It all gets slightly less depressing from this point onwards, I think. I, personally love this chapter =D
Previous Parts can be found here --->
Part 1 and Part 2
Two lil piccies I think fit perfectly with this chapter:
Enjoy, have some <3, and please comment. Makes me (:
... 8months and 22 days later ...
“No, you’ve gotta’ be kidding me. Teyla, how do you come up with these ideas?”
John Sheppard dropped his data pad onto the table in feigned exasperation and leaned back, head resting on his raised arms. Across from him, Teyla Emmagan raised her eyebrows and leaned in, ready to prove her point.
“I have noticed that, in recent days she has become surprisingly unpredictable—“
“—you mean more unpredictable than the last eight months?”
John selected a few chips from the bowl which he began to much, while Teyla nodded and continued.
“—unpredictable and distracted, more so than previously. For this reason, I believe that she will give birth within the next day or two.”
She, too, then leaned backwards in what was perhaps premature triumph, causing John to cave in and add her name to the ever-growing “baby poll”.
“Well”, he voiced, “you’re leading the list...besides McKay’s dillusional bet on last Wednesday...I’m telling you, she’s going tobe late. I’d bet everything I own on it.”
“What makes you so sure?”
John shrugged. “I just know these things. Call it male intuition.”
To this, Teyla raised an eyebrow and indulged a characteristic lop-sided smirk. She was about to speak when John’s earpiece chirped.
Beckett’s voice could be heard vaguely on the other end.
“...What?...Ok, I’m on my way...”
John ended the line and stood to leave. “There’s been some kind of trouble in the control room,” he told Teyla. “Zelenka’s been taken to the infirmary.”
“Do you wish for me to accompany you?” she asked, but John shook his head.
“I got this one covered, didn’t sound like anything serious,” he said over his shoulder on making his way towards the door. “Besides, this’ll give you time to rethink your decision anyway.”
He didn’t see the eyeroll which followed.
“Just calm down now, come on.”
These were the words heard repeatedly by John on entering the infirmary, punctured by some very fast muttering in Czech. Radek Zelenka was sitting on the edge of a bed holding an icepack to his forehead, apparently hurling a torrent of abuse at Carson Beckett in his native tongue. Standing facing him, Carson seemed to be having a hard time treating his injuries.
“What’s going on here?” John asked in the most authoritative tone he could muster, though when Zelenka removed the icepack, his voice broke somewhat.
“Ouch, what happened to you?”
Zelenka said nothing, but merely glared across to the bed on his right, behind John, with a very amusing pout on his face.
On the bed in question sat a highly pregnant Elizabeth Weir. Since she had grown too large for the female uniforms, Elizabeth had – begrudgingly – resorted to John’s proposal of adapting one of the larger men’s uniforms to suit her needs. She looked faintly ridiculous, but nobody had the heart – or courage, these days – to mention this whilst in her immediate vicinity.
Currently, she was lying on the bed in a most undignified, but no doubt the comfiest position possible, wearing a look of utmost annoyance.
Carson quickly spoke up, which was lucky too as Elizabeth seemed to have noticed John’s lingering stare and in her paranoid pregnancy state, John wasn’t too keen on seeing or experiencing the consequences of this.
“There was an incident,” the doctor began, casting an uncertain look at the Atlantis leader, “now, we can’t point any fingers—“
“—She threw something at me!” Zelenka interrupted, quite clearly angered by the doctor’s diplomatic explanation.
Carson bowed his head as John looked over at Elizabeth, who was avoiding eye contact.
“An ornament on her desk,” the scientist continued. “She picked it up and hurled it at my head!”
Feeling like he’d missed something, John took a seat while Carson – trying hard to maintain the peace – raised his hands in defeat and left the room.
“Why don’t you start at the beginning,” John advised, then added while smiling at his commanding officer, “just so we can get a better idea of what happened...”
Zelenka paused for a moment, readjusting the icepack on his forehead and then semi-growled at Elizabeth before continuing.
“We were in the control room,” he began. “McKay and I were working on the lateral sensor grid when Johnson tells us that Doctor Weir is hungry, but too busy to leave her office.”
John thought he heard Elizabeth prepare to speak at this point – most likely in her defence – but he chose to ignore it.
“McKay, of course, volunteers me. So I have to leave my work to go and get her a sandwich, which I then brought back to Doctor Weir, put down on her desk and am about to leave when...I heard she was crying.”
John was temporarily removed from his amusement over Zelenka’s enthusiastic arm movements when he heard this. “Crying?” he repeated, and the Czech nodded.
“Yes, crying. When I ask her, she tells me that there is bacon in the sandwich”
At this point, John cringed. In her third trimester, Elizabeth had become extremely sensitive to bacon, for some reason unfathomable to most in the human race. Neither being able to look at, nor be near the stuff, one “close encounter” had even ended in her expelling a hefty second bout of morning sickness in the centre of the control room midway through the afternoon, which John and Ronon had fatefully been left to clean up in order that Elizabeth get as far away from the meat as was humanly possible.
After the commotion over this major incident, everybody in the entire city, most likely, had learned that eight-and-a-half month pregnant Elizabeth Weir plus bacon equalled a severe “no”. Everybody knew, or so John thought.
“You fed her bacon?” he breathed, which reddened Zelenka’s face,
“Oh, I am sorry,” he hissed in a sarcastic manner, “I am sorry my head is filled with more important things than the likes and dislikes of Elizabeth Weir!”
His voice sped up exponentially towards the end but he kept it hushes. John knew that this was intentional, for fear of getting clobbered with another ornament, he guessed. The thought lingering in his head, he decided to move swiftly on, just incase she decided instead to channel the rage at him. Zelenka seemed to have the same intentions, as he resumed the story soon after, though in an even more hushed voice than before.
“Something died”, she says to me, “something died to make this sandwich.” John raised an eyebrow. This was a new one.
“I did not know what to do,” Zelenka continued. “She was so upset, so I tell her that I will go and get her a different sandwich – a nice cheese one, if she has no objections to cheese...”
The man closed his eyes and shook his head briefly at this point, obviously regretting this in retrospect. John watched as he then removed the icepack from his forehead, and pouted, a “this should now have happened to me” look plastered across his face.
What John saw caused a simultaneous laugh and exclamation of shock from inside him. Pointing at Elizabeth, Zelenka explained.
“She clearly mistook my tone...before I could speak she was shouting at me! So I go to pick up the sandwich and walk to the door to leave. She shouts my name, I turn round, and before I even know she throws her ornament at my head.”
“That’ll be the wooden “Atlantis” emblem?” John guessed, cleverly deducing this from the symbols “A”, “T” and “L” printed on his team mate’s forehead.
Zelenka nodded. Carson came back into the room at this point, taking the pack from Zelenka and propping his head up to examine the mark.
“It’s stopped bleeding,” the doctor confirmed, “but there’ll be a nasty wee mark there for a few days.”
Zelenka did not look impressed. “A “wee” mark?” he huffed.
John spoke before Carson could. “Look on the bright side, at least you won’t get lost.”
After receiving two looks of confusion, he clarified. “Well, everyone will know where to send you home to...”
He smirked, but quickly feared for his life not only from Elizabeth, but Zelenka too. Carson ignored him and moved over to tend to Elizabeth.
“I said sorry,” she stated softly before he’d even spoken.
“I know, Elizabeth. I know it’s not your fault entirely, but you can’t treat people this way.” He sighed, and quite soon John – who was watching – suddenly felt very sorry for her. When nobody said anything for a short while, he was sure he wasn’t the only one.
“I don’t want to have to,” Carson spoke up finally, “but if this temperamental behaviour continues, I’m afraid I’ll have no option but to relieve you of active duty. I’m sorry.”
John had expected her to shout, punch, or worse – cry – on hearing this, but she did nothing of the sort. Instead she rubbed her stomach and sighed a little.
“I know, Carson, I’m sorry.” She suddenly looked so tired, John was hit with an overwhelming desire to hug her. He shook it off, however, as quickly as it had come on.
“It’s very hard,” she continued. “When things like that happen...it’s like watching from outside my body...almost as if...” She seemed to be struggling to find the words and all three men looked uncomfortably at one another.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to explain,” Carson said sympathetically, while nodding. John and Zelenka did likewise in unison. “Just go and get some rest. I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning.”
Elizabeth looked up contemplatively and the three men nodded again.
“Colonel,” Carson turned to John, “would you please accompany Doctor Weir to her quarters.”
John nodded and hopped off his seat. “Absolutely.” He then helped her off her bed and lead her towards the door. Just as they reached it, she turned back and looked at Zalenka, who merely waved off her apology and turned his attention back to organising his hair to cover his newly-formed scar.