's hands hit the table for emphasis and there's no signs of any cuffs. "Just bring her here, I'll explain everything. Plus we have some catching up to do."
"It's been almost five years."
"Okay, a lot of catching up to do then."
"Well, she's in medical getting the wound you gave her cleaned up." Clicks on his pen and leans back in the seat waiting for a reason to keep Jacek around, because as of now, he's getting his ass booted back out the gate tonight.
"I'll just wait for her then."
"That might not work." Stretches his leg forward feeling the familiar creak in his thigh and his hip until there's a small pop and the pain decreases a bit. "Because she doesn't want to see you."
Jacek copies his lax attitude, leaning back in the chair and strumming his fingers against the tabletop, silently bragging. "I'll wait."
"See, we don't have that kind of time." Feeling a bit better and trying to find his interrogation level, he leans forward and in a threatening whisper borrowed from Teal'c, he explains, "right now it looks like you're going head first through that stargate in less than an hour, so you might want to try to change my mind."
Jacek grins and it isn't so much cheesy anymore as it is annoying. "It's a Goa'uld run planet."
"We already know that."
"The planet has a high naquadah supply, Athena shares—"
"Athena?" Swallows hard because once she didn't come back. She always came back until she didn't and when she finally did she wasn't the same, frail without admitting it, aching without showing it, overcompensating with him until she was no longer interested. Worse now, as much as he hates to admit it, but still worse.
If Athena gets her again, it's his whole family gone.
"Are you okay?" Jacek leans forward in his chair, his eyebrows raising with his question.
"Fine."
"Because your hands are red." Her dad points to where his balled fists sit on the tabletop. He clears his throat and shakes out his fingers to get feeling back in them. "Say are you the doctor fellow, or the army one?"
"What?"
"Forgive me, but last time you two boys looked so much alike, it was hard for me to tell you apart."
"I'm—" he sighs into his hand, physically and emotionally tired of their exchange already because he just might be the one getting interrogated. "—the army one."
"Damn, the doctor fellow is better."
"Well." That's a good place to end it. He slaps the table as he stands and straightens out his leg, only limping on the first step. "There's two of them now, so you can double your fun."
"I just mean—" Jacek stands and two guards open the door, not so much rush into the room as they hold their position, ready to intercept. "—doesn't she trust the doctor fellow? I thought he might be able to talk her into seeing me."
He scratches talk to her deadbeat dad off his to-do list. "She'll see you if she wants to, Jacek."
The pass to her room works fine and he's a little surprised, not that Vala has the authority to change his entry clearance, but she has the know how to rig up something to make her door refuse him. After everything that's happened today, he figures that she'll probably want to spend the night by herself. Can't image what it's like to be shot by a parent, but then again, he's always had a good relationship with his folks. One she adopts when he brings her home for a few days at Christmas or over the weekend for Thanksgiving. His mom knits her the ugliest sweaters he's ever seen, and she wears them with such pride, strutting around their house once they get back because his folks love her too.
They'd probably be over the moon about the baby.
Which is why he's here.
He thinks it's been an entire trimester, if he's done the math right. That's enough time to decide, and by not deciding she sort of decided. They need to make concrete plans, they need to have each other's backs in this because once the IOA gets involved it's going to get messy.
She's angled over her tented legs, chin on her knees as she carefully brushes color onto her toenails. It's a little harder for her to do now, she's readjusts, aware that he's there, and then stretches out her back, readjusting again. Her back as been more strained lately, he doesn't know if it's because of something Athena did, or an older injury, or just the strain of her body supporting the baby.
He clears his throat so that they can talk before his burst of courage disappears. So afraid of her leaving, but there needs to be clarity and if she runs, that's pretty clear.
Her eyes flick to him, and she shows none of the adoration he's used to seeing from her after she returns from a mission, even one as botched as this one.
With her not willing to initiate the conversation, he takes a step closer. "What did medical say?"
Exhales harshly and sets her jaw, her chin still balancing on her knee, and maybe he led with the wrong question because she recaps the nail polish. "Is this how the next months will be, Cameron? With you always watching over my shoulder, policing what I do?"
"Well, to be fair, I always checked up on you, even before you became, how did you put it? 'Unceremoniously pregnant' with my kid." She's full out glaring at him, not the playful kind where she feigns being angry with him until he buys her ice cream or lets her pick the radio station or takes her out to dinner.
It's how they have to have this conversation.
She has reservations about the baby, fears about the baby from bad memories, from bad experiences that she doesn't want to talk about with him, with Lam, with the SGC trauma psychologist. Maybe she'd talk to Sam, but she isn't due back for a few more weeks. So he'll have to try pissing her off to get some goddamn answers.
He can be bad cop.
"And to answer your question, I guess I'll only be policing if you decide to—"
Must see where his train of thought is going because she chucks the capped polish across the room, it slams onto her dresser top, skipping into several framed pictures of SG-1, of him and her, crashing them to the floor.
"That was completely—" wants to say it's an overreaction, wants to call her childish, because she can't admit to responsibility and maybe that's one of the reasons why she doesn't want to acknowledge her pregnancy, the permanent idea of a child they're going to have to take care of indefinitely, something to anchor her in place, or at least to him.
But she interrupts him with a loud sob, one that resonates through her entire body until she bows her head to her knees, hiding within the loop of her own arms.
He's bad at bad cop.
"Hey." Speeds to her, untangling her arms as she lets out another loud sob, and leans her head against his ribs as he tries to calm her with caresses because his words are lost in her wails.
Shifts to his knees so he can be more level with her. Ignores the pain, trying to balance more on his good thigh. Kisses her forehead and bows his head against hers.
It takes a few minutes for her breathing to even out, until she's not hyperventilating, but her body still trembles against his and she sniffs, running the back of her hand underneath her nose in a stuttered movement. She curves against him, resting her head on his shoulder, wet face pressing against his neck. "I'm exhausted, Cameron."
"Lay back."
"I don't want—"
Kisses her lips, a distraction as he lets go of her arms, afraid she's going to flutter away. "Just relax."
Tugs the comforter back and lets her crawl under the sheets and when he goes to leave, to let her rest, she snatches his hand keeping him in place. "What are we going to do?"
Sighs and rubs her thigh under the comforter, watches as she fights sleep to have this conversation with him. "I don't know, Princess, it's your decision."
"No. No." Waves a hand at him and then rests it against his knee. "I mean what are we going to do?"
"I still don't—"
"They're going to take your house. Take our jobs. You'll probably court marshalled, I'll be sent to Area 51 to rot. The IOA will—"
Slips a hand forward, blanketing her stomach and the dip. "You want it?"
She doesn't answer him, but she doesn't stray his hand, just blinks away her gaze to the dresser. "What are we going to do?"
"Everything will be fine." Leans across the bed, resting on his elbows and talking a bit to their baby, because he can now. "We'll figure it out."
"It's going to be a hybrid, Cameron." Still stares at the mess her outburst made, but her fingers preen through his hair in gentle strokes. "That doesn't go over well here."
"Vala." Pulls his legs onto the bed laying flush beside her, collecting her, just holding her. Feeling complete for the first time in three months. The relief is euphoric. "We have family here. Allies everywhere. We have options and people who have our backs."
"Yes, and perhaps bringing a child into a situation in which I need protection isn't the best idea."
Traces his fingers down her arm, over the freshly bandaged portion. "You know I'd protect you. I'd protect them."
She pushes back against his chest and stares him down, suddenly unwavering. "I will not give birth in captivity again."
"You're not going to."
"I promise you, no one will take another of my children."
And it's so easy for him to forget about Adria because he wasn't there. Didn't see them steal away the newborn, or Vala fight to get her back to the SGC, constantly suggest ways normal missions could shift into rescue missions because even though her daughter was an adult hellbent on conquering the universe, she never gave up.
He kisses her and feels the stress of the last three months begin to wane. Her fingers trace the collar of his shirt as her eyes grow heavy again and he stays stationary until her hands slows, then drops from his chest.
Tries to be nimble when he disengages from her, but the moment he gets up from the bed, the lack of his weight bounces the mattress and she groans, her hand on the small of her back. "Cameron?"
"Yeah?"
"Can you find me that pillow?"
"Yeah." Knows the one she wants, the one he bought for her. It's designed for between her legs to ease the strain in her back.
Cranes his neck to check the end of the bed and finds it toppled over the edge. Grabs the corner, tossing it into his vacated spot. She hums in approval, pulling back the sheets and positioning the pillow, shimmying her hips until she's comfortable.
Just watches her, because she's sleepy and content and beautiful and they're going to have a baby.
They're going to have a baby. The second time he thinks it, it's a lot scarier.
Sits on the side of the bed, tucking the blanket in around her. "I think it goes without saying that you're grounded from off-world missions now."
In half wakefulness she answers, "then I think it also goes without saying that we're going to need to explain to Landry the reason why."
Ignores her answer, because they've been focusing on the negative for so long, been stuck in a relationship limbo for so long, that he just wants to enjoy this. "You want me to come get you for supper? I think we should go out and celebrate."
Must realize he's on his way out because her hand swats blinding through the air at half her normal energy. "Stay."
"I can't, Princess." Catches her hand, entwining his fingers with hers, tempted to just do what she asks and sit back down on the bed. "I have to go kick your dad's ass out of here."
"Leave it for tomorrow, Darling." So tired her words are starting to come out as muffled slurs. She roots down in the bed more, her hand becoming heavier in his. "I want to speak with him in the morning."
They're at the door when he cuts in front of her, turning to face her, his arms crossed over his chest. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
She smiles, small but thoughtful, her mouth sort of skewing to the side and he thinks this is the expression that did him in four years ago. Her fingers tuck into the dip of his elbow trying to reassure him now. "I think I need to do this."
"Okay." Nods, his jaw clenching because he really didn't want her here. Gets that she's trying again to right wrongdoings she did years ago, sometimes not even as herself, but it's added emotional stress at this point. "Want me to come with you?"
"Not unless you particularly want to." Half laughs, turning to the brig door and keying in the code. He never gave her the code, but he's not surprised she found it without his help.
"I do."
"Cameron—"
"Hey, you can talk to my folks whenever you want. This might be the last time I get to see my father-in-law."
She rolls her eyes and it's all for show, he knows it is because this time it makes his stomach light, makes him get that excited feeling back. "I haven't said yes."
Leans into the shoulder of the wall, complimenting her sly grin with his own as the brig doors whoosh open. "You will."
Doesn't have a rebuttal for him, and it can only be a good sign. She takes two steps into the room and then beckons him with a slow wave of her finger.
Jacek sits at the interrogation table, decked out in a navy-blue fatigue jumpsuit, leaning sideways into the back of the chair. He's not wearing handcuffs anymore and it's obvious where she gets her escape artist tendencies from.
When Jacek sees her, he sits up straight, his face lighting up with a bright grin, not hers as she's told him before, she gets that from her mother. "Vala, Honey."
"Jacek." She greets, not entirely as cold as she can be, he's heard colder greetings from her directed at him, and she actually likes him.
"You still won't call me dad?"
"You still haven't earned it."
"Oh Sweetie, you gotta learn not to take everything as a grudge."
"If I was holding a grudge, I wouldn't be here right now."
"Then why'd you bring the Army One with you?" Jacek points at him from across the table and she tenses in her chair beside him. "I'm not going to hurt you."
She slams her hands into the metal table top leaving phantom handprints from her clammy palms. "You shot me."
"That's hardly a bee sting."
"You. Shot. Me."
"I told you, Daddy had to keep his cover. If the Goa'uld knew you were my daughter, they would've—"
"They don't care about you, Jacek." Exhales, her hand resting on her head. She glances over to him for support, for something, and he nods, whatever she wants to say, she should say. "This faction of the Goa'uld currently have a bounty out on my head."
"Vala, I would never—how much?"
He's never seen her get shot. Saw her die hundreds of times when one was too much, and never actually saw her take the blast. But the expression she's wearing, how her face completely falls at his words, and her eyes grow big and glassy as she blinks away from her father, from him, all he can think of is her hurt by a bullet.
Hurt by the words.
In another blink the expression fades from her face and out of eyesight she taps him three times on his good thigh, a signal they use in missions, or at his parents, or in situations they just don't generally feel comfortable in. "We should go."
Jacek shoots up when they stand. "Vala, that's not what I meant."
"It doesn't matter."
"I meant if the bounty is high enough, we can pull a switcheroo and—"
Whips around, her pigtails rotating so fast he has to duck. "You would honestly endanger my life to make a profit?"
"You wouldn't be in danger, more like at risk and—" When she starts walking for the door again, his words get faster, slicker. "Sweetie, you know the old bait and switch, you've been doing it since you could walk. You wouldn't get—"
"It is bad enough that you gambled with my life." Raises a hand to pound on the door, her hand as red as his yesterday. Slowly, she lowers it, grazing his as she turns, staring her father directly in the eyes. "But it's not just my life we're gambling with anymore."
"Hey, if you want to invite Army One in on the plan, I'm fine with—"
"I'm pregnant, Jacek."
And for the first time since he's regained consciousness, her father stops talking. Just stands in the middle of the interrogation room, his eyes staring off into space. "You're—"
"Pregnant," answers for her. Not sure if it's what she wanted, but she left a big enough pause for him to jump in.
"Oh Honey." Jacek beams, and it reaches his eyes, and he still can't see Vala in it. "That's fantastic. I'm going to be a grandpa."
"You have at least seven other children that I know of, one of them must have procreated by now."
"Oh all of them, but I don't really care about them." Waves them off as he takes another step forward, grinning and it's a little unsettling, because he hasn't figured out how a grandchild is useful to Jacek, and if it has anything to do with money, he doesn't want to know. "You were always my favorite."
She nods solemnly a few times, her teeth sinking into her lip. "I think we're done here."
"Don't go yet, Vala, don't—" when she pounds her hand so hard into the metal, he's afraid she's broken it, her father just nods. "Well, if you're ever on the outer plants drop me a line, let me know when the little sucker is born, and I'll come visit."
Outside the room she leans back against the doors. The guards eye her questionably, but he just nods reassurance at them. She grabs at his hand, still blinking away tears because what her dad is offering, they both know will never happen. She'll never trust him enough, aware now that everything Jacek spoke of about the Goa'uld planet was a lie in order to work the bounty con with her.
Through the solid metal they can still make out his rambling voice. "Jacek is a great name for a boy or a girl. In fact, you were almost named Jacek until I talked your mother out of it—"
"We have nothing for breakfast tomorrow." He runs around the bedroom picking up his boxers and socks off the floor, not even looking as he balls them and chucks them into the hamper. Grabs a pair of her cotton shorts from beneath the dresser and flicks a pair of her red lacy underwear out from under the edge of his bed.
"It's fine, Darling." She's tucked underneath the blankets, aware of his frantic cleaning, but eyes trained on the news playing on the TV. "Are there really places that enslave these animals?"
"What?" Glances up at the screen and it's a report about Seaworld and he hate it when she watches stuff like this because she ends up cranky and crying. "Honey, you gotta—"
"We should stop them. We have authority, right?" Brings her knees up against her chest though the action is stunted and he allows himself a brief smile for the reason why.
"We deal in aliens, not animal cruelty cases." Dusts off the top of his dresser. She made him fire the housekeeper. They're here too often now for having one to make sense.
"Shouldn't we be dealing with enslavement and violence and hunger on this planet before we go off on ambassador missions to others." In the last two weeks she's become very pensive, very sober and thoughtful about more issues. Maybe she was always this way in her inner monologue, and now she's just started sharing it with him.
"Well then we'd be out of a job."
"I'd much prefer to be out of a job." She's not upset, but it's said with a sigh, maybe just frustrated, maybe just tired.
"Why don't we focus on one issue at a time." Plops down on the other side of the bed, sort of leaning in on his elbows, stretching out his legs across the floor. He drops a hand to her stomach nestled under the blankets. "Like my pregnant wife has nothing to eat for breakfast tomorrow."
Side-eyes him, but wears a very faint smile, one that he would've missed a couple of years ago. "I haven't said yes, you know."
"You will." Her fingers drag through his hair and he captures her hand, kissing it before jumping up from the bed. "So, breakfast?"
"Commissary food is fine."
"It's not the healthiest."
"Yet your military feeds it to your troops."
"Hey." He strips down and crawls into bed beside her. "When did they become my troops?"
"When I didn't want them anymore." She tucks against his side, her head resting against his shoulder as he reaches and turns off the television, glad to get the news away.
His arm wraps around her back, resting on her hip just shy of her stomach. Doesn't know if she feels the hesitation in his fingertips, but her hand strokes his ribs and the sensation, her body against his, calms him. "We need to be on base by six tomorrow."
Leans over, his lips moving against her forehead as he questions, "why?"
"Apparently I'm entering another trimester." Cranks his neck as he shifts away from her trying to gauge if she's being truthful, if she's joking or playing him. She only stares at him, eyes wide in alert before reverting to half-lidded fatigue. A palm to his shoulder, she guides him back to the bed, and reclaims her position using his shoulder as a pillow. Once settled she mumbles, "Carolyn wants to do another ultrasound."
He loves her.
Would love her despite her choice, and he knows her choice was hard, the constant hardship of being her, of having a broken and reassembled body, of having intruders, alien or otherwise, enter her and leave parting gifts meant to kill her.
Knows she's doing it now, they're doing it now, and he needs to know why.
"Are you doing this for me?"
There's a long pause and her breathing is gentle and even, so he thinks she might be asleep, but she squirms against his side, crooking her head under his chin. "They deserve a chance, Cameron. I'm doing it for them."
Sometimes they make it through the night without her waking and screaming, without him talking her down from standing on the dresser, or him coaxing her from the hall closet. Sometimes he just talks to her. Sometimes he reads to her from Alice in Wonderland while she screams and sobs until her ears pick up on the words and she settles, eyes wild like an animal, but she settles.
Tonight, she doesn't wake him up.
Tonight, a resonating pounding on his front door draws him out of a deep sleep. As his eyes flick open, she jumps up from spooning him to standing in the middle of the dark bedroom, head snapping around trying to locate the source of the noise, while working herself into a corner, trying to ensure her safety.
In the weak streetlight he can't tell, but he thinks her hand is on her stomach.
"What's that?"
"It's just someone at the front door," he groans tossing his feet over the side of the bed and yanking on his boxers and a t-shirt. She stands stationary, like if she moves, she'll be targeted. "I'll get it, you're okay. Hop back in bed."
She nods, gripping the abandoned blankets when another loud burst of pounding booms from his front door. She recoils, dangerously close to crawling up on top of his dresser. "Honey, it's okay. You're okay."
He crouches beside her, petting the hair back out of her face. Her eyes aren't as wild as they can be, but they're flitting around adjusting to the darkness, aware of the way the shadows of the trees outside dance across the floor with the wind, the way the ceiling fan lazily loops.
Grabs her pillow, the one he bought her, that has again jumped from the end of the bed and onto the floor, handing it to her. "Stay here, okay?"
She nods, and her eyes calm as she traces his movements through the room. Then there's another pound at the front door and she jumps back up again, the pillow level with her stomach.
"For fuck's sake. I'm coming okay—"
As he moves through the dining room into the living room, the front door bursts open, locks cracking and hanging on its hinges. He stops counting as four men enter, three with tactical gear and masked faces, guns drawn at him.
The last one is Woolsey.
"Woolsey, what the fuck." They train flashlights on him and he winces, throwing an arm up to cover his eyes.
"Lieutenant Colonel Mitchell," Woolsey greets, his hands clasping behind his back, his stature straight and his chin sort of angled up. "You and Ms. Mal Doran are required to come with me at once."
"You ever heard of a phone?" Holds his hand out shooing away the lights and when Woolsey nods, the lights train to the floor. "Aww, man, look at my front door."
"It's not your front door, it's Stargate Command's."
"Look is there a reason for this house call?" Doesn't even deny that she's not there because she is and she's probably locked herself in the bathroom and hidden in the cupboard under the sink.
"You'll find out soon enough. Go retrieve Ms. Mal Doran and we'll be on our way."
"No, you tell me—"
"If you do not go get her, I will be forced to."
Now he's fucking mad.
"Is that a threat? Because if—"
"Cameron?" She leans her head against the bedroom doorframe. She's pulled on his gray hoodie but still only has a pair of boy shorts on. "What's going on?"
"Ah Ms. Mal Doran." Woolsey takes a large step forward and he takes one back towards her to keep more distance between them. "I'll be taking you into custody."
She turns to him, confused, waking up from her nightmare, just starting to clue in as one of the IOA soldiers grabs her arm. "Don't touch—"
All of the guns click onto her as she wrenches her arm away from the soldier and it's enough to make him freeze dead on the spot.
"Okay." Raises his hands up as a gesture of surrender. "Okay."
"Cameron?" His name is a disbelieving question because, yeah they could probably take all four of these morons, but then he'd be left to explain why, and he doesn't think that all their connections would get them out of it, at least not together.
"Go with them, Princess." She squints at him, still not fully understanding.
They march her out of their home. One soldier before her, one at her back with the sight of the gun never leaving her head. She glances back at him, but they prod her forward.
"You too, Colonel Mitchell." Woolsey nods to the door and he ignores the slivers of broken wood scattered across the floor, walking as fast as he can without them thinking that he's making a run for it.
They lead her to the back of a black van with tinted windows and spin her to cuff her hands behind her back. Wants to tell them it's pretty much useless, but her eyes find him across the front lawn and she calls out to him. The first time holds the same confusion as before, but the second time is fearful. They shove her into the back of the van as she screams his name.
"Don't worry." The words aren't loud enough for her to hear though, he can barely hear them over the sound of his own heart pounding.
"Colonel Mitchell, get into the car please."
Vaguely aware of Woolsey's demand, of the soldier at his back zip tying his hands together, but he takes another step as they slam the door shut in her face and he can't see her anymore.
He can't see her.
"I'll find you."
He's yanked from his spot on his front lawn, the one he meant to mow, as the black van grumbles to life. His eyes don't leave it, leave her puddled in the backseat behind tinted windows.
In the backfire of the van shifting into gear and speeding away he says it again. Shouts it this time, loud enough to wake the neighbors who already judge him and Vala for being loud.
"I'll find you."
And he will.
Because they always find each other.