Defensive Cooperation

Purple.

The color was vivid. A soft glow nearly swallowed the surrounding darkness. Moira O'Meara blinked, eyes bleary, mind still half-asleep as she tried to see. But John Sheppard's bare shoulder was in the way, blocking her. She wondered what had awoken her. She shifted, felt a tingling in her scarred foot. She turned it but the weird sensation persisted. She winced as the muscles along the old injury began to ache, the prelude to a cramp.

Moira tried to move. Couldn't. John was sprawled on top of her. His naked body pressed to hers. Warm. His weight effectively pinning her to the bed. She nudged him. "John? John!" She pushed. Pushed harder. But he was immovable. "John!"

John mumbled, but shifted his weight half off her. Settled comfortably again. Face buried in her messy hair as it spread across the pillows. Arm slung across her waist.

Moira pulled, hauled her naked body out from under his. She scooted out of the sheets. Sat on the edge of the bed, lifted her foot to examine it. To carefully rub against the raised, permanent scarring from a sub-Wraith attack. The scars began to tingle. To ache.

Moira stood, began to walk. Trying to work out the coming cramp before it immobilized her. She grabbed an olive green tank top, pulled it on. Paused to pull on a pair of pale green panties, grabbed a pair of jeans in case she had to go to the infirmary. She sat on the bed as the cramp attacked her despite her efforts. She pressed her lips together to muffle the groan.

It was then she noticed the purple light again. On the table. Blinking. Almost in a code as she stared. Realized with a start it was John's earpiece. She touched John's arm. "John! John, wake up! John!" She shook him.

John instantly woke, hearing her tone. He rolled onto his back, eyes open. Alert. He sat, eyed her clothed body. Her hand on her scarred foot. "What's wrong?"

"Sorry. Your earpiece. Look!"

It took a moment as the vestiges of sleep cleared. He looked over to see the little purple light. He watched it a moment. Reached past her and snatched it off the table. "Are you all right?"

"My foot's cramping, all of a sudden," she explained tersely as another wave of pain erupted. "It hasn't done that for months."

John placed the comm unit over his ear. Clicked it on. "That alarm must be ringing like crazy in my room," he muttered. "This is Sheppard. Report." He gestured. She turned, gingerly slid her leg on the bed. Her scarred foot towards him.

"Colonel, we've had a security breach in the biology lab. Code one. No hostiles detected." John leaned towards Moira so she could hear. At the same time he touched her scarred foot. She gasped, but he began to stroke it, to massage the tense muscles gently. "A security breach in biology, sir. An alarm went off but so far nothing. It could be a glitch. We need the security codes to enter, sir."

"Copy that. Hold your twenty. I'm on my way." He clicked the earpiece, sighed. "Anything in the lab I should know about?"

Moira shrugged, relaxing as both of his hands plied her foot gently, yet firmly. "No. There's nothing alive down there. Everything is locked. Sealed." She caught his hands, freed her foot. Smiled. "Thank you, John. You do have the touch." She kissed him.

He smiled. "That I do. Damn I hate to leave this bed," he complained. He jumped out of the sheets, quickly dressed. Moira felt a disappointment as the black t-shirt and gray pants covered him once more. "It's probably just a false alarm. Some quirk in the circuits. Rodney was updating the alarm codes. Again." He turned to see she had pulled on a pair of jeans. Socks. Shoes. "Moira? You don't have to go with me."

"I may as well, John. You might need me."

"No. How will I explain things if we show up together at two in the morning?" he inquired. Ran a hand through his wildly disordered hair.

She frowned. "Oh please, John! Not that again! You can say you stopped by to get me. Because I work in the bio lab. Honestly, John, what the hell does it matter? Why are–"

"All right," he acquiesced, if only to avoid another argument. The same argument. He sat on the bed, pulled on his socks, his boots. Stood. "I need to stop by my room first to disable the alarm. Then we can go."

"Are you sure, colonel? I mean, what if someone sees me lingering outside your door?" she taunted as they exited her room.

"Enough, Moira," he cautioned, becoming irritated even as he strode ahead of her with quick steps.

Moira hastened to keep up with him, ignoring the ache in her foot. "I'm serious, John! Oh, I could always say that I was looking for John Anderson. Oh John Anderson," she moaned.

"Hilarious, Moira!" he snapped. Entered his room. She waited in the hallway, looking round at the dark, empty area. Touched her face. The scratches were nearly healed. She recalled being pushed headfirst into a glass cabinet by Matthew Parrish. The botanist had been dangerously addicted to the enzyme. Nearly mad with the desire to obtain it by any means. Moira hugged herself. Remembering the attack. Remembering John's reaction. His killing of Matthew.

John emerged, closed his door. Saw her uneasy stance. Her gaze turned inward. "Moira?"

She blinked. Eyed him, freeing herself. "A gun?"

"Only a 9mm. Wish it was a P90. Let's go." He led her quickly to the bio lab.

"Sir!"

John stepped past the four marines, deactivated the alarm. The light stopped flashing above the door. He entered the code. The door whisked open. John gestured. "Moira, wait out here." He followed the men into the lab. With a touch light flooded the room. The marines flanked him, moving in four directions to cover the area.

Moira stepped to the threshold. Peered into the room. Waited until John lowered his gun. Beckoned her. The marines lowered their weapons. Looked round in puzzlement.

"Anything out of place, doctor?" John asked.

Moira looked round. She checked tables. Consoles. She leaned against a table, winced as the weird tingle erupted along her foot. She straightened, shook her head. "No. Oh." She moved to a desk near the far wall. Straightened a group of folders that had cascaded across the surface. She leaned over the table to grab one that had fallen behind the books nearly to the floor.

John watched her, smirking, but suddenly glanced at his men. Three were still looking round dutifully, shining their lights into dark corners. Investigating the shadows. The fourth was staring at Moira. At the fall of her brown hair spilling all around her, tickling her bare arms. AT her shapely rear hugged snugly by the jeans as she leaned and leaned. As the tank top rode up to give a glimpse of bare skin, of pale green lace. John made a throat-clearing sound. The marine looked at him, quailed under the cold, cold glare. The marine gulped, looked elsewhere.

Moira straightened, oblivious to what was happening behind her. "Only this. Maybe when the folders fell the alarm went off...although that doesn't make any sense." She turned to see John staring at her. "What?" She turned to place the file on the table.

A thump against the wall made her nearly jump backwards. Startled.

John was at her side instantly. "What was that?"

She met his gaze. "I don't know."

Another thump. John scanned the wall. Listening. "Pinpoint," he ordered.

"It's louder here, sir," a marine called.

John and Moira moved to the far wall. Moira limped, leaned on a table. John glanced at her, at her foot. Eyed the wall. Another thump. Another. "What's back there?" he asked.

"The, the Wraith specimens."

John glanced at his men, met her gaze. "And you're sure there's nothing alive in there?"

"Positive. They're all dead. Specimens," she repeated.

John moved to the lab door. Another thump. Louder this time. Moira limped after him. "Okay. Tell me exactly what is in there," he instructed.

"They're all dead, colonel. Specimens. Arms. Empty enzyme sacs. Hands with suckers. The, the bodies of the ones you named Steve, and Bob. Pieces of the Super wraith. The arm of the sub-wraith." She winced, leaned over as her foot ached again.

Another thump. Then an eruption of thumps, sounds. Like something was trying to hammer down the door. To get out. Scratches screaming on the door. Banging. The marines tensed, guns pointed at the metal door. John did the same as he stepped in front of Moira.

Silence. They waited, holding their breath. Released the tension as the silence continued.

"Crap." He glanced at Moira. "Why is it always a horror movie with you?" he muttered, causing her to briefly smile. "I'm going to open the door. When I do move into position to–"

"You can't," Moira informed him.

"What?" He looked at her. Moira was staring at the door. "Moira?"

She met his gaze. "There's no code. It's locked with a DNA identification scan."

"Let me guess. You?"

"One of three."

"Crap," he commented. "The minute the door opens you stand clear."

She nodded. Limped to the door. She pressed her thumb against the screen. John stood behind her, so close she could feel his breath on her bare shoulder. The screen went from red to green. Chimed. The door opened silently. John deftly moved her aside, held his gun ready. The marines tensed behind him. Moira stumbled back, hearing the safety's on all of the guns click off at once.

John took a step. With his free hand he felt the wall near the open door. Fingers snaking their way to the panel. Lights flooded the room. He crossed the threshold. Scanned the area. Slowly lowered his gun. "Stand down," he ordered. "Moira."

Moira glanced at the marines. Limped to John. Stared. The room appeared untouched. Undisturbed. Except for a specimen box on the floor. Open. Empty. "That...that's impossible!"

"What was in there?" John asked, walking round the room. Inspecting every corner.

"I don't..." She knelt, eyed the box's label. "It was the sub-wraith...John!" she cried as the sub-wraith arm skittered across the floor towards her. Long claws scratching the surface. She scrambled out of the way as John whirled, shot it. Shot it again. Again as the marines poured into the room only to nearly fall into each other, weapons firing.

"Hold your fire!" John ordered, raised his hand. The arm was a mangled heap of flesh and bone. One claw still protruding. John kept his gun aimed at it. "Moira!"

Moira had managed to scramble to her feet. Now limped towards the appendage. Fascinated. Horrified. "That, that is impossible!" she repeated.

"Apparently not. So what is this now? Zombie Wraith?" John quipped. "Another of your grade B horror–"

A crescendo of banging interrupted. John whirled towards the rows of drawers. Cases were rocking. Thumping and banging as if several things were trying to escape.

"Back out, now!" John ordered. The marines fell back, exiting the room.

Moira limped forward, heart pounding. "This can't be happening!"

"Moira!" John caught her arm, pulled her backwards. Silence. They froze.

One drawer slowly, slowly opened. It squeaked on its rollers as it slid along. Clicked. Stopped.

Moira began to walk towards it but John stopped her, hand clasping her bare arm. "No."

"I have to see. John, this can't be happening!" she insisted.

The silence stretched. Stretched.

"Fine. Don't get too close." He moved with her round the shattered arm on the floor.

Moira's heart was pounding. Her throat was dry. She steadied herself, John's hand still grasping her arm. They neared the drawer. Moira stepped closer. Saw the dead body of a Wraith. Its slashed face frozen in a death grimace. Long teeth bared in a parody of a smile. Wide eyes open. Unseeing. "It's um, Steve," she identified in a whisper. Gasped as the corpse abruptly sat up with a big smile. Arm lifting. Hand outstretched. Sucker visible and gaping open.

"Shit!" John swore, pulled Moira behind him. Fired his gun. Again. Again. "Fire now!" he ordered, grabbing Moira and crashing to the floor with her. Gunfire erupted loudly as the marines unloaded their arsenal. John looked up to see the corpse bounce with all of the bullets hitting it. But it did not go down.

The drawers began to thump wildly all at once. Moira looked past John's shoulder to see Steve lifting one leg out of the drawer. Preparing to emerge. To stand. Alive. "No!"

"Shit. Go! Go!" John pulled her to her feet, shoved her in front of him. Whirled to fire repeatedly as the marines halted, shocked. Steve stepped out of the box, still smiling. Alive, but not breathing.

Moira stumbled out of the lab as the marines created room for her to exit. She whirled as John backed out rapidly. She hit the lock imprint. The door sealed shut. The panel went from green to red. A chime sounded. John pulled her away from the door, slammed his palm on the emergency alarms. Lights and noise flooded. "Back! Back now!" They retreated to the middle of the main lab.

"I don't believe it! How is that possible?" Moira wondered. "The Wraith's regenerative powers don't extend past death! Not past dismemberment! How–"

"We need to contain this! How secure is that door?" John asked, gaze locked there. Expecting Steve to burst through at any moment.

"Very secure. The only lock is out here," she replied. "There's no other way in or out," she explained, raising her voice over the pandemonium of sounds.

"Are there any consoles in there? Computers?" John had to shout to be heard. The door shook as something large slammed into it.

"No! Everything is out here!" She lowered her voice as silence fell. Only the alarm kept ringing. A noisy claxon. A troop of marines ran into the lab, guns at the ready. Red lights flashed off their weaponry. John halted them with a lifted hand. Tapped his earpiece.

"Beckett! I need you down here now! Bio lab!" He turned to the men. "Samuels, go alert Doctor Weir. I want this section locked down immediately!"

"Yes, sir!"

"What could possibly be causing this? Think fast, Moira!" John urged.

She considered. "I...I don't know. The, the Wraith have exceptional healing abilities but they can't come back from the dead. We know they weren't hibernating. These specimens were dead! And the body parts...there's no enzyme in there to, to re-invigorate them. The link. The telepathic link could be that strong. The strong psychic connection...a pulse...a subsonic pulse increasing the..." she rambled, thoughts flying. Fascination and terror colliding. Only John's warm, firm grip on her arm keeping her focused. Secure.

"An outside force, then?" he digested from her words. "An outside influence?" He tapped his earpiece. "Sargent, get McKay and Zelenka. Check for any Wraith in the area. Life signs, scans of orbital ships. Scan the mainland!"

Moira moved cautiously, but John halted her.

"Where–"

"There is a security screen. We can access it to see." As he freed her arm she moved to the console. Fingers flying over the keyboard. The screen came to life. Passwords flew by as running asterisks. An image of the Wraith lab crystalized.

John bent over her shoulder to see the lab. The pulverized arm on the floor. The open drawer. "Where the hell is he? Can you get a better angle of the lab?"

"No. There's only one camera and it's stationary," she explained. "The only–" She yelped, sat back as Steve's face filled the screen. Then was gone.

John touched her shoulder. "Damn! That sucker's still moving!" He studied the picture carefully.

"How can that be? He's dead, John! They're all dead! Have been for months, years!" she insisted. Shook her head in disbelief.

"What's there?" He touched the screen. The edge of the picture where it faded into darkness.

"Um, past the drawers and storage. Cold storage for tissue samples and biochemical research," Moira answered, picturing the lab layout in her head.

"Could any of that be responsible for this?"

"No. I don't think so." John's fingers unconsciously caressed her bare shoulder. Her hair tickled his cheek as he leaned closer.

"And here?" His finger slid to the other side of the screen. "Beyond what we can see?"

"Microscopes, scalpels. All the tools of the trade. A, a sink. Gloves. Masks. Scrubs." She turned her head to look at him. Stared at his intent, calculating gaze. "John, every precaution is taken. Every bio-hazard rule is strictly enforced."

He met her gaze. The hard, scrutinizing intensity softened. Warmed. "I believe you, Moira. I just have to know the exact layout of that room."

She stared. "You...you're not going in there again!"

"I have to. We have to make sure that thing is dead. And if it isn't we have to kill it."

"It's contained!"

"For now. But it is alive. Or undead. Whatever." He shrugged, straightened. "Keep an eye on the monitor." He tapped his earpiece. "Beckett!"

"Aye, colonel. What is happening? If you would let me in I can–"

"Can't do that, doc. We're in lock down. What could bring your dead Wraith to life?"

"Excuse me? That's simply not–"

"I've heard," John noted, cutting off the doctor's disbelief. "Moira thinks it's an outside influence. A psychic or subsonic energy pulse. Is there anything in the lab that could be responsible?"

"Are you saying those dead Wraith are alive? That's impossible, colonel!" Carson Beckett exclaimed, staring at the door. Glanced at the marines surrounding him.

"Specimens and all, doc," John answered. "I need you to focus here." John circled the room.

"Carson?"

"Yes, John, I'm thinking. Moira's there with you?"

"Focus, Carson!" John ordered.

"John..." Moira said slowly, staring at the screen.

He crossed to stand behind her. The drawer was closing slowly. They watched it as it rolled back into place on the wall. "Was Steve in there?"

"No."

Carson's voice broke the tension. "There's nothing in the lab that could do this. Not to my knowledge. Not even the enzyme can restore life to something long dead."

"What if Steve wasn't dead?" John theorized. "What if he was hibernating all that time? Some sort of self-defense against us to repair himself."

"For over two years, John? I don't think so. Besides, we've taken tissue samples since then, and nothing has ever happened."

"Well, something's happened now," John grimly commented. He turned to the waiting marines. "We're going to take this thing down. On my mark." He looked at Moira. "I need you to open the door. Then get as far away as possible. Stay down."

"Okay, John." She stood. John reloaded the 9mm. Gave it to her wordlessly. He took an offered P90. Nodded.

"Go," he said tersely. Stepped with Moira to the door. Gestured. The men followed him.

Moira swallowed nervously. She pressed her thumb to the panel. It changed from red to green. Chimed pleasantly. She swiftly sidestepped out of the way, moved back to the monitor. "Nothing," she said, as the door opened.

John waited. Cautiously he advanced. A step. A step. The lab was well-lit. Silent. Drawers all closed. The sub wraith arm still on the floor. Pulverized.

"John, what is–" came the annoyed voice of Rodney.

John shut off the earpiece. The last thing he needed now was a distraction. He gestured. Stepped into the room. The marines followed.

Moira watched the screen. Saw the men advance, flank John. P90 lights shone into the darkest corners. Shone where the camera could not. She tensed, watching. Feeling like she was witnessing a horror film, except this was real. John walked round the shattered arm specimen. Approached the drawer. Grasp the handle. Open it.

John pulled the drawer open, gun at the ready. It was empty. He released the breath he had been holding. "Where the hell is–"

All at once the drawers began rattling and bumping in unison.

"Sir!" screamed a marine, firing as a shadow moved with terrifying speed. A blur that knocked down two men. Bullets sprayed the walls, the ceiling.

John whirled , P90 spewing ammunition. "The door!" he shouted, barely making out a blur of motion heading for freedom. Escape.

Moira whirled at the gunfire. She stumbled backwards, into the far wall. Held the gun awkwardly. A blurring motion was crossing the threshold. A Wraith moving at an impossible speed. Straight towards her. She lifted the gun but ducked suddenly as John raced after it. Repeatedly firing. Bullets flew, pinged off walls. Consoles. Seeming to go straight through the Wraith. As if it wasn't even there.

Then the lights went out.