The Handbasket Route [Wish Fulfillment Challenge]
Saw this prompt from hugglewolf and had to grab it: John being expectant, and Ronon the doting protective hubby/father to be, getting John whatever his craving may be for, and rubbing his feet/back whatever.
Title: The Handbasket Route
Genre: MPreg, hint of John/Ronon,
Rating: PG-13 for language
Length: 9 months, er, about 1500 words
Synopsis: In this crazy, fucked up galaxy, it should really be just one more crazy, fucked up thing and yet, it was something more.
Warnings: MPreg, my sense of humor
Author’s Notes: For the sga_flashfic Wish Fulfillment challenge. Title suggested by threnodyjones.
Disclaimer: Not mine, they belong to someone with far more money than me. I’m just borrowing them to play and making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Ronon,” John sighed in exasperation. “No. Just... no, okay?”
“But I could get you a pillow for your chair, or grab you one of the cookies from the mess before they run out,” the hovering man protested. “There’s this stuff my mother swore by to make it so you don’t hurl.”
“I’m fine!” Sheppard insisted with just a bit too much force. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He had been warned that losing his temper counted as stress and that counted as a banned activity for the foreseeable future.
With a bit of effort, he was able to push himself up from his chair, his ungainliness reminding him just why a certain someone was perched at his side. As expected, when he grabbed the blanket that had been tucked carefully around him to toss it to the side, large hands covered his own, taking it away. “Let me,” Ronon insisted, folding it neatly and draping it over the back of the chair. It was not quite as satisfying as rolling it into a ball and chucking it, but it would have to do for now.
“I could have done it,” he muttered, looking around the room for something, anything, to do. Lorne had confiscated all but one of his guns and two of his knives - he probably would have taken more if John hadn’t followed Ronon’s reasoning and had a hidden spare. McKay had cut him down to limited network access and he was pretty certain had the doors rigged to lock him in and ignore his personal override if/when a real emergency reared its head.
It was a matter of time, and they all knew it. They also knew hanging all these restrictions over his head “until he was fully recovered” was just asking for trouble. One of them would break soon, and it wasn’t going to be him. That was probably why he had bare minimum one teammate scheduled to be with him at any given time, excluding the prescribed rest periods. On the up side, they would also be the ones most likely to let him get away with the little things, so at least there was that.
“You guys can’t keep me locked in here forever,” he protested, gesturing around the increasingly claustrophobic room.
“Not forever,” Ronon protested. “Just...”
“Just until you are all convinced I’m not going to do something drastic, risky, or incredibly stupid,” he guessed.
“Something like that,” his teammate grinned.
“It was a freak accident and you know it,” John sighed, beginning to pace. He was doing a lot of that lately. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, you know.”
“We want to help,” came the obvious reply.
John gave him a look, but continued his route around the room. “It’s not like I have a broken arm, or some massive wound, or even a concussion. So, yeah, some bruised ribs, but the fall was totally not my fault and could have happened to anyone, there’s no reason for this... obsessiveness you all seem to have over my safety right now.”
Ronon grabbed his arm on the next pass, stopping him in his tracks and forcing him to meet his gaze. “You are with child. We care.”
John winced, the brutal honesty of the statement hitting home. In this crazy, fucked up galaxy, it should really be just one more crazy, fucked up thing and yet, it was something more. Not to mention it was quite frankly something was not quite ready to deal with. His stomach both hurt and gurgled in new and interesting ways, he was pretty much constantly dizzy or nauseous, and his ankles were swollen. Being knocked up sucked.
Ronon’s hands were on both arms now, turning him in a way to guarantee he wouldn’t run away or coast too far to either side. “It’s a gift,” he insisted, repeating the summation of one of the worst conversations John had ever been forced to participate in. “It’s a screwed up and unexpected gift, but it’s still a gift.”
“I want to give it back,” John pouted. They were blaming enough on his damn hormones, he figured he could get away with this one too.
Instead, Ronon gave him the exact same look Teyla had when he said something similar to her, down to the identical raised eyebrow and everything. “A child is a wanted gift, no matter what its source,” he intoned seriously. The brush of his thumb against John’s inner elbow took away a bit of the sting of his words. “We lose enough to the Wraith and everything else; it’s time we got one back.”
“It sucks,” John said, looking down at the little bulge that was his belly.
“Yeah, it does,” Ronon agreed.
“I can do things myself,” he insisted.
“Yeah, you can,” he agreed again.
“And I don’t need your help,” John tried.
Ronon grinned, all teeth. “You’re going to get it anyway.”
John looked up at him, seeing the mixture of happiness and anxiety and caring across his face. “Is this some sort of living vicariously through me to nurture a life and continue on the history of your people thing?” he asked dryly.
Ronon lowered his forehead to John’s in the traditional Athosian sign of greeting, comfort, and pay attention because this is important. “Partly,” he admitted, letting one hand drift down to rest protectively on Sheppard’s stomach. “And partly because that’s a piece of me in there too and I want to be father, think I deserve the chance.”
John quashed down his traitorous emotions and settled for blinking rapidly instead. “Yeah,” he whispered, thinking of all the shit he’d faced, they’d faced, and would most likely face again. “You really do.”
Ronon lifted his head and took a step back to eye John critically. “So me and everyone else is going to take care of you until you get it through that thick skull of yours that you deserve it too,” he said decisively, slapping him on the shoulder with a fraction of the force he usually did.
John waited until he turned around to rub at the likely newly bruised location, quickly bringing his arm down and offering an only partially forced smile when his teammate/co-father/partner in this whole mess returned with the recently folded blanket and determined expression. “What?” he asked in confusion.
“You’re going to lie down so you can get those feet up,” Ronon insisted, gently guiding him to the bed.
John frowned, knowing his usual boots would have hidden, and possibly helped, his rapidly swelling ankles. Instead, Teyla had given him these odd little leather and fabric slipper things earlier that he had felt obligated to wear. He was now regretting it. “I’m fine,” he protested, waiting patiently as Ronon fluffed the pillows just so. He didn’t protest too much though because the mattress was some special thing Rodney had brought in and Teyla had draped it in the possibly the most comfortable set of comforters and blankets in the entire city, if not the Pegasus galaxy.
Ronon just eyed him knowingly, tucking a small pillow under his legs and he really had to admit that it felt good. The blanket was next, just one because it was already late afternoon and the sun was still streaming in and warming the room. The ever-present barf bowl was placed on the stand next to the bed, and a fresh washcloth draped at its side next to a container of those little mint-like things Cadman had found on a mission three weeks back.
“I’m going to go get you a snack and teach the kitchen how to make that tea of my mother’s,” Ronon told him, leaving no room for argument. “You’re going to stay here and rest and when I come back we’re going to talk about how you’re going to be good and listen and then maybe the Doc will take you off some of the restrictions you’re so pissed about, okay?”
He opened his mouth to protest, but closed it at the look he received. With a satisfied nod, Ronon turned and moved towards the door. “Hey, Ronon?” he called, feeling ridiculous but going with it.
The large man turned around and offered another look, this one both asking what he needed and already answering that no, he was not about to be let out any time soon. “Yeah?”
“Can you see if they have any of those chocolate swirl pudding cups? They sound really good right now.” He resolutely did not bat his eyes.
Ronon’s face lit up and his shoulders visibly relaxed. “They’re yours,” he promised, damn near darting out the door.
John listened as the locks slid back into place before settling down into the pillows with a grin. The Daedalus was three days out, which meant the only remaining chocolate swirl pudding cups were in McKay’s personal stash. This guaranteed him at least an hour of peace while the two of them fought it out and Teyla intervened. Chances were incredibly likely he’d end up with at least one cup no matter who was claimed the victor.
Maybe this whole pregnancy thing wasn’t so bad after all.
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.
Title: The Handbasket Route
Genre: MPreg, hint of John/Ronon,
Rating: PG-13 for language
Length: 9 months, er, about 1500 words
Synopsis: In this crazy, fucked up galaxy, it should really be just one more crazy, fucked up thing and yet, it was something more.
Warnings: MPreg, my sense of humor
Author’s Notes: For the sga_flashfic Wish Fulfillment challenge. Title suggested by threnodyjones.
Disclaimer: Not mine, they belong to someone with far more money than me. I’m just borrowing them to play and making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Ronon,” John sighed in exasperation. “No. Just... no, okay?”
“But I could get you a pillow for your chair, or grab you one of the cookies from the mess before they run out,” the hovering man protested. “There’s this stuff my mother swore by to make it so you don’t hurl.”
“I’m fine!” Sheppard insisted with just a bit too much force. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He had been warned that losing his temper counted as stress and that counted as a banned activity for the foreseeable future.
With a bit of effort, he was able to push himself up from his chair, his ungainliness reminding him just why a certain someone was perched at his side. As expected, when he grabbed the blanket that had been tucked carefully around him to toss it to the side, large hands covered his own, taking it away. “Let me,” Ronon insisted, folding it neatly and draping it over the back of the chair. It was not quite as satisfying as rolling it into a ball and chucking it, but it would have to do for now.
“I could have done it,” he muttered, looking around the room for something, anything, to do. Lorne had confiscated all but one of his guns and two of his knives - he probably would have taken more if John hadn’t followed Ronon’s reasoning and had a hidden spare. McKay had cut him down to limited network access and he was pretty certain had the doors rigged to lock him in and ignore his personal override if/when a real emergency reared its head.
It was a matter of time, and they all knew it. They also knew hanging all these restrictions over his head “until he was fully recovered” was just asking for trouble. One of them would break soon, and it wasn’t going to be him. That was probably why he had bare minimum one teammate scheduled to be with him at any given time, excluding the prescribed rest periods. On the up side, they would also be the ones most likely to let him get away with the little things, so at least there was that.
“You guys can’t keep me locked in here forever,” he protested, gesturing around the increasingly claustrophobic room.
“Not forever,” Ronon protested. “Just...”
“Just until you are all convinced I’m not going to do something drastic, risky, or incredibly stupid,” he guessed.
“Something like that,” his teammate grinned.
“It was a freak accident and you know it,” John sighed, beginning to pace. He was doing a lot of that lately. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, you know.”
“We want to help,” came the obvious reply.
John gave him a look, but continued his route around the room. “It’s not like I have a broken arm, or some massive wound, or even a concussion. So, yeah, some bruised ribs, but the fall was totally not my fault and could have happened to anyone, there’s no reason for this... obsessiveness you all seem to have over my safety right now.”
Ronon grabbed his arm on the next pass, stopping him in his tracks and forcing him to meet his gaze. “You are with child. We care.”
John winced, the brutal honesty of the statement hitting home. In this crazy, fucked up galaxy, it should really be just one more crazy, fucked up thing and yet, it was something more. Not to mention it was quite frankly something was not quite ready to deal with. His stomach both hurt and gurgled in new and interesting ways, he was pretty much constantly dizzy or nauseous, and his ankles were swollen. Being knocked up sucked.
Ronon’s hands were on both arms now, turning him in a way to guarantee he wouldn’t run away or coast too far to either side. “It’s a gift,” he insisted, repeating the summation of one of the worst conversations John had ever been forced to participate in. “It’s a screwed up and unexpected gift, but it’s still a gift.”
“I want to give it back,” John pouted. They were blaming enough on his damn hormones, he figured he could get away with this one too.
Instead, Ronon gave him the exact same look Teyla had when he said something similar to her, down to the identical raised eyebrow and everything. “A child is a wanted gift, no matter what its source,” he intoned seriously. The brush of his thumb against John’s inner elbow took away a bit of the sting of his words. “We lose enough to the Wraith and everything else; it’s time we got one back.”
“It sucks,” John said, looking down at the little bulge that was his belly.
“Yeah, it does,” Ronon agreed.
“I can do things myself,” he insisted.
“Yeah, you can,” he agreed again.
“And I don’t need your help,” John tried.
Ronon grinned, all teeth. “You’re going to get it anyway.”
John looked up at him, seeing the mixture of happiness and anxiety and caring across his face. “Is this some sort of living vicariously through me to nurture a life and continue on the history of your people thing?” he asked dryly.
Ronon lowered his forehead to John’s in the traditional Athosian sign of greeting, comfort, and pay attention because this is important. “Partly,” he admitted, letting one hand drift down to rest protectively on Sheppard’s stomach. “And partly because that’s a piece of me in there too and I want to be father, think I deserve the chance.”
John quashed down his traitorous emotions and settled for blinking rapidly instead. “Yeah,” he whispered, thinking of all the shit he’d faced, they’d faced, and would most likely face again. “You really do.”
Ronon lifted his head and took a step back to eye John critically. “So me and everyone else is going to take care of you until you get it through that thick skull of yours that you deserve it too,” he said decisively, slapping him on the shoulder with a fraction of the force he usually did.
John waited until he turned around to rub at the likely newly bruised location, quickly bringing his arm down and offering an only partially forced smile when his teammate/co-father/partner in this whole mess returned with the recently folded blanket and determined expression. “What?” he asked in confusion.
“You’re going to lie down so you can get those feet up,” Ronon insisted, gently guiding him to the bed.
John frowned, knowing his usual boots would have hidden, and possibly helped, his rapidly swelling ankles. Instead, Teyla had given him these odd little leather and fabric slipper things earlier that he had felt obligated to wear. He was now regretting it. “I’m fine,” he protested, waiting patiently as Ronon fluffed the pillows just so. He didn’t protest too much though because the mattress was some special thing Rodney had brought in and Teyla had draped it in the possibly the most comfortable set of comforters and blankets in the entire city, if not the Pegasus galaxy.
Ronon just eyed him knowingly, tucking a small pillow under his legs and he really had to admit that it felt good. The blanket was next, just one because it was already late afternoon and the sun was still streaming in and warming the room. The ever-present barf bowl was placed on the stand next to the bed, and a fresh washcloth draped at its side next to a container of those little mint-like things Cadman had found on a mission three weeks back.
“I’m going to go get you a snack and teach the kitchen how to make that tea of my mother’s,” Ronon told him, leaving no room for argument. “You’re going to stay here and rest and when I come back we’re going to talk about how you’re going to be good and listen and then maybe the Doc will take you off some of the restrictions you’re so pissed about, okay?”
He opened his mouth to protest, but closed it at the look he received. With a satisfied nod, Ronon turned and moved towards the door. “Hey, Ronon?” he called, feeling ridiculous but going with it.
The large man turned around and offered another look, this one both asking what he needed and already answering that no, he was not about to be let out any time soon. “Yeah?”
“Can you see if they have any of those chocolate swirl pudding cups? They sound really good right now.” He resolutely did not bat his eyes.
Ronon’s face lit up and his shoulders visibly relaxed. “They’re yours,” he promised, damn near darting out the door.
John listened as the locks slid back into place before settling down into the pillows with a grin. The Daedalus was three days out, which meant the only remaining chocolate swirl pudding cups were in McKay’s personal stash. This guaranteed him at least an hour of peace while the two of them fought it out and Teyla intervened. Chances were incredibly likely he’d end up with at least one cup no matter who was claimed the victor.
Maybe this whole pregnancy thing wasn’t so bad after all.
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.