Synthesis

Red.

John Sheppard stared down at the color. The crimson shadings of the scrubs he wore as he lay on the cot in the infirmary. The color was bright, glaring, reminding him of blood and he closed his eyes briefly. It evoked images, memories of his own injuries from which he was healing. The savage cut on his arm. The bullet wound to his leg. The scrapes and cuts from a vicious fight. A bullet's graze on his side.

Other images filled his mind. The face of his former lieutenant. Not as he had been before John had killed him, a mutated, irrational man addicted to the enzyme and being overpowered by the Wraith transplanted cells inhabiting his newly attached arm. No, he appeared in John's mind as the gentle, humorous young man he had been when they had first journeyed to the Pegasus galaxy. Had first discovered Atlantis. Had first discovered the Wraith.

John frowned, shoving all those thoughts aside, but they lingered. The memory of shooting his former lieutenant. Two killing shots. Cold. Precise. He mused on the Jumper shot down during that last mission. The loss of Torres and his men. Gone instantly, vaporized. Banks, another marine killed on the mission.

He turned his head, as if to shunt out the memories but the guilt shadowed him. Darkened his thoughts, his mood. He opened his eyes, looked round the infirmary. Looking for one person in particular. One person who could banish the shadows, could douse the guilt and at least understand it, at least push it aside for a little while. He didn't see her, and a jolt of panic bloomed in his chest. Until he heard a clatter towards the back. Heard her voice, then Carson's.

He carefully got out of the bed. Slipped his feet into slippers and made his way towards the sounds. Realizing with a grimace where he was heading.

The morgue.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Moira Sheppard exclaimed, kneeling to gather the instruments that had fallen from the tray she had dropped.

Carson Beckett moved to her. Hands encased in blue rubber gloves. A scalpel in his hand. "It's all right, love. No harm done. Why don't you take a wee break?"

"Yes, I...I need..." She stood, set the tray on the table. Glanced at the body of Aiden Ford. At the Wraith-like appendage they had been carefully examining. Dissecting. She felt her stomach turn over and pulled off the rubber gloves. "I just need a moment."

"Of course, love. Go on," Carson agreed, nodding.

Moira stepped out of the room, stood near the open doorway. She leaned against the wall, hand on her stomach. She closed her eyes. "I'm sorry, Carson! I just felt queasy all of a sudden. And no, I don't want any drugs so don't offer. I'll be fine. I haven't been sleeping too well. When I do sleep I dream...I remember...I..." The darkling images of the alternate Sheppard filled her mind. His roughness. His care. The shared intimacy. "And I don't want to remember so I don't go back to sleep. I just need...I just need..." Her voice faltered softly, as she clamped down on the surge of emotion.

"Me."

Moira's eyes flew open. To see John standing near, gaze on her. Expression full of concern, of protectiveness. "John? No! I mean, you shouldn't be out of bed yet! Here, I'll take you back–"

She grabbed his arm.

"No." He pulled her gently into an embrace. Kissed her brow. "No, Moira. You need to sleep. You need me. I need you. We need privacy. Bed. Intimacy," he said low into her ear. Brushed his lips across her cheek as she took a step back from him. He looked past her to the room. "Ford?"

"Yes. You don't need to see this, John, please!" She tried to pull him away from the sight but he didn't move. Stood staring at the corpse of his former lieutenant. His former friend. The man he had killed. "John, please! Come away!"

"What are you doing out of bed, colonel?" Carson asked, joining them. He eyed the pair. Moira pulling gently at John's arm but John was immobile. As if he was planted there.

"Taking care of my wife," he retorted. Met the doctor's gaze. "Can't you see how weary she is? How upset?"

"Yes, but she refuses to leave your side or leave this work. And you should be in bed, John."

"No. That is, not here. I'd like to get cleaned up, put on some comfortable clothes and rest. In my room. In our room," he corrected, glancing at Moira. She was watching him worriedly.

"Very well, colonel, but take it easy."

"I'll get him sorted, Carson, and then return to–"

"No, you won't. Let's go." John began to lead her across the infirmary. Limping.

Moira frowned. "John, lean on me. You need–"

"No. You've been hurt. I'm the one that hurt you," he said, still not believing he had hit her, however accidently. He walked awkwardly.

Moira sighed. "Get over it, John! It wasn't your fault! It was mine! Don't be so stubborn!" She took his arm, guided him slowly. "I'm fine, John. Really. Don't you worry about me. It wasn't your fault, okay? Don't."

"So you say, Moira, but I know you. I know you're not fine. Not at all. We need privacy. I need you. You need to tell me everything. In private. But first I need something to eat."

She smiled. Guided him to her room. Past it into his.

He looked longingly back at the bed. "Hey! Our bed is more–"

"Yes, but you have the better bathroom, and you said you wanted to get cleaned up, right?" She led him to his bed. "Here. Do you need my help, John?"

He sat, considering. Watching her as she waited, her gaze moving over him in concern. "Well, I'd hate to drop my loofah...so yeah...actually." He smiled.

Moira smirked, shook her head. "Behave, sweetie. I'll go get your lunch. Take it easy."

"What about my loofah, baby?" he asked, pouting.

She neared. Kissed him. "We can examine your loofah later, sweetie."

"Promise, baby?" he asked, catching her hand. The kiss had been far too chaste for his liking. She was tense, uncertain. Sorrow clung like a shadow to her.

"Yes. Now make yourself comfortable. I'll be back in five."

John sighed. Wondered how to break through her defenses to find out what was wrong. To get past the calm exterior. To bypass all the concern and worry over him. He stood, limped to the bathroom. Stripped slowly. Examined the bruises on his torso. Carefully he unwrapped the bandages on his leg, his arm. Scowled at the wounds marring his skin. His muscles were sore. Tight. He stretched a little, then stepped into the shower and let the hot water pound him.

He tilted his head back, closed his eyes. Water sluiced over his face, neck, down his broad shoulders. Across his torso. Lightly stinging the cuts as it sloshed along his arms and legs. He opened his eyes, grabbed the soap. Wishing that Moira was with him. Was running her hands over him. Was naked in the shower with him. His anatomy stirred at the thought, at the images he was invoking. He smirked. "Not yet, boy, not yet," he sighed. Wanting.

Moira grabbed a tray. Nearly dropped it. She softly swore, held it steady and loaded it with the food John wanted. A thick, juicy burger. Loaded. A side of fries. A bottle of his beloved beer. She carried it carefully, feeling her stomach tighten at the smell of the food. She licked her lips, headed across the room but stumbled, nearly dropping the tray yet again. But a hand suddenly steadied it for her.

"Moira? Are you all right?" Evan Lorne's hand braced the tray from underneath as his gaze perused her. Worry lined his face, was reflected in his blue eyes.

Moira smiled. "I'm fine. Just tired, is all. And a little queasy...after...the..."

"Oh." Evan nodded, freed the tray and walked with her as she carried it out of the cafeteria. "Ford," he noted. "Word is he is more Wraith than man. Is that true?"

"No. Only his arm. The synthesis of the two organisms is striking, and scary."

"I take it that's for the colonel. How is he?"

"Recovering. Slowly."

"It was weird, Moira. Well, you know how weird it was. Having two Sheppards. I couldn't believe my eyes when they appeared, with you between them. Rodney was trying to explain all about the alternate realities but I might have fallen asleep in the middle."

She smiled. "Weird is one way of putting it, Evan." She glanced at him. "You don't blame John for what he did, do you? I mean, I mean for shooting Ford? He had no choice, you know."

"I know. He gave Ford a choice but Ford wouldn't take it. No...I don't. Some might," he added quietly as they passed some people in the hallways. "After Sumner, you know. One of our own and all. Except Ford really wasn't any more. And after Parrish...but that was different."

"No one can blame him more than he blames himself, despite seeing the necessity," she said sadly. "I wish I could, I wish I could help him."

"You can, Moira. Talk to him. And get some rest yourself. You look exhausted."

She smiled. "Gee, thanks, Evan. Such a charmer." They laughed.

John sat at the table in his room, waiting. He ran a hand through his damp hair. Clad in a comfortable gray t-shirt and running pants he lounged. Rubbed his clean-shaven chin. Felt better just by being clean, in his own clothes, in his own room. He spotted Moira's data pad on the table. Pulled it to him. Curious he opened it. Saw the flash drive the colonel had given her inserted. He tapped some buttons. The screen lit, but was blank. The cursor blinking. Waiting. Waiting for a password.

Moira entered the room. She carried the tray to the table, gazing upon him. He appeared more relaxed. More at ease. His handsome face was set in a frown as he considered, staring at the blank screen. The waiting cursor. "Any ideas?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry! I..." he shut it down, closed it with a shrug.

"It's all right, John. I need your help, actually. To break the password code. I haven't had much time to work on it."

"Wouldn't Rodney be better at this kind of thing?" he asked, eyes moving to the food. His stomach growled at the aroma.

"No. It's for our eyes only. Mine. And yours. For now. Your other, um, self set the passwords and encryptions. So either one of us should be able to figure them out, right? Here. Eat."

John pulled the tray to him, straightening in the chair. Smiled. Grinned at the beer. "Ah baby. Moira, will you marry me?" he teased, taking a generous sip of the amber liquid.

She snatched some fries, sat next to him. "Hey, a proposal not after sex? And we're both clothed? Wow, John, you are improving."

He laughed. "Hilarious, Moira." He proceeded to eat, fondly watching her as she snatched a few more fries. She sipped a Coke she had brought with her. "Did you–"

"No, this is enough. I'm not hungry," she explained. Watching him.

"Not hungry? You were stranded on that planet for three days, nearly four. I remember the choices of foods were not that varied. Fruit, or fruit. Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine, John. Don't you worry. My stomach isn't settled yet after the...you know." She glanced at the table.

"Ford," he stated. Swallowed. Sipped more beer. "What are your findings so far?"

"Not now, John. You don't need to think about that." She looked up to watch him eat. Big bites of the burger. Mayonnaise squirted along the corner of his mouth and he licked his lips. A darting of his tongue. He drank long swallows of the beer, Adam's apple bobbing as he tilted his head back. Made a satisfied sound before grabbing a handful of fries.

John enjoyed his food. Fully conscious of Moira watching him. Her ardent interest although she tried to hide it. Turned to look round the room, as if searching for something. He smiled. But wondered at her unease. "Talk to me, sweetheart," he invited, taking another bite.

"I'm fine, John," she replied, automatically. Trying to ignore him. To ignore her own sensual appraisals of him. A knock sounded on the door. She nearly flew from the chair in an odd mixture of relief and annoyance. Opened it. "Rodney, please," she invited.

Rodney McKay entered the room. "Thanks. I just thought I'd check on John since he finally got his lazy ass out of the infirmary to oh lunch? Good! I brought extra, in case." He carried in a tray, made room on the table for it and sat next to his friend. "Oh! Congratulations, by the way! To both of you." Without another word he attacked his own sandwich.

John raised a brow. Glanced at Moira who shrugged. "Okay. Mission accomplished, I guess."

"No? Well, yes, on that. But I meant your marriage. Your marriage to Moira. I'm sorry I doubted you and didn't believe you, John. Elizabeth filled me in, so to speak. So anyway, congratulations. I haven't paid Carson yet but I will," he grumbled.

"Paid Carson?" Moira asked, still standing near the door.

John smirked. "They had a bet on whether or not I was going to propose."

"A bet?" she asked, frowning.

Rodney exchanged a glance with John. Viewed Moira as he swallowed. "Yes...just a little harmless bet, Moira. No harm no foul. Right? Just a guy thing, is all."

"You made a bet on whether or not John was going to–" A knock cut off her rising indignation. She sighed, moved to the door. Opened it. "Evan? Please, come in."

"Moira. I thought the colonel could use...oh, Rodney." Evan paused.

John smiled at the six-pack the major was holding. "Good thinking, major. I can always use that. Join us. Rodney brought enough food for a party."

"I did not! There's barely enough for me!" the scientist protested, scowling. Nevertheless he scooted over as Evan pulled up a chair, set the six-pack on the table. Grabbed a sandwich off Rodney's tray and started to eat it. "I sincerely hope this isn't a prelude to another drunken sing-a-long," he grumbled.

"No, it's not," Moira assured. She walked over as John was grabbing another beer. She smacked the back of his head.

"Ow! What the–" he protested.

"One only! Doctor's orders. I think you've had–" Another knock. "For crying out loud!" she grumbled, causing the men to smile.

"Hey, Evan, did you know they were married?" Rodney asked.

"Yeah. I didn't believe it at first," Evan confessed.

"Neither did I. Hey, John, you never had–"

"Carson? Come on," Moira said tiredly, stepping aside.

"Thanks, love. I thought I'd better check on the pair of you and oh! Is this a gathering now? With beer?"

"And food. Rodney brought enough," Evan invited.

"I barely have enough for us, let alone him!" Rodney complained with a heavy sigh.

"I'm famished!" Carson pulled up a chair, grabbed a sandwich.

"I hardly have any–" Rodney began to protest.

"Oh please, you've devoured two already!" John noted. The men laughed.

"Oh. Here." Rodney flung a five dollar bill at his friend.

"About bloody time!" Carson exclaimed, pocketing the money. The men laughed.

"Well, how was I to know? I mean, well, come on! John?" Rodney asked, glancing at Moira who was standing near the door like a sentinel, watching them. "The bet was his idea, you know."

"It was, but I knew I was right," Carson agreed, glanced at Moira and smiled. "Easiest money I've ever made. I knew you two would get married."

"How? I never would have guessed that in a million years! No disrespect intended," he added hastily, glancing at Moira again, then to John who was beginning to glower, "but come on!"

"I'd stop right there if I were you," Evan advised. Causing more laughter.

"Yes, I guess you're right. So, um, congratulations."

"Congratulations!" the men chimed in. Clattered their bottles of beer against each other's.

John smiled. "Thank you." He looked at Moira. "Come join us, Moira. There's plenty."

Moira shook her head, moved to sit on John's bed after snatching her data pad off the table.

"Say! We need to throw you a bachelor party! As best man I'll organize the whole thing!" Rodney exclaimed.

"Whoa, whoa, who ever said you would have been the best man?" Evan asked, shaking his head.

"It's obvious, isn't it? John, tell him!" Rodney insisted.

John smirked. "Tell him what, Rodney?"

"Ha ha. As best man it would have been my solemn duty to arrange the bachelor party. So we can do it now."

"Here, here! Do it right, though!" Carson agreed with a smile. The men clinked their bottles together in avid agreement.

"Uh, is that all right, Moira?" Evan asked. Suddenly all of the men looked at her.

She looked up from the data pad, smiled. "Of course, Evan. But no strippers."

The men laughed. Rodney groaned. "Oh come on, Moira! That's a fine tradition!"

"Not in this galaxy, Rodney," she warned. They laughed.

John smiled. "You heard my wife. No strippers. At least not in this galaxy. Although since I'm already married the whole bachelor party idea seems kind of moot."

"Then we'll move it!" Rodney enthused, ignoring the objection. "Move the party to Earth! Strippers are allowed in that galaxy, thank God!"

"Vegas. The only way to go," Evan stated with a grin.

"Yeah, right. I'll just ask Caldwell if we can arrange a party in Vegas and go all at the same time. He'd love that," John wryly noted.

"All right, so we're stuck here," Rodney conceded. "But we can get our supplies from Earth, right? And strippers–"

"No strippers," Moira interjected. The men laughed.

"What about lap dancers?" John suggested, gaze on her.

"Hilarious, John. No."

"At this rate we'll be lucky to get an aged Athosian stick fighter," Evan mourned. Laughter. The men drank, finishing their food in quick swallows.