Archive of Our Own

It happens on an otherwise incredibly boring day, when John's checking out an auxiliary med lab with Doc Keller and her team. He's leaning up against a convenient wall waiting for something interesting to happen, so when Keller calls his name, he straightens and does his best to pretend he's not half-asleep.

"Yeah?" John says.

"Can you come activate this for us?" Keller smiles at him, that closed-mouth, dimpling smile she used to point at Rodney back when they were dating. Of course John doesn't think she's flirting with him. She's never shown the least bit of interest and he's always been grateful, because as his doc she's seen him in some pretty embarrassing situations.

"Sure," John says, ambling over. The device is flat and square, a little bigger than a laptop. "What's it do?"

"We haven't figured that out yet," Keller says. "That's why we, you know, need it activated."

John suppresses a sarcastic comment about stating the obvious and reaches for the device. Keller reaches at the same time, picking it up to hand it to him, and there's a moment when they're both holding it. And then there's a flash of light, and when John opens his eyes, the floor is cold under his ass and Keller's face is looking down at him, shocked and worried.

"Colonel? Are you all right?" She has one hand on his neck, and the other on his chest.

"Thought it was your job to tell me," he says, pulling away from her hands to sit up. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"I'm going to need to do a thorough scan," Keller says. "In the infirmary. C'mon, everyone, we can finish this work later," she tells her team. So John's stuck following her to his least favorite place in the city of Atlantis.

*

The scans all come out clean, but John can't help thinking about Rodney and the ascension device. "Tell you what," he says as he slides off the exam table. "I'll let you know if I feel any superpowers coming on."

"I'll need to know about anything unusual," Keller says with a little frown. "Not just good things."

"Sure thing, doc," John says, and escapes before she can poke or prod him with anything else.

*

He feels fine, so he forgets about the whole incident and goes about his usual business, shooting at bad guys and making the galaxy safe for his city and small children and those weird, goat-like creatures on M5T-937 that taste, improbably, like artichokes. Of course, they hauled twenty freezers full of frozen goods from Earth when they left the Milky Way, so they're not back to eating Pegasus goats yet, but it'll probably happen eventually, especially since Rodney won't let them use the wormhole drive again. Something about tearing the fabric of the universe or whatever -- John's not sure because he wasn't paying attention. But he's starting to think the freezers aren't working right, because his bacon this morning doesn't taste right.

"Does this taste weird to you?" he says, putting it back down on his plate. He doesn't spit out the part he bit off, but it's a near thing.

"What?" Rodney says, stuffing another piece into his already-full mouth. "No, it's great."

Ronon's eating his bacon on his oatmeal. "Tastes fine to me," he agrees, and Teyla tilts her head.

"Are you feeling all right, John? You look rather pale."

"I'm fine," John says. "Just not real hungry."

"Perhaps you should see Dr. Keller," Teyla says in that painfully concerned voice she gets sometimes. He hates that voice.

"I told you," John says, standing up to bus his full tray, "I'm fine."

*

He's not, though. He feels disgusting. He keeps thinking he's going to puke, but he doesn't. He just can't eat anything without being nauseated. And Teyla's onto him. No matter how much he pretends to eat normally, he can tell she's watching him.

"John," she says after the fifth day of it. "You really do need to go to the infirmary."

"It's just a stomach bug," he mutters.

"It has been five days now," Teyla says calmly, and he's at least grateful that she cornered him alone rather than doing this in front of the rest of the team. "If it were a normal illness, it would have passed by now."

"I'm fine," John says, and doesn't let her bully him.

After that John forces himself to eat and manages to keep it all down, and Teyla stops giving him concerned looks. And anyway, Teyla's wrong, because after a few more weeks -- okay, more than a few, but six or eight, anyway -- the nausea passes and he feels fine. Great even. He's eating enough to make up for feeling sick and he's running every day again jerking off at least that often and he's disgustingly cheerful. Even Rodney notices.

There's only one problem. He's having trouble buttoning up his pants. It's the weirdest thing, because he's not eating that much. But it's not just bloating, or if it is, it's getting worse, because his pants go from being a little tight to only buttoning when he pushes them down beneath the swell of his belly.

His ass is still the same size. He knows because he's checked it out in the mirror. It's just his stomach. And the scale, which says he's put on eight pounds. He steps up the running and tries to cut back on eating, but it doesn't work. Well, he doesn't gain any more weight, but his stomach keeps growing, and it starts feeling weirdly quivery inside.

It could be a tumor. Probably not the exploding kind, or he'd be splatter already, but he knows he should get it checked out. Even if it doesn't really show. He's never been so grateful for his loose uniform blouse or the fact that he doesn't have to wear it tucked in.

"Oh my God," Rodney says. "You're fat."

John's head jerks up and he can feel his ears going hot. They're sitting out on the pier catching a little sun, and he's leaned back on his hands without thinking about it, his shirt stretched tight over his bulging belly. "Am not," he says, and leans forward so the shirt covers him loosely again.

"What have you been doing, raiding the kitchen at night?" Rodney says. "Or, no, please tell me you didn't discover my stash of Fig Newtons, because I was saving those for a special occasion."

"I didn't eat your damn cookies," John says, but the magic of an afternoon with nothing to do is broken and he climbs to his feet. "See you later, McKay."

*

He heads straight for the infirmary, hoping that since it's Mandatory Rest Day Keller won't be there, but of course she is.

"What seems to be the matter?" she asks, and he waits until she's pulled the privacy curtain before stripping out of his shirt.

"Oh my God," she says, and he's never seen her eyes wider.

He waits while she pokes and prods him, then sends him under three different scanners. He can tell it's bad because she's chewing on her lower lip, and when she finally comes over to him her eyes are still wide.

"I'm sorry, but they really didn't teach this in medical school," she says, and she's pursing her lips like she's the one panicking.

"So I'm dying," John says, and it's actually not all that hard to say.

"No, no!" Jennifer says. "Well, it's the opposite, really. It's just not supposed to be possible, only, oh. Oh, God. That device you touched. Three months ago, on the South-east Pier? That must have been what did it."

"Did what?" John growls, because she's almost as bad as Rodney like this.

"I'm sorry," she says again. "I'm afraid I have to tell you, um..." She pauses, her eyes on his. "You're pregnant."

"I'm what?" John says, because it's fucking impossible, only it obviously isn't because it makes too much god-damned sense, what with the nausea and the bump. "I'm not a woman," he says. "Wrong parts."

"Oh!" she says. "No, I mean, obviously. You don't even have a uterus. The device seems to have created some sort of encapsulating membrane, and it looks like there's an adequate blood supply for the placenta, but it's really not the same thing at all."

"Jesus," John says, and closes his eyes. Fucking perverted Ancients. He's never touching anything in this city again. "So how do we get rid of it?"

"Um," Jennifer says again, and her cheeks are even pinker than they were before. "Well, it would require surgery, and you do realize you're eighteen weeks along, right?"

He counts it up in his head, but she's got her math wrong. "Sixteen," he says. "It's been sixteen weeks since I touched that damn thing."

"Oh," she says, "right, that's true, but with women we count an extra two weeks. To the last period, you know."

"I don't have a fucking period," John snarls, and damn it, how is this his life?

"I know, I know," Jennifer says. "Just, you know. You're pretty far along. The fetus is almost viable."

"Crap," John says, and looks down at the bulge. This is so screwed up. "What do you want me to do, keep it?"

"Well, if there were any way to take him out right now, I would," she says. "I mean, if we could save him. If we can't, well, I guess we're not under any Earth laws right now, so it would be your decision." And she looks away with a little bob of her head that tells him there's something she's not telling him.

"What?" he says. "C'mon, there's something else, isn't there?"

She nods and slowly raises her head. "Yes," she admits, meeting his eyes and then looking away. "Yes, there is. The other half of him, the part that isn't genetically yours? Is mine."

"Oh, fuck," John says, and he should have known there was a father. Mother. What the fuck ever.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I had no idea."

"Yeah, well, me neither. Obviously," he says.

"So what do we do now?" she asks.

John runs a hand through his hair. He doesn't want to be pregnant. He doesn't want a kid. But he knows from Rodney, who's amazingly indiscreet after a single beer, that Jennifer can't have kids on her own. Some kind of female trouble Rodney didn't go into, but Rodney had been wistful and it had sounded like Jennifer was pretty broken up about it. And from the expression on her face right now, she still is.

"You want this kid," he says, and it's not a question.

"It's not my decision to make," she says, and she's being so god-damned fair he wants to hit something, because he's not sure he can ask her to do it, not when it would mean making her cut out her only chance at motherhood.

Even if it is a parasite inside him.

"I'm gonna have to think about this," he says, and he tries to ignore the relief on her face.

"I'll need to see you as soon as possible for a proper check up," she says. "If you, you know, decide to keep him."

She keeps calling it "him" and it's getting on his nerves. "You just saying that, or do you actually know it's a boy?" he asks.

She's pink again. "It's a boy," she says. "Here, you can see on the scan."

He doesn't want to look. He's not going to look. But then he's looking and it's right there on the screen. A human being in miniature, half him, half Jennifer Keller. Jesus fucking Christ. It looks weird. The head is totally out of proportion to the little froglike body, but it's obviously human, and apparently that's what they're supposed to look like.

Crap, he is so not ready for this.

"I have to go," John says, and makes a run for it.

*

The funny thing is, John's always been aggressively neutral on the whole abortion thing. He's never had reason to take a stand, and it's always been easy enough to just ignore the whole debate. But now he knows exactly where he stands.

But Keller's still the problem. He tries to avoid her, but he keeps seeing her -- in the mess, in the hallways. She's not following him around, but her eyes latch onto him whenever he sees her.

It would almost be easier if she were guilt-tripping him, or even asking. As it is, he feels like a cad for even wanting it, which is nuts, because it's his own god-damned body.

Maybe the problem is he's always been a sucker for damsels in distress. Even if he never thought he'd rescue one quite like this.

*

He tells Teyla first. It seemed like a good idea at the time -- after all, she's been where he is, well, sort of.

"It is a great gift," she pronounces.

"A gift from the Ancestors? Oh, come on. You've been here long enough to know just how skeevy they were."

But she refuses to be sidetracked. "Does it matter?" she asks. "This is a child, John. Surely the life within you is more important than how it got to be there."

That's easy for her to say. She got pregnant the fun way. "I guess kids are pretty important around here," John says, fully realizing for the first time how very different population pressures are in Pegasus.

"Are they not important on Earth?" Teyla asks, and John doesn't have an answer for that.

*

Ronon is easier. Well, sort of.

"Jennifer knocked you up?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess you could say that," John says. "It wasn't really on purpose."

But Ronon just gives him a look and goes back to eating. "Glad it wasn't me."

There's not much a guy can say to that.

*

He saves Rodney for last and braces himself.

"You're what?" Rodney says, staring so hard his eyes bulge in their sockets. "How is that even possible? Yes, yes, I know, Ancient technology can do things we've never thought to dream of, but seriously, you just touched it and it made a baby? Then why the hell did it put it in you instead of her?"

John shrugs and leans over the balcony railing, watching the reflections of Atlantis's lights in the dark water below. He's surprised no one else has asked that question. "Maybe it figured out that she can't."

"Huh," Rodney says, looking thoughtful, although no less freaked out. "Actually, no. I mean, seriously, if you can be pregnant without a uterus, I don't see why she -- "

"Whatever," John says, because that's too much detail already and he really doesn't want to know. "It's not like it matters because I'm the one it picked."

"Oh, God," Rodney says, and John can almost see the gears turning. "She's going to be devastated when you get rid of it."

Leave it to Rodney to cut to the chase. "Yeah," John says. "About that."

"No, no, wait," Rodney says, turning to face him, fingers snapping. "The device! Do you know where it is? Please tell me they haven't disassembled it in the name of science."

"I don't think so," John says warily, because whatever's making Rodney's brain move this quickly just can't be good. "I think the doc has it in her research lab."

Rodney turns and paces the length of the balcony. "So we break in. That shouldn't be too hard; I know where Jennifer keeps her keys. We take the device, and then all I have to do is...wait, you said it happened when you both touched it at the same time? So all I have to do is arrange for her to touch it when I'm touching it, right?"

"What the hell, McKay?"

"No, no, no, it's perfect," Rodney says. "If I'm already carrying her child she won't be so upset when you decide to terminate. See? It's win-win."

John rolls his eyes. "You really think she'd take you back if you had her kid? I hate to break it to you, but that only happens in sappy chick flicks."

"Oh," Rodney says, his shoulders sagging. "You mean, she wouldn't?"

"No, she'd just think you were a manipulative asshole."

"That's not fair," Rodney says.

"Yeah," John says, and pats his belly. "Well, neither is this."

*

"You're what?" Keller says, staring at him all wide-eyed again. She has her hair up in a ponytail, and it makes her look younger than ever.

"I'm keeping it," John says. "On two conditions. You take it out as soon as you can, and you take full responsibility for it once it's out."

"Oh, God, really?" she says, her eyes going suspiciously shiny. "I can't believe you'd actually... I mean, you want this? You don't want the child, but you want me to raise him?"

"He's yours," John says. "And you said he's almost viable, right?"

"Yes, well." She goes pink again. "It's not, I mean, there are certainly babies who have lived at twenty-two or three weeks, but even with access to Ancient technology, the odds of survival aren't all that great."

He should have known there was a catch. "How long?" he asks.

"Um, technically full term is thirty-seven weeks," she says. "But of course we don't have to wait that long. Legal viability is twenty-eight weeks. Maybe we could shoot for that? That would give him over a ninety-five percent chance of survival."

John's almost nineteen weeks by her reckoning. That means nine more weeks of this. Nine more weeks of getting big enough to show. "Fine," John says. "We'll do that."

"Wow," Keller says, and her eyes are shiny again. "I can't believe you would do this."

Thanks a lot, John thinks. "Hey," he says, "I'm just full of surprises."

"I'm glad," she says, and if she sniffles he's going to have to leave. "Wow. Okay, we should probably do a proper exam, then. I'll need blood and urine samples."

"Sure thing," John says, and resigns himself to his fate.

*

He was expecting more scans, or maybe even an ultrasound like they do in those cheesy movies. He wasn't expecting an exam table with stirrups.

"Here," Keller says. "You should probably, you know, put this on." And she hands him a gown. "I'll be back when you're changed."

She pulls the curtain closed behind her and stares at the gown. She can't really expect him to put it on, can she?

"Just let me know when you're ready," she says from the other side of the curtain, and damn it, she knows he's stalling.

John strips as fast as he can -- including his boxers, because he's not an idiot -- and yanks the gown around him, overlapping it in front. He clears his throat when he's done and she's back in an instant with a smile that's somehow both awkward and heartfelt.

"Okay," she says. "Go ahead and hop on up."

He gets on the table, and she makes him slide down until his ass is almost hanging off the end. His face is hot even before she guides his feet into the stirrups, but he fucking does it, because if he's doing this, he'd doing it all the way. And then he sees her snap on a pair of gloves.

"Is this really necessary?" he says, and his voice cracks on the last word.

"I'm sorry," she says, and she looks embarrassed, too, which doesn't help at all. "I don't want to do too many scans. I mean, I don't think it would hurt the baby, but you can't be too careful."

"Right," John says, and leans back to stare up at the ceiling.

She parts the gown over his stomach first, feeling the bump gently. "We have to be extra careful because you don't have a uterus," she says matter-of-factly. "I'm afraid you're going to have to skip active duty for awhile."

"Already took myself off," John says, and the prospect of nothing but administrative duties for nine weeks isn't exactly thrilling him, but he'll survive.

"Great," she says, and slides her hand a little lower. There's still a fold of cloth covering his dick, but her hand feels damn close to the danger zone. John grits his teeth and tries to think about something else.

"I should measure your fundal height," she says, reaching for a tape, and holds one end at his navel, unrolling the other end down toward John's crotch. On a woman, it would be fine. But pregnant or not, John's not female, and when her hand brushes the fabric covering his dick, he can't help jumping.

"Um," she says, turning pink as she realizes his junk is in the way of where she's supposed to be measuring. "Maybe if I do a thorough internal that will be good enough."

John just swallows, because that doesn't exactly sound better, but she's already turning away, and he hears an obscene squirting noise.

"Okay," she says, "I'm going to need you to relax." He just has time to see the blob of lubricant on her gloved fingers before he feels her other hand on his belly again, and then two fingers against his asshole. "Deep breath," she says, and slowly slides them in.

John can't help a shiver as she penetrates him. He knows it's a fucking medical exam, but her fingers hit his prostate and he shudders again. He's always been incredibly sensitive there, and she's pressing against it, moving her fingers around as she presses gently on his stomach from the outside, like she's mapping the shape of the bump from the inside.

"Sorry," she says with an embarrassed smile. "I just need to...ah, there. That's it." And she rubs against his prostate yet again.

Fuck, John thinks, biting his lip to keep from saying it. His dick is sitting up and taking notice, and if she keeps this up, she's going to be the one noticing. But she just wiggles her fingers a little more, and he can't help a very small groan in response.

"Oh, God," she says. "Am I hurting you? I'm just trying to get a feel for the shape of the amniotic sac. The membrane around it feels pretty thick."

"That a bad thing?" he manages, and if his voice sounds a little breathy, she damn well better not call him on it.

"No," she says. "No, it's good. It's really good. We wouldn't want it to rupture, now, would we?"

She still has her fingers up his ass, and he's almost hard, even though he's fighting it with every ounce of strength he has. "I'm guessing not," he says.

"Definitely not," she says, and slides the hand on his belly down just a little farther. Far enough to bump up against his cock where it's poking up through the tail of the gown. "Oh!" she says. "Oh, God. You're, wow."

His ears are on fire. "Sorry," he manages.

"No," she says, and her face is bright red, too. "It's a perfectly normal reaction. I've just, um, never done an exam like this on a man."

Of course she hasn't. They're in uncharted territory, now. "First for everything," he says.

"Yeah," she says, and pulls her fingers out, too fast. John feels his dick twitch, but he doesn't know if she sees it. "Well, that's that, then. I'll need to see you once a week, and any time you have any questions."

"Can I get dressed?" John says, because his feet are still in the stirrups and his ass is hanging off the table.

"Right, of course," she says. "I'll just be outside." And she pushes through the curtain, pulling off her gloves as she goes.

It's easier when she's gone. John gets up and into his pants as fast as he can. He can't button the two top buttons anymore and it's even harder with an erection, but he manages. If he tugs them often enough, they might even stay up.

"Oh," she says when he comes out. "And we're going to have to see what we can do about getting you some maternity clothes."

*

Teyla takes care of the clothes problem for him. He hands her a shirt and a pair of pants in the morning, and she has them back to him by afternoon. The pants have a sort of stretchy panel sewn in front where the fly used to be, and the shirt has new gussets, one on each side seam. John doesn't ask whether Teyla did the sewing herself, and she doesn't tell. He's not all that worried about the truth getting out; sooner or later it's going to be obvious, and if he wasn't prepared for that he shouldn't have told Keller he was keeping it.

John spends the week dreading his next exam. Keller's going to be looking for a reaction this time, and he's pretty sure she's going to get it. It's never been something John was ashamed about before -- he's had sex with guys as well as girls, and he loved it when Nancy used to finger him while she blew him. It's just freaky to have it happen in a medical exam. And with Keller, who's so fresh faced and awkward and Rodney's ex-girlfriend.

He tries jacking off a lot, and it helps, only he kind of wishes he had something to stick in his ass. His finger helps, but it doesn't really feel like Keller's, and fuck, he's going to pay for this.

He does it long and slow in the shower the morning of his exam, but it doesn't do a damn bit of good, because as soon as he's on the exam table his cock starts to fill. Keller puts a hand on his belly and he can see her eyes dart down to where she's carefully left a drape of fabric.

It's not disguising much.

"Well," she says too briskly. "Let's see how you're doing."

He's braced for the fingers in his ass, so he doesn't moan, but it's a close thing. And maybe it's because he tried not to think about this all week, but it feels even better than it did last time. She doesn't touch his cock but her fingers are pressing his prostate over and over, and by the time she's finished he's so hard he's poking out of the gown.

"Well," she says. "Everything looks just fine." And her eyes stray downward for a moment.

"Great," John says. "Can I get dressed?"

"Oh," she says, and damn it, she's looking again. "Right, of course, sorry."

His cock is begging for attention but he tells it to wait another five minutes, drags his pants on, and gets out of there as fast as he can.

*

John doesn't think it can get any worse, but it does. He starts thinking about her when he jacks off, about her pink face and her wide eyes and her naive, clever fingers. He pictures her using more than two, pictures her whole damn hand up him, and he's never actually done that but he wants it now and he's blaming the kid.

He can feel the it now almost constantly. The damn thing's practicing kick-boxing in there, and there's no way to mistake it for indigestion anymore. He wonders if it ever sleeps. He almost thinks about asking Keller if there's some way to make it sleep. And every day he's getting bigger.

The conversation with Woolsey is excruciating. He's been putting it off, so Woolsey's wondering why the hell he doesn't have a first team, and when John explains he opens and closes his mouth six or seven times, looking more like a frog than ever.

"Why wasn't I informed?" Woolsey says.

"It's complicated," John says, staring Woolsey down until he accepts that.

*

By the fourth exam, John's fucking looking forward to it. He thinks about it all morning and conveniently forgets to jack off, so when she fingers him it feels like fireworks going off inside him. For a moment, as she's angling her fingers and pressing gently on his belly, he even thinks he might humiliate himself, but then she pulls out and he closes his eyes. He knows he should be talking his cock down, but all he wants to do is memorize the feeling of her fingers inside him.

"Are you okay?" she asks, and she has to know, even if she is looking at his face rather than his crotch.

"Fine," John says curtly. "How am I looking?"

"Good," she says, and then she does glance down, like she can't help herself. "Really, really good. I mean," and she's blushing again, which makes him go hot, too. "Everything looks fine. With the baby. Just fine."

"Great," he says sarcastically, and when she leaves him to get dressed, he nearly grabs his dick and goes for it. But he can hear her just on the other side of the curtain, and he's had enough mortification for the day. He can make it back to his room.

*

The fifth time John exhausts himself in the shower before the exam, and it helps. He only gets half-hard. But her fingers still feel damn good and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from whimpering when she takes her own sweet time with him.

By the time the sixth exam rolls around, he's twenty-four weeks along and starting to get strange looks in the mess. He knows his team have kept their mouths shut, even Rodney, but the marines are incorrigible gossips, and he's pretty sure plenty of speculation is making the rounds. His only consolation is that most of them probably have it wrong.

But he's cranky and out of sorts, so he forgets to jack off for a couple of days, and when he gets his feet in the stirrups he knows he's in trouble. He's hard even before she touches him, and when her fingers slide in, the sensation is electric. John can't help himself. He shifts his hips until her fingers are in the perfect spot, and when she starts moving them around, he doesn't even try to fight it. He has no idea what the hell she's doing in there, but she takes her time, and then her fingers press hard on his prostate and he gasps.

"Oh, are you okay?" she asks, but she doesn't pull her fingers out, and when she presses up again, he loses it, jerking his hips up and groaning and coming all over his hospital gown.

"Oh, God," Jennifer says, and her fingers slide out of him, too god-damned late.

"Fuck," John says, and turns his head to the side so he doesn't have to look at her. It doesn't really help because he can hear her taking off her gloves.

"It's okay," she says, and puts a hand on his shoulder, which doesn't help things at all. "Really, it's fine. You know, a lot of pregnant women, well, people, find their libido is affected by all of the hormonal changes. It's perfectly normal."

"There is nothing about this," John says, "that is normal."

"Okay, you're right. I mean, obviously. I just meant -- "

"Are we done here?" he interrupts, out of desperation.

"Oh! Yes, I mean, sure. We can be done. I just let you, um, get dressed. There are tissues on the cart here if you need them."

By the time she's on the other side of the curtain, John is hot all the way down to his chest.

"You do know you can still have sex, right?" she says when he finally comes out. "As long as you avoid any extremely vigorous activities, it shouldn't affect the baby at all."

There is no way in the galaxy he's asking what she means by "extremely vigorous," so he just tosses her a sarcastic "fantastic" as he bolts for the infirmary door.

*
He jerks off every day, thinking about it. Thinking about coming from just her fingers. Thinking about how humiliated he was, and that's never been a turn-on for him before but something about it is sure as hell working for him now, because he comes so hard he has to lean against the shower wall for a full five minutes afterward.

"So," Rodney says over a dinner so late they're the only two people in a radius of three tables in any direction, "you and Jennifer."

"There is no 'me and Jennifer,'" John says, and it's the sorry, fucking truth.

Rodney frowns. "So you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart?"

"That really so hard to believe?"

Rodney frowns and finishes chewing his mouthful. "Yes. I mean, no, but believe me, I know what she's like, and you two have been spending an awful lot of time together. So I'm sorry, but I find it a little hard to believe you don't have feelings for her."

It sounds so pure and noble, put like that. John wonders viciously what Rodney would say if he told him what he's really going through. "Look," he says, doing his damndest to be diplomatic. "I'm not saying she's not pretty, and smart, and, uh, you know. But in case you hadn't noticed, I'm not really in any state to be romancing the ladies right now."

Rodney's gaze slides down to his stomach and stays there. "You don't look that bad," he says finally. "I mean, it's only really noticeable when you're standing."

"She's seen it all," John says, and damn it, his ears are going warm and his cock is stirring at the thought of it. "It's not really something you can hide on the exam table."

"Right," Rodney says, "I suppose not."

"I'm not hitting on your ex-girlfriend," John says, because sometimes Rodney needs these things spelled out.

"Fine," Rodney says, and takes another forkful of Tava Bean Surprise. "I'm just saying, I would be okay with that."

"Really?" John says, because that's the last thing he's expecting, but Rodney actually looks sincere.

"Yes, really," Rodney says, and now he looks insulted. "What kind of a guy do you think I am?"

*

He makes it through the seventh exam without creaming his gown, and the eighth, but it's a close thing. And then he's twenty-eight weeks, and Jennifer pulls out the scanner again.

"You sure it's safe?" John says, and when the hell he turned into the protective one, he has no idea.

"Pretty sure," she says. "Anyway, we need to know how his lungs are doing." She's been giving John shots for a week now, something to do with organ maturation. So John just lies back and lets the scanner do its thing.

He doesn't miss the internal exam. Not one bit. Okay, fine, he wishes like hell he had her fingers in him right now, but it's not like he could ever tell her that.

He closes his eyes for a bit when she goes off to read the scans -- what with the size of his stomach these days, he hasn't been sleeping well -- but when she comes back, he can see it isn't good news.

"I'm sorry, John. It doesn't look like his lungs are mature enough, even with proper medical support."

There's a weird twist in John's stomach, right where the baby is. "But he's okay, right? There's nothing actually wrong with him."

"Oh," she says, like that surprised her. "No, he's right on schedule. Just not ready to face the cold, cruel world yet."

John lets his head fall back on the exam table, and it's not relief he's feeling. It can't be. "Well, I've made it this far. I can last a few more weeks."

*
Sleep gets even harder as he gets bigger. He can't sleep on his back anymore, and his hips ache when he lies on one side for too long. But rolling over means waking up, and basically, it sucks.

Jennifer actually comes up to him in the mess, plops her tray down across from him, and eyes him speculatively. "How are you feeling?" she asks, and of course this is a professional thing, not anything else.

"I'm good," he says, and proves it by taking a big bite of his turkey sandwich. It tastes dry and boring and what he really wants is wasabi, but he's not going to tell her that.

"You getting enough sleep?" she asks, and her face does that concerned thing.

"I'm pregnant," John says, maybe a little bit too loud. "Of course I'm not getting enough sleep."

She purses her lips. "If it's really bad, I could give you something," she says. "It probably won't be too big of a risk."

He's sick of words like "risk." Especially when it comes to the kid. "I'm fine," he says. "I'll just turn in early tonight."

*

But after that, he knows she's watching him, and there's no way to disguise the dark circles he's started to sport. At his next exam, she offers him pills -- for emergencies, she says -- and he refuses them again.

"Well, you have to do something," she says, and casually sticks her fingers in his ass.

*

And then he falls asleep in a meeting. Worse, it's a senior staff meeting, and Jennifer's there. John doesn't wake up until Rodney kicks him, and the first thing he sees is Jennifer's sympathetic gaze watching him from across the table.

He's not really surprised when she shows up at his door that night. He lets her in, ready to take one of her damn pills if it gets her off his back, but she takes something very, very different out of her pocket.

"I, uh, I know you don't want to take any risks," she says, stuttering and stammering even worse than usual. John can't stop staring at the gloves and lube. "I just thought it might help you relax."

"Jesus," John says, his cock hardening in his sweats.

"Or, um, we can forget all about it," she says, grabbing for the supplies. "I'll just, you know, pretend this never happened."

"No," John hears himself croak. "No, you could, uh, stay."

Her eyes flick up to meet his, bright and startled. "Really?"

"What the hell," John says, and sits down heavily on his bed.

She has him lie on his side and pulls down his sweats for him, and it's not like an exam at all. When her fingers slide into him, he groans, and she cups his shoulder through his t-shirt and squeezes.

Her fingers find his prostate unerringly and she starts to rub, gently at first, and then with more pressure, and how the hell he ever thought her naive, he has no idea, because she knows exactly what she's doing, and how it's making him feel.

He's thought about her blowing him. He's even thought about fucking her. But he doesn't even want that now, because the sweet stroke of her fingers is perfect.

"Just relax," she whispers and he does, he relaxes and lets the tension build behind his balls and in his cock without her ever touching them.

"It's okay," she says. "I've got you." And she does, she fucking does. She's got every inch of him, and it's all focused on one electric spot inside him.

"Fuck," he whispers back. And, "Jennifer." And then he's mewling and coming, coming hard into the towel she's holding handy for him, right in front of his cock.

She keeps her fingers inside him until it's over, milking him, and when he finally stops twitching, she slides them out and slowly removes the glove. "Sleep well," she says softly, and the lights go dim and the door swishes open and shut and John falls into the deepest, most refreshing sleep he's had in months.

*
He doesn't make the mistake of thinking it means anything. Sure, it's a little overboard for doctor-patient care, but he's carrying her baby, so he figures that gets him the deluxe ride. She doesn't seem to look at him any differently, and he's pretty sure she never fingered Rodney back when they were together.

Not that he knows any details because he really doesn't want to, but Rodney strikes him as more of a missionary position kind of guy, and anyway, John knows fingering was just for him. Because Jennifer obviously didn't get anything out of it herself, and John has no idea why that bugs him but it does.

She doesn't come back to his room the next night, and he tells himself not to be disappointed. There's nothing between them except the kid, so he really shouldn't expect anything. It's his own damn fault that jacking off isn't enough.

But he spends his days thinking of the sweet slide of her fingers. Imagining her using more than just two. Picturing her rolling him over afterward and kissing him, and fuck is he ever in trouble. He needs to get laid, by anyone, and it's cold irony that the only person who would touch him when he's like this is the only person he's trying to stop obsessing about.

He holds out five days, until the night before his next scheduled exam, but when he breaks, he breaks hard and desperate. He finds her in the infirmary, bending over a work station.

"John!" she says, straightening, and when the hell did they start using each other's first names? "Is everything okay? You're not having any unexpected pains, are you? The baby's still kicking?"

"He's fine," John says, and the kid picks that moment to prove it by kicking him in the liver. "I'm fine. Just, uh, a little tired."

"Oh," she says. "Oh." And she turns that shade of pink that, God help him, makes his cock twitch. "I could, um, help you with that. In about an hour?"

His heart's doing weird things in his chest and his cock's swelling in his maternity pants and he has to get out of here right now. "Thanks," he gulps and runs.

*

He's ready for her when she shows up. He's wearing a borrowed, oversized t-shirt and a pair of boxers that used to be too big, but she doesn't blink at the outfit, which is good. Of course it's good. It's not like he expects her to go weak at the knees at the sight of his bare legs. He should be glad she doesn't laugh at the sight of him.

"Hi," he says, and God, in his long and varied history of dating and marriage and dating again, sex has never been this awkward.

"Hi," she says, and slips inside the room. "Uh, do you want to get on the bed?"

What he wants to do is kiss her but he's afraid that would freak her out. "Yeah, okay," he says. He gets on the bed and takes off his boxers, then rolls over to put his back to her.

He feels the mattress dip as she settles behind him, and then her hand cups his hip. "Do you want, um, what we did last time?" she asks.

His heart speeds up, because she's implying he has options, and he's totally unprepared for that. "Yeah," he says. Might as well be honest. "You could, uh, use another finger. If that's okay for the baby," he adds, because he has no idea.

"It's fine, perfectly fine, won't hurt him at all," she says, and she sounds a little breathless.

John's almost hard already, and that gets him the rest of the way. Jennifer's hand strokes down his hip, and then disappears for a moment, and he can hear her putting on the glove. She leans over him to tuck a towel in front of him, then settles back behind him, and a moment later he feels her hand between his legs. Her fingers slide into the cleft of his ass, teasing his hole for a bit, smooth and slick.

John holds his breath. He wants her to get on with it and he doesn't, because the more time she takes the longer he has to enjoy it. Then her fingers push in with one quick shove and his breath escapes him in a startled, broken moan.

"Oh, God, was that too hard?" she asks, and he's glad she can't see his face to know how totally wrong she is.

"It's fine. It's...fuck." Because she's rubbing his prostate again and he's so damn horny for it he's pushing back against her fingers.

He wants it fast and hard and she gives it to him, but after a few minutes she eases up, circling her fingers more and more slowly.

He wants to protest, wants to say her name, but he can't get anything out. All he can do is shove his ass back and lift his knee, exposing everything to her, begging without words.

It gets him another finger, and and he whimpers in response. She rubs him hard for a few minutes, until he's panting into his pillow and leaking on the towel. And then she pulls out again.

"Can you take another?" she asks, and he almost comes.

"Yeah," he says, and the word comes out so soft and needy it's like a confession of everything. But then she sticks her fourth finger in and all he can do is hang on and make wild, desperate noises.

He wants to hold out to see if he can get her to go all the way, but her fingers find his prostate again and he loses it, spurting into the towel and doing his best to muffle his noise in the pillow. She leaves her fingers in him again, almost too long this time, and then with one more little rub, she pulls out.

"Sweet dreams, John," she says, and something brushes his shoulder. He doesn't even dare hope that it's a kiss.

*

His exam in the morning is worse than ever. He's hard before she even touches him, and he can't stop himself when she starts poking around. He bites his lip and rocks his hips and makes tiny little gasping noises.

She doesn't say a damn thing, just does whatever she does, until he's pretty sure they're at the point where she usually stops.

"John?" she says, and he can't help looking at her. She's wearing her hair down today and her cheeks are bright and Jesus, this is pathetic.

"Yeah," he gasps, because her fingers are still moving inside him, and how the hell does she expect him to talk like this?

"You want me to keep going?" she asks.

He doesn't answer, just lifts his hips and comes.

*

Somehow he makes it to thirty-four weeks. The gossip gets bad enough that he makes an official announcement, and after that he gets more stares but fewer whispers. Jennifer comes to his room about once a week, and only when he asks her to. He wishes he knew how to ask her not to wait to be asked, but he still has a little pride, so maybe it's for the best.

"So," Jennifer says when she's done going over the scans. "Everything looks great. His lungs are in much better shape. I think he'll have a pretty good chance, now."

It's the words he's been waiting for her to say. So why does his stomach feel weird? It's not the kid kicking, not this time, anyway, because for once the little sucker seems to be asleep. "So you're ready to take him out," John says. He's going for deadpan, but it comes out a little flat.

"If you want me to," Jennifer says with a cheerful smile. "I think he has a better than ninety-seven percent chance of making it now."

That's good news. Damn good news, because the kid is what this is all about. It sure as hell isn't about getting fingered. "He'd still be a premie, though," John hears himself say.

"Mmm-hmmm," Jennifer nods, her smile dimming a little. "He still has three weeks to go to be considered full term. But most babies born now don't suffer any permanent damage."

"What do you mean, 'damage'?" John says, because that's really not something she's mentioned before.

"Oh, you know, the usual," she says. "Developmental delays, sensory impairment, hyperactivity. At this point, the risk of cerebral palsy is pretty small."

John narrows his eyes at her. He can't believe she's being so dismissive when it's her kid's future on the line. "I can handle three more weeks," he says, and his cock twitches at the thought.

"Really?" Jennifer says, and her face gets serious. "John, I can't ask that of you. You've already given up so much."

"I said I can handle it," John growls, and she takes a little step back.

"Okay," she says. "If that's really what you want."

"It is," he says, and he wonders what she'd say if he told her exactly why.

*

He asks her to come to him that night. He didn't mean to, but he missed his internal and he's counting days, now. Three weeks isn't a lot of days, especially if he spends most of them alone.

He's as big as a house, now, and his hips feel strangely loose when he walks. Running is a distant memory, and it's really fucking weird to have to piss all the time. But when Jennifer's in his doorway, he doesn't give a damn about any of that.

They have a routine down, now, and he doesn't try to vary it, just strips out of his boxers and gets into position with the ever-convenient towel underneath him. But her hand lingers on his side tonight, stroking gently, and he can feel her warmth against the back of his shoulder like she's leaning toward him.

"I don't know how to thank you," she says, soft near his ear. "I know you didn't ask for this. I still can't believe that in a few short weeks I'm going to be holding my son."

"You got everything you need for that?" he asks, because it hasn't even occurred to him that she'll need baby clothes and diapers and formula.

"Mmm-hmmm," she says, and her hand wanders up to his waist, under his t-shirt. "I ordered it all months ago, and it arrived on the Daedalus last week."

"Great," John says, and then goes silent, because her hand has crept around him and she's stroking his chest, brushing up against his left nipple at random intervals, and he's incredibly sensitive there right now. He closes his eyes and drinks in the sensation as her hand slides down to the wide curve of his belly.

The kid picks right then to give a massive kick, and Jennifer lets out a startled "Oh!"

"He's got a kick like a mule," John says, and she laughs.

"He's going to be a strong one," she says, and her hand slides a little lower.

John drags a breath in and holds it. He's been hard since she started touching him, and her hand is just inches from his cock. He doesn't even know if she's aware of it, but he wants her to be. He wants her to know exactly what she's doing.

Then her fingers brush, feather-light, against the shaft of his cock and he gasps.

"Oh, God," she says, yanking her hand back. "I am so sorry. I didn't mean to. I swear I didn't."

John bites his lip and barely stops himself from grabbing her hand and putting it back where it was. He's so frustrated he wants to shoot something. Why the hell she'll finger him for hours but doesn't want to touch him anywhere else, he has no idea, but it makes him feel like shit. "Look," he says, "can we just get on with this?"

"Right, of course," she says, and he can hear her getting busy with the glove and the lube, like always.

When her fingers slide in him, it feels good. Actually, it feels fucking fantastic. He just wishes she wasn't so obviously doing this out of gratitude and nothing more.

She adds a third finger, and it's even better. He's rocking his hips, sliding his cock against the rough towel, but it doesn't feel like her hand, and he's getting fucking greedy.

"Jennifer," he says quietly, and her fingers stop moving. He realizes it's the first time he's ever spoken to her in the middle of things.

"Am I doing something wrong?"

"God, no," he says. "I just..."

"You want another finger?" she asks, and she still sounds worried, like she thinks she's fucked up.

He can't say it. He doesn't know how to ask, because if he just says it, it won't be coming from her. "Touch my dick," he says in a strangled voice.

"Oh. Oh, God, yes. I can, um, I can do that." And her hand slips around him finding his cock like she knows exactly where it is, and he moans. "You still want the fingers?" she asks.

"Yes," he groans, and she complies in an instant, shoving all three fingers back in just as her hand tightens around the head of his cock.

He means to make it last. He means to fucking enjoy himself. But he comes with a quiet gasp, shaking in her hands while she holds him and whispers something he can't quite hear against his shoulder.

"It's okay, John," she's saying when he comes back to himself. "It's okay, I've got you."

"Crap," he says to his pillow, and then, very quietly, "This is so fucked up."

She freezes against him, and her hands slide away from him. His ass makes a squelching noise in the sudden silence as her fingers slip out.

He rolls over onto his back to see her pulling the glove off, inside-out. There's something wet on her other hand, and he's pretty sure it's his come.

"I'm sorry," she says jerkily, not looking at him. "I'm really, really sorry." She shoves the glove into a baggie and wipes her hand on her pants and gives him one quick glance. "I'll, um, see you later." And before he can figure out what to say to fix things, she's gone.

*

He sleeps badly and feels like shit in the morning. He wants to go find her and tell her he didn't mean it like that, but then he'd have to explain how he did mean it, and even if he could force it out, that would probably only make things worse.

Rodney finds him in his office, midmorning. "Okay, what the hell did you do to Jennifer?" he asks before he's halfway in the room. "And don't deny it, because I heard her telling Biro to cover for her if you came in."

John doesn't bother to ask what Rodney was doing in the infirmary. He doesn't give a damn about the answer. "I didn't do a god-damned thing," John says. "Unless you count carrying her fucking baby."

"Yes, right, about that," Rodney says, momentarily sidetracked. "Wasn't she supposed to take it out of you last week?"

John grits his teeth. "It's better for the kid to stay inside a little longer," he says.

Rodney's jaw drops and he stares. And then stares some more. "Oh my God," he says, and John can see the light bulb turn on. "You've fallen for her. I can't believe it. You said you weren't going to, and then you went and did it."

John closes his eyes, but it's not like he can deny it. "It's not like it matters," he says quietly. "She doesn't even see me as a man."

"Wow," Rodney says, and John hears him drop into the spare chair. "That's, ah, too bad. I guess I should be grateful I didn't try the device myself."

"McKay," John growls, and Rodney puts his hands up.

"Not that I'm experiencing Schadenfreude," he says. "Besides, she's going to take it out of you and then you'll be you again and you'll have her right where you want her."

John frowns. "I will?"

"Of course you will," Rodney says, and his face is a bizarre mixture of jealousy and pity. "She'll have her heart's desire, and you'll have just given it to her."

John's chest squeezes tight. "Yeah, I think she's going to be a little distracted by diaper changes and midnight feedings to be real interested in expressing that gratitude," he says.

"Perhaps," Rodney says with a sniff. "Or perhaps not."

"Look," John says, because Rodney's earlier assurances or no, he has to know. "Is this going to be a problem for us?"

Rodney sighs. "You mean if you get the girl and I get left in the cold?"

"I never meant for any of this to happen," John says. "Remember, you were the one who didn't want to be in the lab that day."

"Right," Rodney says. "Okay, fine. I'll probably be a little jealous. Maybe a lot jealous. If she succumbs to the charm and the hair and whatnot. But I'll do my best not to take it out on you, okay?"

John doesn't really think he has much to worry about, but it helps to hear it. "Same here," he says. "If she decides to go back to you."

"Fair's fair," Rodney says, and John almost believes him.

*

John doesn't see Jennifer again, well, no more than occasional glimpses, until his next weekly exam, but at least she doesn't pass him off to Dr. Biro. He goes through the routine of getting weighed, pissing in a cup, and getting undressed with a flutter in his stomach that's only made worse by the kid's decision to do a couple of backflips in there.

He's already half-hard by the time he's in the stirrups. He can't help himself; it's like a conditioned response. She slides her fingers in without meeting his eyes, but once the exam is underway she seems to loosen up a little. John tips his chin up and breathes through his nose, willing himself not to get any harder. Of course it doesn't work.

"He's still head-down," Jennifer says, and goes back to her poking and prodding.

"You sure?" John asks. "'Cause I'm pretty sure I just felt him turning somersaults in there."

She laughs, and the sound of it goes straight to John's cock. Apparently he's conditioned for that, too. "Well if he did, he did a three-sixty," she says, and her fingers pick that moment to press against John's prostate.

He can't help it. He grunts and bucks his hips. She freezes for a moment and then deliberately -- God, it has to be -- rubs her fingers in a circle, right there.

John slams his eyes shut again, afraid she's going to ask if she should keep going, because if she asks he has to say no. But she doesn't ask, she just does it, stroking him harder and harder, until he's sweating and shaking and coming just for her.

"Well," she says, falsely bright. "Everything looks great. I'll see you next week. We can schedule the surgery then."

"Great," he says breathlessly, but she's already on the other side of the curtain, leaving him to mop up the mess and get dressed alone.

*

John hangs out with Teyla a lot because she's got great belly-survival tips and also this weird harness-like thing that makes his back feel a lot better when he wears it. He knows better than to piss and moan at her, but she's actually pretty sympathetic and she gives great foot rubs.

Rodney's surprisingly okay with him, and only makes occasional fat jokes, which Ronon usually laughs at. So all in all, his team is his team, and he's grateful for them.

He jacks off every night at bedtime, but his fingers don't feel like Jennifer's even when he gets the angle right. He wishes he could go back in time and take back that one little sentence, but wormholes aren't really good for that kind of precision work, and anyway he'd have to ask Rodney for help. So the only thing he has to look forward to is his last prenatal exam.

"So," Jennifer says, after he's done all of the preliminary stuff but still has his clothes on. "The surgery."

"It can't be that complicated," John says. "You cut me open and take it out, right?"

"Yes," Jennifer says. "Well, not exactly. There is a slight risk, well, possibly more than slight. You see, your body had to create a network of blood vessels in order to properly supply the placenta. In a woman, the uterus would contract during labor, closing off those blood vessels. But in your case...okay, I don't think it will come to this. But when I deliver the placenta, there's a chance you'll bleed out."

John reaches out and closes a hand around her wrist. "And you couldn't mention this earlier? Like before I agreed to this whole thing?"

"By the time you came to me, it was too late," she says. "The blood supply was already in place. It was just a question of when we take the risk, not if."

"Right," he says, letting his hand fall back down. He should have known the damage was already done. "So what are you going to do, set up a blood drive?"

"I already have," she says.

*

She doesn't bother with an internal, and he feels cheated, but he'll be damned if he says anything. But in the week before his scheduled surgery, he has to hold himself back from going to her every single day.

He misses her fingers. He misses her blushes. He misses the stupid, awkward things she says and the way she smiles without showing her teeth. But most of all he misses the way she looked at him and the idiotic things he imagined she felt for him that had nothing to do with gratitude or doctor-patient care.

He shows up for the surgery bright and early. He's not feeling great, but he blames that on not eating, because she told him he couldn't have anything but clear liquids overnight. So his guts hurt a little. So what? He knows he'll be fine once the kid is out. He just has to get there.

The anesthesiologist is about to put the IV in when Jennifer shows up. She looks strangely harried, her ponytail messier than usual, her eyes dark and tired.

"All set for the big day?" she asks, and it's so god-damned dorky he feels his cock stir.

"I'm not the one doing the work," he says, and he has a weird flashback to the last time she had him under the knife. He hardly remembers how he felt about her back then. Too much has changed.

"That's right," she says, and the anesthesiologist reaches for John's arm with his needle. "Um, wait," Jennifer says, and the needle stops moving. "Can I have just a moment with John? In private?"

The other doctors and nurses look as surprised as John feels, but they clear out of the room so it's just him on the gurney and her standing over him.

"You wanted to tell me something?" he says after a minute of watching her stare at him.

"No, I mean yes. I mean, oh God," she says, and without any warning, she leans over and kisses him. Her aim is off but at least he shaved, and when he turns his head it's a real kiss, sweet mixed with desperate, and Jesus, he had no idea.

"Wow," he says when she pulls back, but she's wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"I'm sorry," she says, and her cheeks are the color of pink that makes his cock take notice. "I wasn't going to do that to you. Guess I just couldn't have you on the table without, you know, making an idiot of myself first."

"Look," he says, and he can't help himself. He's grinning up at her like he's the idiot. "I'll be fine. You can go ahead and be embarrassed about this later if you want."

"I'm sure I will," she says, straightening like she's going to call the others back.

"Wait," he says, reaching for her arm, tugging her in close. He knows he should let her get on with the main event, but he needs her to understand that it's not just her. That they're in this thing together.

She comes willingly but still blushing, and he plants one on her, nice and slow. "So you know the thing I said about it being fucked up?" he says when she finally lifts her head for air, "I was talking about what I wanted, not you."

"Oh, God," she says, and strokes his cheek. "Really?"

"Yeah," he says, and now he's the one who can't get words out. "I, uh, I mean I...You're really good with your hands," he blurts out.

She laughs, and her eyes are impossibly bright. "I have a confession to make," she says, leaning in so he can hear her whisper. "I kind of have a thing for your ass."

He clears his throat, and he's pretty sure he's flushed to the ears. "Works for me," he says.

"God," she says, "we're a pair," and that's when the first wave of real pain hits.

John doubles over on the gurney, panting for breath until it passes, while Jennifer shouts for a monitor and God knows what else.

"It's okay," she says. "It's okay, just breathe. We just need to check on the baby. You're going to be fine."

"Feels like a fucking contraction," he says, because yes, he's been reading up on these things even though he knows better.

"That's not possible," Jennifer says. "You don't have a uterus. You don't even have a vagina. There's no way it can be a contraction."

But it is. The fetal monitor shows the kid's heartbeat going strong, and John breathes a sigh of relief just in time to get hit with another wave of pain. They're damn close together, too close for textbook labor, but of course nothing about his pregnancy is textbook, starting with the fact that he's a man.

"I need him prepped for surgery, stat," Jennifer says, and there's a flurry of activity and a pinprick of pain in John's hand as the IV goes in. "Don't worry," Jennifer says, patting his other hand. "We'll get you through this."

"No," John gasps, doubling over for the third time in less than five minutes. "Use the damn scanner on me first."

There's no reason for her to listen to him -- she is, after all, the doctor -- but she wheels him over to the scanner and runs it, and he can tell from her "Oh my God," that what he's feeling is really happening.

She's at his side in an instant. "I'm sorry, John," she says, and she's rearranging the surgical drapes and gently spreading his legs. "I'm afraid you're going to have to push."

"What the fuck," he says, although he can feel it, feel the head pressing against his pubic bone.

"The membrane has somehow opened into your anal canal," she says. "There's no sign of internal trauma, and the amniotic sac is still intact, but his head is already too low. We can't get him out surgically without risk to your bowel."

John translates that in his head. "So he's coming out my ass?" he says, even though it really doesn't need to be said.

"I'm afraid so," she says, and that's when his waters break.

*

In the end it's the weirdest thing that's ever happened to him, which given that he lives in the Pegasus Galaxy is saying a lot. It hurts like hell, but Jennifer's there and she keeps telling him he's doing fine. When he finally pushes the kid's head out, it feels like the greatest thing he's ever done. Also, kind of like shitting out a baby.

The shoulders come out moments later, and Jennifer catches the kid in her arms. She holds him for just a moment, staring in wonder, before she clamps and cuts the cord and hands him off to a nurse, who whisks him away like there's a problem. But the kid starts yelling as soon as he's out of Jennifer's arms, so John takes that as a good sign.

There's still the placenta to push out, and Jennifer's there for that, too, and afterward she checks his ass -- which is a lot less sexy now than it would have been just a few hours ago -- and then looks up, the relief plain on her face.

"I can't believe there's no tearing," she says. "There must have been some hormone or something that the membrane released in order to -- "

"Does it matter?" John says, listening to the sound of his son wailing in the background.

"No, not really," Jennifer says, and she beams at him.

"Here you are," the nurse says. The volume of the wailing increases as she hands a blanket-wrapped bundle to John.

"Um," he says, looking down into the red, wrinkled face. The kid stops crying for a moment and looks back at him with wide, blue-gray eyes. He's tiny and amazing and also pretty damn ugly, and John wonders if all newborn babies look like little old men.

"We're running a full battery of tests," the nurse tells Jennifer, "but so far there's no sign of contamination or infection. I don't know how that's possible, given how he came out."

"Guess the Ancients really knew what they were doing," Jennifer says, and then turns back to John. "So, what are you going to name him?"

He blinks at her, and then back at the baby, who picks this moment to start squalling again. "I think that's your department," he says, loud enough to be heard over the racket, and holds the bundle up to her.

She takes him and rocks him in her arms, a beatific expression on her face that makes John more than a little jealous. "I can't believe how perfect he is," she says with a happy sigh.

"You're welcome," John says, possibly a little sarcastically.

Jennifer looks up. "Oh!" she says, and she goes his favorite shade of pink. "Thank you! I still can't believe you actually did this for me."

Neither can I, he refrains from saying, but then she actually tucks the baby into one arm and reaches to stroke his cheek, her eyes so bright and happy that he can't regret it, not really.

"John, I, um, I just want you to know that I..." She leans in and kisses him, slow and sweet, and it's only marred by the hollering bundle between them. "Look, we're in uncharted territory, so I don't know how long it's going to take you to physically recover," she says. "But when you do, well, there's a lot of things we haven't tried, and if you're interested, we could..."

John's nether regions feel like he just passed a bowling ball, which he kind of did. His cock twitches anyway. "I'm interested," he says, and his son punctuates the declaration with a piecing shriek.

Jennifer beams at him. "Let's see if we can make this little guy happy, shall we?" She turns to the nurse who's hurrying in. "Can I have a bottle of formula, Marie?"

But Marie looks distraught. "That's what I was just coming to talk to you about," she says. "The cases from the Daedalus? It looks like they got damaged in transit. I'm sorry, but it's all contaminated."

Jennifer stares at her. "Every single can?"

"I'm afraid so, yes," Marie says.

Jennifer turns back to John holding out the baby to him, and John feels a sense of rising panic even before she says a word.

"I'm so sorry, John." Jennifer gives him a pained smile, and then utters the words that no man in any galaxy should ever have to hear:

"I'm afraid you're going to have to breastfeed."