Mutability

Red.

The color was a vivid smear on the data screen. Popping up in the double helix of genetic codes, the spiral sequences arrayed side by side by side in a comparison. Data scrolled at the bottom of the illustration, breaking the chains into molecules and amino acids. Proteins and other identifying markers. Crimson spots in the swirling blue and green spirals pinpointing a key element.

Moira Sheppard sighed, staring at the screen. Frowning in concentration she typed a few commands. The images grew larger. More complex. She tapped her earpiece. "Peter, copy?"

As her fellow biologist assented she continued. "And these are from the Iratus bug eggs, right? Straight from the source, so to speak, of the original enzyme."

"Yes," Peter Harrison confirmed, sitting in the bio lab and staring at his own data screen displaying the same data. "I've highlighted the enzyme cells in red, as you can see. When I added some human tissue you can see how engorged those cells became. In effect feeding upon the intrusive cells. After invading the cellular wall. Then feeding upon it...but it's not...not a complete absorption." He paused, smiled hearing a fussy baby in the background. "Moira? Is–"

"He's fine," Moira commented with a sigh, glancing over at the playpen set in the middle of the room. The baby was propped in a corner, leaning on a teddy bear almost his size. The infant was beginning to fuss, making whimpering sounds which would eventually lead to a cry if not intercepted. His lips were forming a pout as he stared at his mother as she sat at the table. Moira eyed the screen again. "We're still missing something, Peter! If the cells aren't being absorbed that means that the bugs aren't incorporating the human DNA into their own cells. When that Iratus bug fed on John it didn't turn him into a Wraith. It just drained his energy. I don't even think it took enough of his DNA to effect any kind of change."

"True...but our standing theory is that the bugs became the Wraith, somehow."

"Then our standing theory must be wrong...at least for the more sophisticated Wraith, the more evolved kind of..." She paused, raising her voice as the baby's complaints became louder. "Just a second, Johnny," she said, glancing at the infant. He was pulling himself up onto the toy, expression torn between a crying fit and annoyance, making her smile. The similarity to his father was amusing. "I think we need to start again. Can you test the enzyme with the retro-virus?" she asked.

"Of course," Peter assented, hearing the baby's fussing in the background. "I'll check the effect on both the enzyme and the bug's DNA cells to see if there is any difference."

"And add in the human as well," Moira suggested, voice rising once more. "Let's see if we can create, then destroy a molecular Wraith in the lab. Theoretically if that is how they came to be then we could oh hang on!"

Moira stood, moved to the playpen as the baby began to cry. Big, gulping hiccups, eyes full of tears. "Johnny, knock it off! What is it? Oh...lunch?" she asked, lifting the infant to her arms. The baby cried, little hands clasping her shirt. She sighed, kissed him. "Okay, darling. Ssh! Peter, sorry, I'll have to table this again until he goes down."

"No problem, Moira," Peter affably agreed. "I'll send you the data as I work."

"Thanks. Sorry!" She switched off the earpiece, set it on the table, all the while gently bouncing the fussy baby. "Okay, okay, hold on, would you? You are as persistent as your father!" she scolded, moved to sit on the bed. "We might be onto something here, Johnny, so hush," she scolded, unbuttoning her shirt. Pulling up the bra and guiding the infant to one heavy breast. "There now," she soothed, as the baby began to suckle. Blue eyes on his mother as his little hands caught her shirt. "I think we'll need Carson on this. And the records of what happened to your father when he became infected with the retro-virus," she mused, rocking the infant.

John Sheppard was in a foul mood. He glowered at everyone, anyone who happened to cross his path. Curious gazes were averted as he descended the stairs. Crossed the control room. Whispers were silenced as he strode down the hallways. Boots clomping in an angry staccato as he stomped to his quarters. He entered his room. Except it wasn't his room any more. It was the nursery. Except it was a chaotic mess. Cluttered with boxes and bags. Unopened furniture. Baby items galore littered the bed, the table, the floor.

He stumbled over a box. Kicked it. Heard a satisfying crash as it careened into another, tipping yet a third. His satisfaction was short lived, however, as heard Moira's voice from the other room.

"John?"

"Fine! I'm fine!" he snarled. He moved to grab the fallen boxes when another hit his elbow. "Son of a bitch!" he flared, shoving his way to the fridge.

"John?" Moira repeated, sitting at the table as she fed the baby. He noisily sucked at her breast, oblivious to his father's ranting.

John entered the room, beer in hand. He stared at his wife and son. Sat on the bed, drank deeply. Deep swallows nearly mimicking his son's. He lowered the bottle, licked his lips. "Put John junior into his cradle," he tersely stated. Wanting nothing more than to fuck his wife, repeatedly. To lose himself in exuberant sex. Waves of pleasure taking everything away. He watched her gently free herself from the baby's mouth. Her wet, rosy, hard nipple making John's body react. He looked away from her, drank more beer. Downed the liquid. As she passed, patting the baby on the back he stood, moved to get another. "Moira!" he barked, "get your pert little ass in here now!"

She sighed. "It's all right, Johnny. Daddy's just in a pissy mood. Again." She kissed the infant. Placed him in his wheeled playpen. She buttoned her shirt, pushed the playpen into the nursery. Maneuvered around the obstacle course where John sat on his bed, having cleared it of boxes and bags. "John?"

"I said to leave him!" he snapped. Regretted it seeing Moira's concern. Hearing the baby start to cry.

"John!" Moira soothed the baby, leaning over the playpen.

John stared hard at her rear, snug in the khakis pants. "Sorry. I'm sorry, Moira. Shit, now I'm terrorizing my infant son!"

"Not terrorizing, but yes, you are upsetting him. He hates that tone." She straightened as the baby sucked on a toy, watching his parents with wide eyes. Moira moved to her husband, sat next to him. "Talk to me, John." She touched his hand. He drew away.

"Why the hell haven't you cleared this room?" he asked moodily.

"Why haven't you?" she retorted. "I've been a little busy, sweetie, what with your son and all."

"Sorry." He sighed. "Fuck it, Moy. You were right. About everything." He drank the beer.

"What do you mean? Right about what?"

"This." He gestured around the room. Downed more beer.

"The mess? We'll get it sorted soon enough, sweetie."

"No! Not the mess! You think I give a shit about the mess?" he fumed. Stood, stepped round the playpen where the baby started to fuss. Toy dropping from his mouth. "This! I can't...I can't manage it, Moy!" he finally admitted. "I can't mange everything! You were right! We never should have let things go this far! We never should have gotten married. Let alone had a baby! What the hell were we thinking? I thought I could handle it but I can't. Moy, I can't!"

"What happened?" she asked softly.

"What happened? What happened?" he shouted, pacing like a wild animal. He drank the beer, drained it dry. "I refused a mission! A fucking mission, Moira!" The baby started to cry but John plowed ahead, ignoring him. "I have never refused a mission! Never! I delegated it to Reynolds and his team and boy did Weir rip me a new one for that! I didn't want to be wasting my time on some fucking, asinine meet and greet! All I could think of was you, Moy! You! You and John junior! How long I'd be away, how well you would cope, what would I miss, how you would be without me! I can't do that, Moy! I'm the fucking military commander of Atlantis, but you...you...you, Moira!" He stopped, glaring at her.

Moira stared back at him calmly, glancing at the baby as John resumed his tirade, his pacing.

"All I can think of is this! It was bad enough before, when we weren't having sex and I had a fucking hard-on every day, but now, now it's worse! I swear it's worse because every night I want to be in our bed with you, fucking you repeatedly at last! And then I wonder what I'll miss when I'm gone, what Johnny might suddenly do or achieve or try and I can't be like that!" He threw the bottle across the room. It smashed against the wall, shattering into a million pieces.

The bay started to wail.

Moira moved to her feet, alarmed. "John!"

"Sex, Moira! I need sex now! I want to lose myself in you, Moira! In love and sex and sex. I wish we'd never come back here! I could, you know!" He pointed to the door. "I could go right out that door and fuck any woman I want! It wouldn't mean anything. It would just be sex, Moira! Shut that kid up, would you?" he snapped, striding to the door.

"John! John Sheppard, don't you dare walk out that door! Don't you dare leave me!"

John froze, never having heard that strident tone of voice from his Moira. The baby abruptly stopped crying, seemingly as shocked as his father. John slowly turned to look at his son. The baby was looking at him, big blue eyes filled with tears and John would swear astonishment mirroring his own. The baby hiccuped. "Um...Moira...I wasn't really going to..." he began sheepishly, but her glare silenced him.

"Sit down!" She pointed. John hung his head, trudged to the bed. Sat. Moira moved to the fridge, grabbed a beer. She shoved it at him. "Here! Try not to throw this one, okay?" She moved to the baby, knelt and lifted him. "Ssh, ssh, darling, it's all right! Ssh," she soothed, kissing and cuddling him. She nibbled his ear to make him gurgle, coo.

John stared. "He likes that too?"

Moira set him down, gave him a toy to suck. "Yes. And he has the same John Sheppard oral fixation." She glanced at John who was sucking on the beer bottle. He paused, eyes on his son sucking on the toy. Amusement glimmered briefly. Moira sighed, moved to sit next to her husband. "Now talk to me, John. Nicely. From the beginning. Calmly. You refused a mission, you said. What mission?"

John sipped some beer. Stared at the bottle. "M1X243. We've been there before. Traded. Friendlies. No reports of Wraith. No Ancient tech to salvage. No intel. Just a mission of allies. They needed help with some crop or other. Goodwill mission. No reports of military incursions or hostiles. I didn't want to waste my time. Wasting time yet again on another backward, backwater planet when Rodney's got a million more important things to do here. It would have bored Ronon to tears. Even Teyla maybe. It was a mission for a lower echelon team." He glanced at her. "There. I said it. I'm sorry, but it's the truth."

"And you told all this to Weir?"

"Yes. Pretty much word for word. Not the fucking asinine part, though. She thought it was all an excuse so I could stay here with you and my son."

"And was it? An excuse?"

He considered, eyes on the bottle. He drained it in a long swallow. "No. It wasn't. But it was." He sighed. "I didn't want to waste my time on a low priority mission when I could be here with you and John junior. I've been so worried about you, Moira. And how all this is affecting you, your work. How you are settling in with our baby." He gestured towards the infant who was falling asleep, content now that the angry voices had calmed. "How he's settling into this new environment. I didn't have time to consider how I was settling into all of this. And now I don't know if I can handle it all." He set the empty bottle aside. Turned to find her offering another. He raised a brow. "Are you trying to get me drunk, Moy?"

"Maybe."

He took it. Drank some.

"We knew it wasn't going to be easy, John," she commiserated. "And it's not. But you'll handle it."

"I don't know, Moy. I said two weeks. Two weeks and we'd be back to normal. Back to our jobs. On a schedule, a routine. Even Captain Johnny there. But it's been three weeks. And at the first mission I balk. You can imagine how that looks to Weir. How it looks to me." He drank.

Moira touched his thigh, caressed. "Cut yourself some slack, John. This is a huge change for us. For him. For the whole city, really."

"I can't. Cut myself any slack. I'm a lieutenant colonel, Moy. I'm the military commander and responsible for everyone in the city. Not just you and John junior. I lead the alpha team on top priority missions. If I'm seen to be slacking off that would be disastrous for the ranks. Even for the civvies, like you."

"You're being too hard on yourself, John. You had valid reasons for rejecting that mission. You wouldn't want to be bogged down there if you were needed desperately elsewhere, now would you?" she reasoned.

"Well, no. But my job–"

"Your job, colonel, is to see the big picture. To make the hard decisions. To decide what is best not just for your team but for all of the teams. To keep up morale in the ranks. Even for the civvies, like me. Trust your own judgement, John. I trust it."

He considered, eyes on his son. The baby was asleep, little mouth open. Toy fallen away but close. Moira watched her husband. Knew he was mulling over her words. His thoughts flitting as he stared at his son. He laid back suddenly. Covered his face with his hands. "If I wasn't so fucking tired..." he muttered.

Moira smiled. Still caressing his thigh. Inching her fingers along to find his cock. "It will get better, John. With Rodney's device Johnny should sleep through most of the night now. So that just leaves the sex and we can always cut back on that. You're right. Sleep is much more important than any fleeting physical satisfaction."

"Fleeting?" he asked, uncovering his face to give her a scolding look. "Hell, no, baby. We are not cutting back on the sex. And the satisfaction sure as hell isn't fleeting." His voice was low, serious. Her fingers slid inexorably to his cock as she slid up, leaning against him. She softly kissed his lips. Kept kissing him as his fingers ran through her hair. He drew her mouth to his. Parting her lips so his tongue could enter, could tease.

"Hmm...colonel, your ordnance seems to need a maintenance check," she teased into his ear. She stroked, stroked, ran her nails up and down, up and down his hardening length.

"You think so, baby? Go right ahead. A full perimeter sweep. Lots and lots of lubricant, baby. The snuggest, sweetest holster to repeatedly slide in and out, in and out, in and–"

"John!" She smiled, kissed him. Pounced on top of him suddenly, kissing him passionately.