What to Expect... by Celli Lane Feedback: Yes, please.celli@fanfic101.com Rating: PG Category: Oh, I think comedy. Definitely comedy. Pairing: Syd/Sark...kinda Spoilers: Through "Full Disclosure." Feedback: Yes, please. Comment here or email to celli@fanfic101.com Disclaimer: Alias belongs to JJ Abrams, ABC, and various other people with lawyers. Summary: What happens when Rambaldi, the Covenant, and Celli's cold medicine intersect. Notes: Written for Slodwick's 1000 Words Challenge. Thanks to Shelley for the quick beta and for only calling me insane, oh, five or six times.

The doorbell woke Sydney from a lovely dream involving Keanu Reeves, the French Riviera, and baby oil. She grumbled her way to the door. If it was her father with another secret mission to discuss, she was going to smother him with a pillow.

She looked through the peephole and gaped. Not her father.

"Sydney, I can hear you breathing in there." Sark raised his hands. "I'm unarmed."

"What are you doing here?"

He raised his arms higher, his shirt hitching up. Sydney stared as it pulled across his stomach. "What anyone in my position would do."

She yanked the door open. "This is a joke. Or you've been undercover as a compulsive eater."

"I'm afraid not." Without the distortion of the peephole, his rounded belly was instantly noticeable. "I've come to make sure you do the right thing, Sydney Bristow."

***

Sydney paced the hall outside her bedroom while Sark slept--snored--inside. Her brain was on hyperdrive. Who should she call? What could she say?

Yes, Dixon, he's pregnant. I, uh, checked, and there's no...attachments or anything.

No, Marshall, he didn't say how, but we know it's connected to Rambaldi and the eggs he stole. Probably a Covenant device. I doubt they'll share the plans with you, thanks for asking.

Well, Dad, I don't know how you do a maternity test, but he claims I'm the mother. And he's the father. I mean--I--we're the parents, okay?

Vaughn! You know damn well I didn't sleep with him!

She whimpered. She had a knocked up male evil assassin in her house.

How could this get worse?

***

"I thought morning sickness ended after the first few months." Sydney gingerly took the bucket from Sark.

"Tell that to Junior," he said through clenched teeth.

She pushed the crackers closer. "I've asked you repeatedly not to refer to...to...your offspring in that way."

He ignored her, as usual. "Do you think my ankles are swollen? They seem swollen."

"Your ankles are fine. I should call Dixon."

"You say that every day." His face might be tinged with green, but his smile was smarmy as ever. "You won't tell anyone, Sydney. They'd just lock me up for dissection--"

"A beautiful thought."

"--and take the baby, and you don't want Junior raised by the NSA, do you?"

"Just because you have a point doesn't mean I don't hate you."

"Mm-hm. Now, please take that out of here before it makes me ill again. And I need more multivitamins."

She started out the door.

"And pickles."

"Hate you a lot."

***

"Bye, Dad. See you at work!" She locked the door, then ran straight to Sark's--er, the guest room.

"It's about bloody time." Sark pushed past her, waddling as fast as he could towards the bathroom. "You almost had a hideous accident on your hands."

Sydney rubbed her temples. "You know I couldn't rush him out," she called through the door. "People are suspicious enough. I never have anyone over, my social life has disappeared. Do you want people scrutinizing my behavior? My purchases from the plus size store alone would be cause for concern."

"And did I ask you to get me those ugly creations?"

"It was those or going around naked for the last trimester!"

"Yes, well, you didn't have to get the ones with purple flowers, did you?"

She snickered.

He was muttering to himself. "...baby's kicking all day, can't find a comfortable position to sleep, have to listen to your bitching all the time, haven't killed anyone in months..." Then there was a crash, and silence.

"Sark?" She pounded on the door. "Sark?"

"Sydney? Call the doctor."

***

The "doctor," some unnamed quack with a German accent who owed Sark an unnamed favor, had rigged a "sterile" area in the guest room. He was making final preparations while Sark tried to grind the bones in Sydney's hand to dust.

"Ow!"

He panted. "You've no idea --there's all these contractions, but nowhere for the baby to push out--this is going to kill me, Sydney, I swear to--"

"It's not going to kill you, you wuss. Here comes the doctor, with lots of nice drugs for you."

"Thank Christ," Sark said, offering his arm.

"Is it this hard for women?" she asked the doctor at one point.

"Don't ask stupid questions, child. Clamp."

"Right. Right. Sorry."

***

Sydney heard a faint groan from the bed; she dragged her gaze over long enough to confirm that Sark was finally waking up. "There are pain pills on the nightstand." She went back to contemplating the baby.

"Your concern touches me." The muffled noises indicated that he'd found the medication. "And the baby?" he asked after a while.

"She's perfect." She folded the blanket down so he could see. "All fingers and toes present. I counted."

"A daughter." He was smiling just a little. "Of course."

They sat in silence. Sydney ran her finger over the baby's smooth cheek.

"Have you decided how to explain it to everyone?" Sark asked finally.

"I'm still working on that."

"You've had months. If you haven't thought of anything--"

"Bite me, Sark." But she couldn't put as much venom as usual into her voice.

"Are we naming her Irina, for your mother? Or Jacqueline, for your father?"

Sydney shook her head. "I want her to have her own name. My family is crazy enough. She doesn't need to be bogged down in their expectations before she can even sit up." She took a breath and looked at him. "Any suggestions?"

"From me?"

"No, from the lamp. Yes, you. Maybe something Russian," she said, looking back down. "Her heritage."

"Ah." He went so quiet she wondered if she should check his breathing. Then, almost shyly, he said, "I like Nadia."

"Nadia?"

"It means hope. God knows, she'll need enough of that."

Sydney was grateful that he closed his eyes before he could see her cry. "Nadia," she said again. "It's perfect."

--the end--

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