"Don't," Rodney said, keeping his voice low. "It's the longest he's slept in days."

Jeanne sat down next to him on the love seat and leaned tiredly against him. "Him, too," she said, pointing vaguely in the direction of the sofa.

Rodney slipped his arm around her shoulders. "How are you holding up?"

She sighed and leaned closer into him. She was warm and smelled like baby powder and clean sweat. "Tired. It's harder the second time around. I'm glad you're here, though."

"Me, too." Rodney remembered the last time she'd leaned on him like this. He'd been eighteen and she'd been fourteen and their mother had been lying in the front of the church in her best dress. This time was better - warm and safe and tired, and happy to sit and watch nine-day-old Robbie Miller lying on John Sheppard's chest, both of them sleeping contentedly.