Adaptation
Magenta.
The purplish-red color filled John Sheppard's field of vision. His bleary eyes couldn't focus at first, could only make out the bright, vivid color. He blinked. Bringing into focus the tiny gray and blue flowers scattered on the dark pink material in his hand. Sprawled on top of his bed he struggled to wakefulness. Relaxed his grip on the satin material clutched between his fingers.
He lowered his arm, realizing with a start he was holding a pair of Moira's abandoned panties. He grinned. Wondered how long they had been lost in his bed. Recalled she had lacked underwear of any kind last night.
The rest of the evening flooded into memory. The sex. The argument. Over that alternate reality. That alternate Atlantis which they had escaped. Over that alternate John Sheppard. That dark version of himself whom Moira had comforted over the loss of that reality's Moira. That Sheppard who had killed that Moira out of compassion. But John wondered. Doubted. That Sheppard whom Moira had comforted with sex. To buy him time to get back to rescue her.
John sighed. He was jealous of himself, of that man. That version. The same. Yet not.
Cursing over the enigma and headache of it all he flung the panties onto the bed. Moved to the shower. Hot water pounded him. Obliterated all thoughts. All emotions. But his stomach clenched at the memory of sending Moira away. Out of his room. Needing time to think. To process the whole alternate universe thing. The darker version of himself. The fact of what Moira had done. Couldn't get his head around it. Knew if he couldn't get past it his relationship with her was finished.
He stood in front of the dresser. Staring down at his neatly folded shirts. The black too reminiscent of that other colonel. Finally chose a navy blue to go with his blue BDU pants. He ran a hand through his hair. Along his clean-shaven jaw, chin. Did not want to resemble that colonel in any possible way. Thinking not only of Moira but of himself.
He made the bed. Slow, careful motions as his back ached. Still sore from the Wraith attack that had left three long, vicious scratches. He straightened the disordered blankets. He had gotten little sleep last night. Tossing and turning in a miasma of emotions. A tumult of anger and denial. Of sorrow and love. He looked at the magenta panties. The material so bright. Almost taunting him with remembered pleasure, passion. He snatched them. Shoved them into the pocket of his pants. A glint of a smile stole across his face, was gone. He checked his watch. Just enough time to grab a cup of coffee before the debrief.
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Moira O'Meara felt miserable. She stared at herself in the mirror. Did not like what she saw. Guilt and misery stared back at her. Unable to sleep she had tossed and turned all night. Unable to decide what to do. If John had broken up with her or not. She wasn't sure. Couldn't blame him if he had. Couldn't bear it if he had. She found herself unable to explain the sympathy she had had for that alternate John, the one wracked by guilt and grief. Knowing exactly what he had been enduring. It was still John, after all, so how could she not reach out to him, to comfort him.
Felt a flare of anger at her John for not seeing that. Understanding that.
She combed her long brown hair. Each stroke a soothing motion. Not as soothing as John's fingers running through it. She shoved the thought away. She gathered her long tresses and trapped them in a ponytail. Smoothed down her dark green t-shirt. The khaki pants that John enjoyed on her so much. The way they hugged her curves, her rear. She smirked. A knock on the door made her rush to it, wave it open. "Oh. Evan."
Evan Lorne smiled at her obvious disappointment. "Sorry." But his smile faded seeing more. "Moira? Are you okay?"
"I...I had trouble sleeping, is all."
"Oh. Well, I guess that's understandable. After going to a parallel reality and all. Weir wants you at the debrief this morning. We have time to grab some breakfast first. Okay?" His blue eyes evinced sympathy. Curiosity.
Moira evaded them both, smiled. "Okay. Give me a second." She wondered if John would be there, in the cafeteria. Knew he would be at the debrief. Didn't want to face him. Couldn't wait to see him. She sighed, heart racing. Darted back to grab a file. Then followed Evan down the hallways.
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John stood. Sipped the hot liquid. It burned its way down his throat, into his stomach. It cleared his mind. Woke him to a fully alert status. He glanced round the cafeteria. At the tables crowded with scientists and soldiers. All talking, laughing, enjoying the morning. He did not see Moira among them. Felt annoyance and relief.
"John? You almost missed breakfast," Rodney McKay noted, empty tray in hand. "I highly recommend the pancakes this morning. They are excellent, with a side of bacon or sausages."
"Not hungry." He gulped the last of the coffee.
"What? Since when? John? Are you okay?" Rodney's gaze flitted over his friend. His concern grated.
"Fine. Let's get this over with." He stalked out of the cafeteria. Rodney followed, puzzled.
"Okay. We'll be early, though. Um, John...what exactly happened to you? There, I mean. In that alternate reality?"
John ignored him. Deliberately taking the long way round. Avoiding any chance of running into Moira yet. Knew he was being cowardly but didn't care. Did not want to face any emotional exchanges just yet.
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Moira followed Evan into the cafeteria. Her heart was pounding and she chided herself. Nevertheless she glanced round, furtive looks in quest of one subject. But John was not there. She selected a single pancake. Ate sparingly. Stomach twisting in worry, in fear, in anger. She sighed, forcing the emotions down, down. "What?" she asked, as Evan watched her. Eating his own breakfast with a healthy appetite.
"You should eat more than that, Moira. You don't look so good," he chided.
She frowned. "Thanks, Evan. Thanks a lot."
"I'm serious, Moira. Are you sure you're okay? What happened to you in that alternate–"
"I'm fine, Evan!" She calmed her voice. His concern was cloying. "Just not hungry. I had a rough night, is all. And no, I don't want to talk about it, about any of it. Okay? Not yet." She forestalled more questions, raised a hand.
"Okay," he relented. "But when you do I'm here, Moira."
She smiled. Genuine this time. "Thank you, Evan. You're a good friend."
"Then eat another pancake, damn it," he teased, sliding one onto her plate. "And I'll stop nagging. And then we'll go to the debrief."
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John sat in the conference room. Impatient. Drumming his fingers on the tabletop in a continual rhythm. He glanced at Rodney as he fiddled with a data screen. Kept looking at him but said nothing. Questions all too evident. John didn't say a word. Waited. He watched as the others finally filed into the room. Elizabeth Weir quirked a brow, surprised to see him there early for a change. She took her place at the head of the table. Carson Beckett looked concerned. His blue eyes studying John like a specimen under a microscope. Evan had a worried expression on his face. He glanced at John with suspicion. Moira followed on his heels.
John straightened in his seat. Eyes locked on her. The ubiquitous ponytail. The dark green shirt smooth over her breasts. The khaki pants hugging her rear in the way he enjoyed. Found very distracting. Her lack of sleep evident on her pale face. Weary brown eyes. Also a misery as she briefly met his gaze, looked at the folder in her hands as she sat next to Evan.
Moira noted John's weariness. Stillness. The lack of his usual black t-shirt. The wariness in his brilliant green eyes. She viewed her hands, folded primly on her folder. Resisting the urge to clutch the edges of it like a lifesaver to keep her from drowning in an emotional whirlpool. Tides of worry and anger and love pulling her this way and that. She bit her lower lip. Before she could emit that small, soft sound John found so arousing she freed her lip, softly sighed.
"I don't know where to begin," Elizabeth admitted. Looking from John to Moira and back again.
"I do." Disappointed at the lack of that small, soft sound from Moira's lips he slipped a hand into the pocket of his pants to finger the silky panties. Stroking the satin. Oddly calmer now. "I want that particular quadrant sealed off from any further exploration indefinitely. Rodney, you need to scan that ocean floor. Determine if that anomaly is still there. Still active. Or if anything else can trigger it. I don't want any ships in that area. Is that understood?"
"Okay," Rodney agreed, curious at his friend's stern tone. "But what exactly am I supposed to find there?"
"The anomaly," John supplied.
"Well, duh, John! Obviously! But what exactly is the–" Rodney snapped, shaking his head.
"The anomaly," he repeated. "You would know the specifics far better than I do. The technical readouts of it both coming and going. It's all recorded in the Jumper's sensors. It's got the full diagnostics. A series of mathematical equations."
"Oh. Right. Good." Rodney exchanged a glance with Elizabeth. She shrugged. "But what exactly was it? I mean apart from the energy signatures what am I–"
"Lights."
"Lights? What is that supposed to mean?" Rodney snapped. "I need more information!"
"Lights." All eyes moved to Moira as she spoke. "What Colonel Sheppard means is the anomaly displayed lights. Like an aurora borealis underwater. Waves of lights flickering, possibly in a discernible pattern or wavelength, I'm not sure."
"An electrical discharge? Of course! That makes sense. A fissure of some kind in the space time continuum. It should have a distinctive energy signature as I postulated and my guess is it can only be triggered by a very specific power fluctuation or a set of equations based upon the energy output of the initial..." He snapped his fingers in rapid succession. "Like a shielded Jumper, right? Yes! Except the Jumper's inertial dampeners would prevent the outpouring of any excess energy, restrict it to just the ship's contours, not fluctuate outside of those particular parameters."
"It was extended," John stated. Albeit reluctantly. All eyes swung back to him. "The shield," he clarified.
"It was? Well, that would do it. Theoretically, of course. Creating a wave of power that impacted the anomaly and triggered a burst of dimensional...why were you extending the shield?"
"And why were you underwater in the first place?" Elizabeth asked.
John almost blushed. Almost. Hesitated as he scrambled for a lie. Could not tell the truth. That he had surprised Moira with a date. A picnic under the waves. Sex on the ocean floor.
"That was my fault," Moira volunteered, seeing his dilemma. "I wanted to explore the ocean depths. Look for your whales, Rodney."
"My...ugh! Don't remind me," he complained.
"They are a species of primitive whales, as far as I can determine. A prehistoric species. In fact the sea life is very diverse, ranging from prehistoric to modern specimens of amphibians, fish, and even mammals like your whales. The whole biosphere of this planet is quite diverse," she rambled, on surer ground now and unable to stop until John intervened.
"I didn't bother to log the trip because I thought it wouldn't take more than an hour. Maybe two at the most if Doctor O'Meara started rambling," he added. He briefly smiled. She smiled in return. The strange tension between them easing for a moment.
"I want to hear about this other Atlantis. What was it like?" Elizabeth asked.
The brief levity disintegrated under the question. Smiles gone.
"Dark," Moira answered. Eyes on her folder now.
"Dark? Come on! There must be have been more! An alternate Atlantis! With the same people, right?" Rodney enthused. "Just alternate versions! Endless possibilities of differences and similarities depending upon the time line and the history and the permutations of–"
"Very dark," Moira clarified.
"What Doctor O'Meara means is that it was a city at war," John explained. "Constant war. A fully militarized Atlantis with most of the civilians gone. They were at war with the Wraith. The New Wraith. Improved with the ATA gene. Even they didn't know who it had worked, but it had. With devastating consequences." John glanced at Moira, then at his hands.
"You mean the, the breeding program?" Carson exclaimed. "The harvest? Worked in that reality? Oh my God..." He looked at Moira.
"Yes," John confirmed. His tone cut off any questions. "We need to prevent that from happening here. At all costs." He looked at Moira. Winced at the words as she flinched. "I...I mean...I didn't mean...I..." he stammered.
"Colonel Sheppard means that women with the ATA gene are particular targets," Moira answered, overcoming the horror of her alternate self's fate. "They had been evacuated to Earth in that reality. But too late...to prevent the, the harvest." Moira felt a shiver. Glanced gratefully at Evan as he touched her hand a moment. A comforting gesture.
"So you're suggesting we send all of our female ATA gene carriers to Earth?" Elizabeth asked.
"No! No," John said, voice calmer as he stroked the panties in his pocket. "Doctor O'Meara means we need to exercise caution, is all. Being aware of the possibility should prevent it. We can be extra diligent for any tech that scans for the ATA gene. We'll compile a list of the women who have the gene. But there are not many."
"It can't be a threat now, right? I mean, in our reality we prevented that," Carson insisted, looking from one to the other. "The harvest never occurred. Different time line, right, Rodney?"
"Huh?" Rodney was staring at John, then at Moira. "Yes, yes, different outcome. Different history. Parallel but not the same."
"The most important thing is to monitor that anomaly," John redirected the conversation. "If we can trigger it so can they, now that they are aware of it. And trust me, we don't want them here. Any of them."
"Why? I mean, why would they come here in the first place?" Elizabeth asked. "For aid? Support? Weapons? John? Why?"
John couldn't say it. But he knew. Knew exactly why that colonel would have that Rodney find a way to open the anomaly. John looked at the reason. Moira fidgeted, feeling his gaze on her. She was prying at the corner of her folder. John met Elizabeth's gaze. "Yeah...I mean, maybe all of those." He looked at Moira. She met his gaze, the question on her lips. He shook his head. An almost imperceptible motion.
"But they're us, right?" Carson persisted. "Atlantis? Other versions of us. Like Rodney said. Parallel versions of us, although I can't imagine another McKay in any universe."
"No!" John's abrupt tone cut off the burst of laughter. "They are not us. Never think that for a moment," he warned.
"Well, of course they are us, John. Not us, but versions of us," Rodney insisted. "Of course there will be differences but essentially we would be the same and–"
"No!" John stood. "They are not the same! Not even close, god dammit and never think that! You have no idea, none!"
"No, we don't," Elizabeth agreed. Exchanging glances with Rodney and Carson. "Why don't you tell us, John. Help us to understand. All you've said is that it was a darker version of Atlantis. A city at war. But the people were the same, essentially. They–"
"Parallel to us," Moira said before John could protest yet again. "Similar to us in many ways, yes. But different too. Because of what they had endured. What they endure every day in that reality. Struggling."
John met her gaze. "No. Not at all, doctor. You even said so yourself. So what is this? Ah. Trying to assuage any lingering guilt, are we?"
Moira frowned at him. "No, colonel. You agreed they were similar as well. So what is this? Oh. Trying to pretend otherwise?"
They stared at each other. Locked in a silent challenge. Mutual misery.
Elizabeth stood. "At any rate our main concern is the anomaly, since you two are back here now," she said, trying to defuse the odd tension between them. "But what happened there? Obviously something did. John? Moira?"
John looked at her. "Nothing. They wanted us to stay. We refused. They insisted. We had to escape. End of story."
"John! There's more to it than that! What happened there? What–"
"Nothing. I said nothing," John repeated.
Elizabeth sighed. "Moira?"
Moira glanced at John. At Rodney who appeared confused. At Carson who appeared troubled. At Evan who appeared worried. Finally to Elizabeth who appeared sympathetic but also irritated. "Nothing. Nothing at all happened."
