We Cling to This and Claim the Best

~600 words :: Stargate: Atlantis :: Rodney/Elizabeth :: 6/3/07
Rodney’s always hated kids. He hated kids when he was a kid. When Elizabeth gets pregnant, he’s…well, not happy. He’s happy they’re helping to rebuild the human race, sure (after all, if anyone should be passing on genetic information, it’s him), but on a personal level…he still hates kids.

Discussion @ sga_talk


Rodney’s always hated kids. He hated kids when he was a kid. When Elizabeth gets pregnant, he’s…well, not happy. He’s happy they’re helping to rebuild the human race, sure (after all, if anyone should be passing on genetic information, it’s him), but on a personal level…he still hates kids.

Elizabeth looks good, though. Really fucking fantastic. Those tits, God. He hopes she doesn’t lose them once the baby is born. He tells her that once, when he’s got his face buried between them, fingers buried deep in her slick pussy, and she just laughs. He can feel her laugh, and she arches up as his thumb rubs over her clit, and says, “They give me a backache.”

He doesn’t mention it again, but he knows she knows he’s still hoping, and sometimes she just looks at him and rolls her eyes.

She’s not so good-natured when he keeps calling the baby “it”, long after Carson tells them it’s (he‘s) a boy. Her lips thin and she goes quiet and just looks at him.

But he’s just not as into it as she is. She’s the one picking out names (he’d suggested “Rodney” and “anything but Meredith”, both of which, he felt, were perfectly legitimate choices, but she still accused him of not taking it seriously) and knitting baby clothes (which he’s always careful to ooh and aah over, even though he really hopes the baby’s not as deformed as that one sweater seems to imply). And he only has to look at her to see she’s the dictionary definition of a glowing mother-to-be. He’s never actually seen anyone glow before (well, he has, actually, but only in a much more literal sense), but he’s pretty sure that’s what she’s doing.

Thankfully fathers aren’t expected to glow, or really to do much of anything at this stage of the game. Maybe he feels a surge of pride, of “I made that” when the baby kicks, but it’s not the same. How could it be?

“Rodney?” she whispers, and in the dark her hand finds his.

He gives it a squeeze and scoots closer, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “I’m here. It’s not-” There’s still two weeks to go, but his heart skips a beat and his stomach does a weird little flip-flop. “Should I call Carson?”

She shakes her head, her hair brushing against his face, and but she doesn’t say anything.

This pregnancy thing, it’s gotta be scary, even if she hardly ever talks about it. Hell, he’s scared, and he’s not the one with something (someone) inside him. He pushes himself up on his elbow. He should say something comforting. “Are you hungry? ‘Cause I could use a bite to eat, I mean, and I-”

“I never wanted kids.”

“I, uh, I know, and we talked about it and-”

“I still don’t,” she whispers, almost too quiet for him to hear.

“Oh,” he says, and how did he not see it before? Nothing’s changed except her body, nothing at all. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t.” She takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. “I thought… I hoped…”

He pulls her close, holds her tight and doesn’t say a word. Maybe it will be different when the baby’s born, different for both of them. There’ll be that moment like you see on TV. Carson will hold up the baby and say, “It’s a boy,” and they’ll be parents.

He never stops hoping.