Knocked Up

Chapter Four

"So, it turns out it's the house."

With a practiced move of his heel, Jack closed the bedroom door before aiming himself towards the bathroom. He pulled his sports jacket off his forearm and shook it out a little as he headed across the floor.

"That thing she wanted to keep? It's Janet's house in the Springs—not a baby." Working at the top buttons of his shirt with his free hand, he headed through the bathroom door and turned right to go into the walk-in closet. "She and the fiancé were planning on renovating it."

"Mmm." Sam's response was less an answer than it was a mere indication that she'd heard him. Sitting on the edge of the tub, she was worrying at her hair—a knot, maybe. Some snarl she'd garnered during the shower to which her robe and damp skin bore testament.

"Sam?" Jack paused on the threshold of the closet. "Something wrong?"

She looked up at him, but it took her too long to focus. A sheen of uncharacteristic befuddlement glazed across her features—as if she'd been the one out on the deck knocking back brewskies with Cassie instead of Jack. "What?"

"I asked you whether something was wrong."

"Wrong? No." Her attempt at a smile was—odd. "Not really."

Jack studied her for a beat before aiming himself into the closet. His side was closest to the door, so it didn't take long to hang up the sports coat and shuck the shirt off. Untucking his undershirt, he unbuckled his belt and slipped it free of the loops on his trousers.

But he stood there for a minute before hanging his belt on its hook. His jaw clenched tight as he tried to stare a hole through the wallboard. 'No' was an answer. Definitive. Exact.

'Not really', on the other hand—

Well, that was as obscure as anything a Tok'ra would say. Delphic—ambiguous. Intentionally nebulous.

And completely unlike Sam.

Not that she'd been particularly forthcoming at any point this evening—usually she was downright chatty when she and Cassie got to spend time together. At the restaurant she'd seemed mildly reticent, but he'd chalked that up to the crowd and the unfamiliar surroundings.

On the ride home she'd retreated more noticeably, falling quieter than he'd seen her since her father had passed away, when she'd stood aloof and apart from the crowd at the wake with a pasted-on smile and stormy eyes.

Suddenly, the plastic stick in his pocket felt heavier than lead.

Granted, that probably had something to do with all the pee. But still.

Clearing his throat, he moved back towards the bathroom, stopping next to the arch that separated the two. She was still sitting on the edge of the tub, combing her hair. Droplets of water burst outwards whenever she pulled too much at it, lit oddly by the light fixture over the big whirlpool soaking tub. That had been the clincher when he'd been house hunting. Land and space for him, and the jacuzzi for her. Perfection.

Or so he'd thought. He wiped the frown from his face. "So, I think we have it all sorted."

"Good."

"I apologized." He jimmied his knee back and forth. Working out the stiffness. "Groveled, really. I gave her a Guinness."

"Oh?" More droplets splashed haphazardly onto the thin fabric of her robe. It wasn't the thick one she'd appropriated from that bed and breakfast at Whistler. This one was thinner—more summery—with sleeves that folded above her wrists and a hem that ended mid-thigh.

Jack dragged his gaze away from those thighs—from the golden, toned perfection of them. He could live his entire life just looking at her—but right now, he needed to focus. "Now that I know that alcohol isn't verboten for her."

"Mmm." Throwing him a glance, she went back to work with her comb.

He watched her work for another spell. "Did you know that she was the one that called off the wedding?"

This got her attention. Those cerulean eyes found him—fixing on his face as they flew wide. "She what?"

"Cassie told me that she was the one that called off the wedding."

"Why would she do that?"

Jack stepped fully into the bathroom, looking down at his still-shod feet. "Hanka."

Sam's hands froze, then dropped slowly to rest in her lap. "Hanka?"

"She told me that she realized that she couldn't ever tell Dumbass—"

"Devyn."

Devyn. Hissing a curse, Jack rocked back on his heels. He was going to have to stop doing that—especially if the kid was going to be part of the family. Grimacing, he corrected himself. "She realized that she hadn't been telling Devyn the truth. She didn't like lying to him."

"Lying to him?" Her eyebrows rose. "What was she lying to him about?"

"About herself. It occurred to her at some point that she couldn't tell him about where she's really from and who she really is. About Hanka and all that she went through there."

Sam sorted through that for a while before tilting her chin to one side and frowning. It took her a long time to drum up a response. "That's never bothered her before."

"Well, apparently, it does now." Swiping at his jaw with his palm, he roughed at his five-o-clock shadow. He needed a shave. Hell, he needed a shower. Sadly, his wife had already indulged herself in that particular ritual while he'd been on the deck with Cassie, so he'd have to take his own alone. "She was also worried about her sketchy DNA."

"Sketchy DNA?"

"Her words, not mine." Moving sideways, he crossed into the bedroom, going over to the end of the bed. Jack lifted a foot to rest on the padded bench there. He'd positioned a cheap wooden chair next to his dresser for this particular purpose just after he'd moved into this house, but Sam had gussied the room up with decent furniture as soon as she'd moved in. The bench was part of that spate of redecoration. Not that Jack was complaining—the bench was useful for more than just untying one's shoes. In fact, it had been put to much much better use over the course of the past few months.

During activities much more interesting than removing footwear.

But he digressed.

"I have no idea what that means." Standing, Sam padded across the bathroom to the arched divider. Leaning against the wall, she folded her arms to watch as Jack untied his dress shoes.

"Something about what Nirrti did to her. About the experiments—that whole mind storm thing and the lab and all." He pulled off one shoe and started on the other. "She's concerned that all that will have made her genetics incompatible with Dumb—with Devyn's."

"In what way?"

Shoe in hand, Jack paused. Taking his time, he worked his sock downward towards his toes. "Baby stuff. With the—uh—getting of the baby stuff. With her innards. And—uh—things. You know—later on."

"Later on."

He tossed her a wary look "Because, obviously, she's not the one who's knocked up."

Sam's mouth gaped briefly before retracting into a little 'o'. She looked eerily like Daniel in that moment—he'd done the same thing with his lips whenever he'd quizzed any little bit of fluff out of some historic alien piece of whatever. Jack was used to Daniel doing it. The fact that Sam would—or could—replicate that look was more than a little disconcerting.

Pushing that disturbing tidbit to the back of his mind to contemplate another day, he resumed his work at the bench. Jack's second sock went the way of the first. Shoes in one hand and socks in the other, he turned back towards the bathroom.

"Anyway, she and I hashed things out." Still, casual. His tone was conversational as he moved past her back to the closet. "I think that she might actually end up getting married after all."

"How did you manage to do that?"

Tossing his socks into the laundry hamper, he took care to place his shoes on the shelf that had been appointed for that specific purpose. Gone were the days when he could just kick them off and rummage through the pile of footwear later. Sam liked things organized, thank you very much—a quirk that Jack was only too willing to indulge.

"Jack?"

It took him a few steps to get back into the doorway. He stopped just inside it—his toes on the bathroom tile and his heels on the closet's carpet. "I told her I'd call in some favors. Try to get the fiancé read into the program. He is Air Force, after all. In the future, we could use him in the infirmary at the SGC, and that way he could stay in the Springs with Cassie."

"To fix up the house with her."

Full circle back to his opening salvo. So she had been listening. "To do that. And to become the mister to her missus."

"Is that what she wants?"

"Yes." Leaning sideways, he butted his shoulder against the doorframe. "It is."

She drew herself up straight, fiddling with the comb that she still held. "Do you think that you'll be able to swing it?"

"I do. I called one of my contacts a few minutes ago. Barring something shady in his security check, we should be good to go. " Jack looked down at his bare toes. "She's outside talking to Devyn on the phone right now, explaining what she can. I'll tell him the big stuff. It's more official that way."

Sam wandered a few feet towards him, stopping just off the plushy rug next to the tub. Another of her additions to the place. Another way she'd injected herself into the space. "What did she tell him? When she called things off?"

"Nothing specific." Exhaling, he looked around the expansive bathroom—at the shower—the counter with the twin sinks—the decorative mirrors there—as he remembered. "'It's not you, it's me. I'm dealing with stuff.' The usual sort of tripe when you don't know what else to say."

"I had no idea she was so worried about all this." Sam closed her eyes, dipping her head towards her chest with a random little shake. "Some fill-in mom I am."

"Come on, Sam." Jack smiled—gently. He knew without a doubt that she wasn't in the mood for any smartassery tonight. "You're the most important person in Cassie's life."

"But she confided in you. She told you the whole story. I mean—I knew about the house. I knew that she wasn't pregnant." She tucked a still-damp lock of hair back behind her ear. "But I didn't have a clue that she was so worried about everything else."

Jack watched as she paced a few steps towards the counter and placed the comb next to the brush there. Folding her arms across her body, she focused on the sink—or the faucet—or the decorative cup she'd bought to hold her toothpaste.

Something—anything—other than him.

"I'm sure she'll still need a shoulder over the next several months." He kept his voice light. "And she'll want you to help her plan the big day."

"If it's not too late."

"It's not."

"Okay." Her lips twitched. Not a smile—but not a frown, either. "I guess."

Jack tried not to frown, watching her. He was used to his wife filling a room. Not like Teal'c, who dominated any enclosed space with his intimidating size and presence—but with her intellect, her compassion, and her strength. Not to mention that amazing smile of hers that served to both charm and disarm.

But just now, standing in this room, with her damp hair, shadowed expression, and bare feet? She seemed lost, somehow. Smaller. As if she were retracting into herself.

An impossible thing—but that's how it felt. "Sam?"

"Hmmm?"

So, she was back to monosyllabic communication. Jack clenched his jaw for a bit before easing into it. "Are we okay?"

She raised a hand to her lips, chewing absently on her thumbnail before making a quarter-turn towards him. "What do you mean?"

"This." He gestured between them with an open palm. "Us. It feels—off."

"Oh?" She turned her back on the mirror, but still didn't face him outright. And her voice was too bright. Her tone didn't match the hazy shadows in her eyes. "In what way?"

"Just something different." Jack passed his tongue across lips that felt parched. "I don't know. Like there's something wrong."

"With us?" She didn't wait for clarification before pushing a little further. "Since when?"

He considered before answering that—not wanting to place any sort of blame in particular. Finally he inclined his head. "Ever since earlier. With the whole stick test thing."

She raised one eyebrow.

"Ever since a few days ago. When Cassie got here." Jack breathed out a curse. "You've seemed—distant."

"Oh."

He hesitated for only a second before reaching into his pocket to retrieve the test. Holding it between his fingers, he tapped the non-business end on his palm. "It's not Cassie's. We've established that. And while I know that it's entirely plausible that this thing belongs to any of the apparently myriad women who have traipsed through the house in the past seventy-two hours, I just don't think that's the case."

Sam rocked backwards on her heels, worrying at her lip with her teeth as she made a thorough study of his face. "You don't."

He pressed his lips tightly together—proud that he didn't outright grimace. "Not really."

Nodding, she looked down at her feet again. "And you're worried about us?"

"We've lived most of our married life apart." He tapped the plastic stick against his palm again. As if punctuating his thoughts. "And things were—difficult—for us before that. Now that you're finally living here—now that neither of us are going anywhere for a while—"

But he couldn't put into words exactly what his concerns were—because he couldn't have defined them if he'd tried. He only knew that she was keeping something from him—something momentous. And while he had his suspicions of what that was, he couldn't understand why she was determined to keep it a secret.

Unless she didn't want that momentous something. Unless she hadn't intended to tell him about it until she'd figured out how to deal with it. Or—she hadn't intended to tell him about it ever.

"What are you saying, Jack?"

"That maybe you don't want to live here full-time." He sucked in a deep breath, raising the test briefly in the air before lowering it to rest on his palm again. "That maybe this isn't what you thought you were getting when we got married. Or what you expected when you came to live here with me. Maybe you're bored. Or don't want to be tied down. Maybe you miss it out there. The excitement, or whatever."

It took her a full beat to answer, and when she did, her voice was quiet. Tight. "Why would you think that?"

He indicated the test with a nod. "Because you didn't tell me about this."

"Jack—I—"

"So, I just thought that maybe you weren't going to tell me. That you didn't want this." He turned the thing in his hands, until the tiny window with its rosy lines flashed in the light from the fixture over the sink. "That this wasn't what you were signing on for."

Pivoting, she moved away from him—back towards the tub, to the thick rug there. Folding her arms across her body, she tugged the edges of the robe more tightly around herself.

Her eyes were wide, intense—even more vivid in a face gone pale. "I wasn't trying to keep anything from you."

"And yet, you did."

She nodded. Not in assent, but rather in acquiescence. Her toes dug deeply into the rich nap of the area rug, as the muscles in her legs tensed with her movement. Jack could tell when she'd made her decision by the telltale lift of her chin.

"After -882." Sam finally met his gaze. "When Cam and I were trying to hide that village."

It didn't take long for him to pull that reference out. He still remembered the tone of the doctor's voice. He'd been in classified meetings on the Hill with his phone turned off. It had been a few hours until he'd been able to check his messages. "General O'Neill—you'd better come now. As soon as you can." So, he'd commandeered a transport and headed to the Springs. He'd prayed—for the first time in ages—during his race cross-country. Actually prayed. He hadn't remembered how, really, and it hadn't mattered to whom he was pleading. The words had just filled his mind as he'd watched the clouds billow beneath the wings of the plane.

Please. Please. Please.

It had been touch and go for a while. He'd spent far too long sitting at her bedside in the infirmary just—waiting. Waiting to be able to breathe again. Waiting for her color to return. Waiting for her to come out of the grog of the anesthesia and assure him that she was still with him.

"I remember." He cleared his throat. "The Merlin device."

"When everything went so horribly wrong." She winced, biting her lip again. "I woke up and the surgeon was there. You hadn't arrived yet. You were still in transit."

"I came as fast as I could."

"I know, Jack." Her tone was almost unnaturally calm. "But before you arrived, they'd already patched me up in the operating room. The surgeon told me what the damage was. What she had been able to fix. And what she hadn't."

"You told me everything was fine. That you'd have a full recovery."

"And I did." She raised a hand to tuck her hair back behind her ear. "Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"I lost an ovary. There was damage to my fallopian tubes." She smiled oddly—self consciously. Despite having been married for years—hell—despite having lived in each other's pockets for years even before that—these were things they'd never discussed. "The surgeon said that everything in that area had been affected in some way. There was scar tissue. Trauma to most of my reproductive organs. She highly doubted that I would ever be able to have normal cycles—much less be able to conceive."

"You never told me any of that."

"I didn't think it was important."

"Why would you think that?"

Her hands dropped to her sides. "Because I knew that you didn't want children."

Jack stilled, then pushed away from where he'd been leaning against the arch. "When did I ever say that?"

Those blue eyes landed on him. "You didn't. Not in words."

"Then how did you get the impression that I didn't want kids?"

"Well—you never said you did want them."

"I didn't think you wanted children, Sam." Jack's brows rose. "You seemed completely focused on your career. I didn't want to ask anything else of you that might derail your plans."

Her gaze grew sharper. More narrow. She took a step backwards—until her heels hit the edge of the tub. Even then, she appeared to withdraw further, smoothing down the satiny hem of her robe as her jaw clenched once—and again. Finally, she sucked in a quick breath before asking, "So—do you?"

It took him far too long to answer—but it was difficult, what with the way his throat had closed up. With how his entire body had gone tense. When his voice emerged, it was quiet. "Do I want kids?"

"Yes." She resumed chewing on her thumbnail for a moment. When she spoke again, it was stronger. "Do you?"

"Well—yeah." Glancing over at the test next to him on the counter, he raised his shoulder in a haphazard shrug. "If the opportunity presented itself."

"Oh." That little wrinkle deepened above the bridge of her nose. Shuffling forward, she stopped just at the edge of the rug. "Really?"

"Have a kid with you?" Jack bit back a grin. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he tilted his head to look at her. "That would be—just—"

But he couldn't finish the thought—not with the sudden melange of images rushing through his head. Thoughts—impressions. Feelings. Lightness—gravity. Memories of his past interspersed with the possibilities of some vague future. Saturday morning cartoons and bike rides and tickle fights before bed. Bubbles and stuffed animals and airplane rides with a kid's hearty giggle bounding through the air. Stories after bathtime. Skinned knees and snuggles and sleepy baby sighs on his shoulder.

Fear. Good lord almighty—fear. Right alongside soul-blinding, bright-white hope.

He had to try twice to speak past the knot in his throat. "I would really like that."

Her hand dropped, and she merely looked at him, her tawny brows rising. "You would?"

"Well, yeah."

She moved with a sudden certainty, taking the distance between the tub and the sink in a single stride. Bending, she opened the cupboard door and reached into the cabinet for the box of tampons Jack had eyed earlier. Digging through the plastic-wrapped contents, she found a zip-lock baggie at the bottom and pulled it out. Straightening, she tossed it to land beside the pregnancy test that Jack had placed on the counter.

"I didn't believe it." She stepped backward, pointing at the baggie. "They told me that it wasn't possible. At my age—hell—at our age. I mean—neither of us are spring chickens. And with the damage that had been done. I didn't take the whole birth control thing seriously because they told me it was impossible. So, when I got home, I wasn't too careful."

"Not too—"

"I mean—I hadn't had a normal period in ages. Not since before Atlantis. I figured they were done with. So, I didn't even bother taking the pills I picked up."

"So—"

"So I must have ovulated spontaneously right as I got home."

"Ovula—" His voice faltered just a bit on that one before she interrupted him again.

"There's no way of knowing when it happens unless you're watching or testing for it. It's not like there's a meter or a gauge."

The words popped into his fron and then out of his mouth before he could think better of it. "A well-placed toggle?"

She shook her head, that random smile still curving her lips. A little frantic—a little wild. "There was no way to know."

"And now?"

"Now?" She tapped the bag with her index finger. "Now—this."

"Sam—I don't—wow." Jack studied the baggie, poking at it to cause the contents to shift enough to be recognizable. It was full of pregnancy tests. A whole mess of them. Different colors and styles and sizes, but all of them reading the same twin lines on their tiny window screens. "Wow."

"I first suspected I may be pregnant a few days ago. I just felt—weird. I thought it wasn't possible, but the signs were all there. So, I bought a test at the convenience store at the end of the street when I stopped for gas the day before yesterday. I took it—and it was positive. I thought—'that can't be right—I'm infertile.'" Moving closer to him, she ripped open the bag's seal and upended it, sending myriad plastic sticks clattering across the granite. "And then I wondered if I could trust a test from the Come-and-Go Quick-Mart. That can't be all that accurate, can it?"

Jack couldn't speak—all he was capable of doing was watching as her deft fingers tried to organize the jumble of plastic.

She gave up halfway through. "So when I was at the grocery store, I went to the family planning aisle. Did you know they keep the pregnancy tests right there with the lube and condoms? It's all just—right there. Like some sort of college freshman cautionary tale."

"Okay."

"And there are so many brands and styles. Name brands. Store brands. International brands. Cheap. Expensive. First Answer. Clear and Easy. Find Out Now!" She'd read off the names on some of the sticks. "And most of them came in two-packs. So, I bought a few boxes each of several different brands and then scheduled a scientific rotation based on the method and timing of the sample collection."

"Collection method?"

"Dixie cup versus attempting to deposit the sample directly on the test."

"Urine. That's the sample you're talking about, right?"

But she was into the weeds of it now. "I planned it out. A schedule based on a dual methodology of time of day and alternating sample collection methods. No blind testing, of course, since I was the only one involved. But nonetheless, as scientifically sound as possible, given the circumstances."

"How many—"

"Tests?" She looked down at the array of testing paraphernalia, calculating in her head. "Twenty four. Six different brands of tests from different price points and consumer satisfaction spectrums, four tests each divided by two different times of day and two different sample retrieval methods."

Because of course she'd done it that way. This time, he couldn't quite quell the smartassery. "Only twenty-four?"

"Well, twenty-five, actually. If you count the Come-and-Go Quick-Mart test that you found in the trash downstairs." Color had risen from her throat to stain her cheeks the most delicious shade of pink. She scrunched her nose up before looking at him again. "And I'm prattling on, aren't I?"

Jack's teeth flashed in a wry grin. "More like babbling, but whatever."

"Babbling." She covered her face with her palm. "I'm babbling, Jack. I never used to babble."

Well, that was a blatant lie—but he could overlook it if she'd just get to the point.

He waited as long as he could. It wasn't long. Patience had never been his strong suit. "So—what are you saying, Sam?"

"I took twenty-five pregnancy tests." Even she looked perplexed at that—not to mention a bit sheepish. She ran a hand through her hair—apparently forgetting about the snarl she'd been working on earlier. Her fingers tangled near the ends, and she grimaced as she tugged them free. Sighing, she glanced up at him again. "Twenty-five."

Was that a lot? Jack shook his head in wonder. It seemed—well beyond adequate. Excessive, even. But then, she'd always been an overachiever. "That's a lot of pee."

She barreled right past that as she leaned closer to the counter, bracing her hip against the edge as she returned her gaze to the panoply of plastic test sticks spilled across the countertop. "But based on all available test results across the various methodologies, the conclusion seems to be clear. Uniform corollaries typically show proof."

"You're—" he twiddled his fingers in the direction of her abdomen. "It's you."

"It's me." She looked down in the direction of his twiddling. "It's not Cassie or any of the rest of them. It's me. I'm knocked up."

"Just knocked right the hell up."

Her hand came down to rest just below her waist. Protectively. Or maybe just in an attempt to come to terms with the new reality. "It seems so. At least, according to the Come-and-Go Quick-Mart."

It seemed incumbent upon him to put things into glaring focus. "We're having a baby?"

She inhaled so sharply that she squeaked. Squeaked. Then raised her hand to her lips and nodded as she blew out a controlled sort of bracing breath. "We're having a baby."

Hot damn.

Hot freaking damn.

Jack couldn't not touch her any longer. Reaching for his wife, he pulled her close, ridiculously gratified when her arms wrapped around his waist and her cheek found its way to his shoulder. He pressed a kiss to her crown, her thick hair cool and damp against his lips, before drawing back just enough that he could frame her face in his palms and take her mouth with his own.

Soft—soft—hesitant until she moved closer, until her hands rose to rest on his sides, her body nestling close. She felt so right there—like she always had—her curves fitting against him so perfectly that it seemed as if they were two halves of the same whole.

Well—three halves, now. Or something.

The thought made him go deeper—longer. Urging her lips to part, he tasted her in sweet little darts of his tongue as he smiled against her mouth, as his fingers gentled on her jaw, skimming her throat and the silken, pale underside of her chin.

"Is it okay?" She spoke against his lips, her hands rising to splay on his chest. Pushing away slightly, she angled a look up at him. "I mean—is this what you want?"

"Oh, yeah." He smoothed her hair back behind her shoulder, running his fingers along her lovely line of her cheek, the outer curve of her ear. "It's perfect."

And then that smile—the one that he loved. The one that was secret and sweet and intimate—the smile that teased both dimples free and made him feel complete. "I was so worried."

"You shouldn't have been."

At least, he thought he'd said it. But then he was lost in the feel of her again—in the way she lifted up on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck. At how bold she was in taking control of the kiss—nipping and teasing at his mouth as her hips pressed close and her bare thighs tensed against the fabric of his trousers.

Intoxicating—all tingly and wanton and wild. Drunk-lust. Ridiculous when she hadn't touched a drop, and he'd only had a beer and a half. Jack felt slightly dizzy—with her hands in his hair and his blood rushing through his veins at the speed of life.

She tilted her head and captured his bottom lip between her teeth, humming a deep sigh as she sucked lazily, as her hands trailed down his body to tug his shirt up enough that she could stroke bare skin. Then more—up past his chest and over his head. Smiling, she tossed the undershirt aside and brushed her fingertips through the hair on his sternum.

This woman—this amazing, beautiful, kick-ass woman—his wife—his pregnant wife.

Hot freaking damn.

"Sam—"

What was he going to say? There was something—

But it was gone—his mind had gone blank as she'd moved to tease at his earlobe with her tongue and teeth—before going lower to pause for a taste of his shoulder—his chest. He couldn't have summoned up her name—much less a coherent thought—not as her nimble fingers made quick work of his button and fly—and sure as hell not as he realized that he'd managed to push her robe off her shoulders and halfway down her back—damn. So perfect, all golden smooth creamy perfection. As soft against his tongue as her palms were on his back, his sides, his stomach.

She stepped away long enough to let the robe fall the rest of the way, and Jack dipped down to circle her hips with his arms and lift her up against him, returning to her mouth as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

"Bed."

"Damn straight."

He didn't need to be told twice. Pivoting, he strode into the bedroom—both arms holding her tight—with her hands roaming through his hair and her mouth warm against his skin—to the bed, where he knelt on her side of the mattress and deposited her onto the poofy duvet. With a soft laugh, she reached for him as he lowered himself down next to her.

"Jack—"

"Mmm?" Nothing more than a murmur on her collarbone, as he laid a path of languid kisses down her body.

"Jack—wait—"

She was on her back, half-tucked beneath his body, wearing nothing but her plain cotton panties. In the light making its way in from the bathroom, she glowed—her hair a riotous tumble of gold across the comforter, a pink flush staining her cheeks and jaw, her eyes deep, deep azure as she looked up at him.

He couldn't stop touching her—braced up on one elbow, his other hand stroking purposefully up and down her bicep—her breast—her abdomen. "Yeah?"

"Are you sure?"

"About making love to my beautiful wife right this exact minute?" He lowered his head to nip gently at her throat. "Absolutely."

"No." She shook her head—but she was smiling up at him. "I'm on board with that plan."

"Of course you are." He laughed against her skin. "It's tactically sound."

Her nails raked through the hair at the base of his head. "I'm talking about the baby."

Jack raised up to look at her—to meet her clear blue gaze with his own. "Am I sure?"

"I just didn't think that this would ever happen. I'm the one that screwed up. I should have been more careful, and now our entire lives are changing due to my screw-up."

He touched her cheek again, sweeping across the delicate arch with the edge of his thumb before making a light exploration of her lips with his fingertips. "Remember that thing that got implanted in our heads? The annoying shared hallucination of a bald guy with the whining and the prodding and the mad appetite?"

Sam's eyebrows dipped as she found the correct reference. "Urgo?"

"That's the one." Jack touched the tip of her nose. "Remember what you said about him? That he wasn't an accident or an error. He was something else entirely."

She bit her lip a little, recalling the incident from so many years before. "He was a miracle."

"And this." He fitted his palm to her abdomen, testing the nascent roundness there. Imaginary, he was sure—it was too soon for her to be showing, after all. "This is a miracle, too."

She made a noise deep in her throat—half-sob, half-sigh—before tugging him back down to take his lips again. Slower now, the kiss full and deep as she wrapped a calf around his thigh, as her body rose up against his. As he slipped his fingers beneath the waistband of her panties and she worked at his slacks.

Something—there was something he'd meant to say. Through the haze, the passionate fog, he remembered something. Important. Vital. Profound.

"Sam?" Scarcely a whisper. A breath that skimmed the perfection of her skin as his lips drifted light kisses down her shoulder.

"Mmm?"

"I love you." He breathed it against her throat, nuzzling at the softness beneath her ear. She smelled like vanilla—her shampoo, probably—but cloying and sweet and enticing. Just like the woman she was—the woman who had given him back his soul. "You and our miracle both. You know that, right?"

And he felt, rather than saw her smile, as she turned into his touch and gave herself over to wonder.