John was on his way back to his quarters from deploying yet another unit on a mission when he heard the sounds of dry heaving coming from the direction of the latrines. He sighed, moving toward the sound - if it was another illness the person would have to be quarantined. The last time a sickness had passed through three dozen people had died.

In the shadowed tunnel just outside his destination a woman knelt on the floor, dark hair hanging down and obscuring her face. He crouched beside her and swept her hair back from a face slick with sweat, eyes widening in shock as he recognized her.

"Ally," he murmured, voice strained.

"I'm fine, go away," she choked out, pushing weakly at him. Spittle ran from her lips and John wiped her mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.

Ignoring her, he pulled her to her feet and half carried, half dragged her through the tunnels. She wrapped one arm around her stomach, fighting back her gag reflex as people looked on fearfully and shied away. One girl detached from the wall and approached him.

"General? I'm a medic, sir, if you'd like me to look at her."

He nodded and followed her to a section of tunnel where they always brought the sick. She pulled away from him and sat against the wall, putting her head between her knees.

"If you'll move back, sir, and let me examine her."

John moved to stand in the doorway and watched as the medic wiped her flushed face with a cool cloth, conversing with her quietly. He attempted to listen as the medic asked her questions, but could only catch snatches of the conversation. At a few of the questions the young woman's eyes flashed to him, fear and uncertainty plain in them.

"How far along?" the medic murmured.

"Around two or three months. It was hard to tell for certain."

The medic nodded. "It's common. With rest you should be back on your feet in about a week."

"A week? But my unit has a mission tomorrow, I've got to…"

"You've got to rest," John voiced. "You're no good to us if you're dead."

Allison flinched as though she had been slapped. "Is that all I am to you, then? A soldier?" she murmured, eyes glued to his face.

The medic rose. "I'll be right back, dear. I'll get you a little something for the pain and that should help the nausea."

"No, I'll be fine. Save the medicine for the wounded."

The medic studied her a moment and then nodded. "Well, make sure you don't go back out into the field for at least a week, and try to stay off your feet." The woman stiffened as she heard someone down the tunnel calling for medical assistance. "I've got to go," she murmured, fixing John with a distinctly negative expression as she rushed from the room.

He knelt by Allison. "What's all this?"

"A complication. I push myself. We all push ourselves and we can't go forever or we fall to pieces," she murmured, her head falling into her hands.

"You've been avoiding me."

"You would be angry."

"I'm not angry."

"Only because I'm not pregnant."

"You were," he stated, voice hard.

"Lots of people were. The world was, once. Babies everywhere. Fat cheeked and rosy."

She leaned her head back against the wall, eyes closed, and she breathed shallowly, one hand over her stomach, sweat breaking out on her brow again. He waited until she had relaxed a bit to speak.

"Who was the father?"

She fixed him with a glare that would have made his mother proud. "You bastard."

"It's a valid question."

"Not with me."

He shrugged.

"Sometimes I hate you. I always love you. I would die for you. But you can be a real asshole."

"I know." He paused for a moment before continuing, "I…I would be sad if you died."

"Well that's something at least," she murmured.

He leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead. "Let's get you out of here," John said, bending down and lifting her to her feet.

"John…"

"Hush."

He helped her back to the war room and she pulled away, leaning against the wall and breathing shallowly.

"How bad is it?"

She shrugged. "I've had worse."

He came up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders, tugging gently until she leaned back against him. He placed his hands on her stomach and brushed his lips along her neck.

"I'm sorry about the baby."

She shrugged. "It's rare to carry them to term anyway, what with the diet and the whole nuclear war thing."

"Don't. Don't act like it doesn't matter."

"If I don't I'll fall apart."

"Everyone needs to fall apart sometimes."

"You don't. And I can't."

He nodded in agreement, pressing his lips to the crown of her head.