The Descent of Wraith3

Sensors were screaming. Chaos reined on the bridge of the Daedalus. Steven stood in the middle of it, calmly assessing what he could. "Status!"

"We've stopped, sir! Sublight is back online!"

"Can you track the Sheppards?"

"Sporadically, sir! Their subcutaneous signals are working, but there's so much interference!"

"Damn it! We need McKay!" Steven realized, glaring out at the expanse of space. The blue nebula was still surrounding them.

"It's moving, sir!"

"What? The whole nebula?"

"Yes, sir!"

All watched as the bluish gases slowly swirled, recoiling from the ship. Sensors were slowly coming back online. Alarms faded one by one.

"Sir! I'm detecting a ship! A huge ship! Warship, class A. Lantean!"

"At least it's not a Hive ship," Steven noted. "Track it! We're going after them! Keep scanning for Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard and his wife!"

John sighed. He made yet another circuit of the room. Banged his fist on the walls. He could not find a door, a panel, a window. There was nothing but solid walls. Solid floor under his feet. He moved back to Moira. "I don't suppose you have a–"

"Sandwich? Here." She held up half a sandwich as she sat on the floor, baby in her lap.

He took it, eyed her. Sat next to her as she began to eat the other half of the sandwich. "Or a bottle of–"

"Water? Here." She handed him one. "Only one, so don't drink it all."

He sipped some, handed it back to her. Eyed the diaper bag. "I don't suppose you have a beer in there, do you?"

She smiled. "No. Sorry, sweetie. Next time."

He smiled, watching her eat. Devoured his half of the sandwich. "What made you grab the diaper bag in the first place? I'm glad you did, believe me!"

She shrugged. Regretted it as an ache assailed her side. "I don't know. It's just automatic, I guess. Have baby, have bag, will travel. Woman's intuition."

"Maybe," he mused.

"What made you rush to us on the Daedalus?" she asked.

It was his turn to shrug. "I don't know. I just...I just knew. Knew I had to protect you two. I knew." He eyed the baby. The infant was fast asleep in his mother's lap. John touched Moira's side, gently slid up the shirt to view the blood-encrusted bandage. "Shit. How is it now?"

"Sore. It's fine, John, don't you worry." She gently pushed his hands aside, let her shirt drop back into place. "You have to get us out of here. Ow!" she protested as he gently probed the injury. The baby stirred at her voice.

"It needs a clean bandage, Moira." He grabbed the diaper bag, began to dig through it.

"No! John, you need to focus on Johnny now, not me! You need to get him out of here. John!" She grabbed his wrist. "Please! You need–"

"You." He resumed searching. "Ah."

"John, damn it, will you listen to me?"

"I can make a bandage out of this," he decided.

"No! You're not listening to me!"

"Enough, Moy!" he snapped, suddenly angry. He met her gaze. "We're not leaving you behind. Got it? If it comes to that then I'd rather stay here."

"No! You can't! You–"

"No! Enough! Now," he resumed in a quieter tone as the baby stirred, whimpered. Settled. "I'm going to make you a clean bandage. Clean the wound. Then all three of us are getting the hell out of here. You said we're stronger, right?"

"Huh? Oh, you mean the...yes."

"Imagine how strong all three of us can be together, Moy. With four ATAs working in concert. Now, relax. First things first."

"John, John, you–"

He kissed her, cutting off her words, her anxiety, her anger. "Ssh, Moy. We're going to be fine. I won't let anything happen to either of you. Or to me. Trust me, sweetheart." He gently moved his son's foot out of the way. Lifted her shirt again. "Hold that, please. This will hurt."

"You think?" she snapped, but held the shirt out of the way. He drew off the soiled bandage. "Ow! OW!" She pursed her lips together as the baby stirred, clutching at her. "Johnny, ssh." She cuddled the baby, hiding her face against him.

John bit his lip, seeing the raw, ragged wound. It looked worse than he remembered. He cleared the blood off the torn flesh. Gently applied a clean, torn diaper to it. Taped it carefully. Moira felt tears at the pain, slicing hot like a knife into her. She winced. Moaned. Focused on the baby in her arms. "Easy, Moy, almost done. I'm sorry, sweetheart. There." He drew her shirt over it. Touched her arm. "Moira..." Concern shone in his brilliant green eyes. Worry.

"I'm fine," she stubbornly asserted through gritted teeth.

"Lay back. No," he forestalled her protest, her alarm, "I'm right here. Lay back and rest a moment. It will give me time to formulate a plan."

Moira moaned, but acquiesced. Reclined on her back, cuddling the baby on her chest. The infant stirred, gurgled. Held onto his mother. She tried to relax, to calm her breathing, her racing emotions. Tried to ignore the fiery pain in her side. "John, John, you have to promise me to–"

"Enough of that." He stroked her hair. Long fingers catching in the brown strands. Soothing. "Let me think, sweetheart. Relax."

"Relax? You..." she paused. "John, I just need a, a minute, okay? Then we can go."

"Okay, Moira." He looked around the room. Concealing his alarm at the extent of her injury. Knew it hadn't been as bad earlier. Had been healing. He wondered if the baby had been crying because of that. Not because something was being done to him but something was being done to his mother. John's resolve hardened at that sobering thought. "Moira," he said quietly, "you think that with our combined genes, our four, we could fight them?"

"Huh?" Moira was far away, escaping the pain, stroking the baby's back as he nestled. John's voice brought her back. "Yes. I think so...but I don't know how."

"Ah."

"Ah? Not that again," she muttered. "John?"

"Don't you worry, baby. I think I know what to do."

"You do?" She stared at him. "Would you care to share with the group?"

He smiled. Leaned down to kiss her lips. To kiss the baby's rosy cheek. "It's all right, Moira." He straightened. "Can you get up now?"

"Yes." She winced, sat awkwardly. "Take–"

"No. He wants you." John stood, helped her to her feet. He grabbed the diaper bag, slung it over his shoulder as she held the baby.

"Um, John, where–"

"With me." He led her across the room. "I'm afraid you need to wake him, Moira. We need his mojo."

"His...oh." She bounced the baby gently, kissed him. "Darling? Darling, it's time. Johnny. Johnny junior, it's time to go back home now."

"He's going to hate that when he's older," John commented with a smile. The baby woke. Smiled. Cooed and looked round.

"Mama, mama, mama..."

"Ssh, darling. Yes. John?"

"Dada! Dada goo! Dada baba boo! Boo ba!" The baby pointed at the wall, oddly serious expression on his little face.

John eyed his son. Eyed the wall. "Here?" He touched the wall, tried to follow where his son was pointing.

"What's he saying?" Moira asked.

"Here, Johnny? Blue here?"

"Ga! Boo ear! Dada, boo ear baba." The baby kept pointing.

"I don't believe this," Moira commented.

"Neither do I," John agreed. He guided her to the wall. "Let him touch it. So will we. Johnny, where is your plane plane?"

"Ga? Dada boo ba...play play?"

"Plane plane, yes. Where is it? Oh no! It's on the Daedalus, isn't it, son? You want your plane plane, don't you? It's on the bridge of the Daedalus."

"Play play! Play play dada play play!"

Moira looked from one to the other, amused. Fascinated.

"Yes, son, but plane plane is on the Daedalus! On the bridge with the lights lights, yes? Yes. Johnny, think of your plane plane. Okay? You think of your plane plane. So will we." John guided the baby's little hand to the wall. "Plane plane, captain. Moira, the wall. Think of the bridge of the Daedalus. Concentrate."

"What? Are you–"

"Trust me, Moy. Now." John touched the wall. Closed his eyes. Moira did the same. The baby was prattling on about his plane toy. "Concentrate, Moira. Johnny, where is plane plane?" John squinted. Saw a blue glow as the wall dissolved. He made out a ship's bridge. Familiar.

"John?"

"Concentrate on the bridge, Moy. Picture in it your mind. Plane plane, captain."

"Dada! Dada play play goo! Play goo ga!"

"John!" Moira exclaimed as the blue light enveloped them. John's arms went round his wife and his son. Moira felt a lurching momentum. Felt she was falling. Held onto the baby, shielding his little face from the light as John's strong arms encircled her waist. Keeping her upright, keeping her in place. She staggered nevertheless. Fell back against him suddenly. She opened her eyes and stared round. "John...the..the bridge of–"

"This ship, yeah." He moved quickly, freeing her. He whirled, going for his gun except it was gone. The holster empty. Like the bridge. Quickly he led Moira to the controls. Pressed buttons, accessing data. "I'll bring up a...ah!" The machine reacted immediately to his touch. Displaying grids, maps. Headings. "There. Jumper bays. Comm unit...hold on a sec!" His fingers flew as the consoles hummed to life. Moira watched, holding the baby. Couldn't help but smile at John's serious expression. At the powder blue diaper bag embroidered with teddy bears slung over one of his broad shoulders. He glanced at her. Glanced again. "What?"

She smiled. "Nothing, sweetie. You and that bag...it's adorable."

He scowled. "Hilarious, Moy!" He smiled, resumed. Tapped his earpiece, tapped the comm. "Daedalus! Daedalus, do you read? This is Sheppard! Copy!" He moved to the command chair, sat. Power zoomed. He hit switches. "Moy! Junior! Mojo!" She moved to him, touched the chair. Held the baby's hand to it as well. The baby exclaimed loudly as lights flashed, as power flooded the unit. John smiled. "I know, captain, wow! Pretty cool, huh? Daedalus! This is Sheppard! Copy! Anybody reading me?"

Silence. Moira sighed. "I guess it didn't–"

"Sheppard?" Steven's voice crackled with static. "Thank God! You...Moira...baby...right?"

"We're fine!" John all but shouted. "Track us! Warship class A, Lantean, full complement!"

"Know that we...can't beam...too much inter...where..."

"Transmitting course projection!" John shouted, fingers flying on the controls that flipped open at his touch. "Receiving, copy? Sir? Daedalus, receiving?"

"Receiving...broken...you...baby..." Steven's voice was fading.

"He better mean Johnny and not you," John quipped to his wife. Causing her to smile. "Sir? We're fine! We need oh shit!" The ship lurched. John sprang from the chair to navigation. "We're dropping out of hyper, probably for a course adjustment! Time to go! Come on!" He pulled Moira into a run off the bridge.

"John! John, what..." Moira asked, but lost her breath as she was running alongside him. The baby prattled, giggled in delight as he held onto his mother.

"John Sheppard."