Artificial Selection6

John entered the nursery, dropped the stroller against the wall. Moira was sitting on the bed, feeding the baby his bottle as she gently rocked him. She glanced at her husband, then focused on the baby as he frowned, staring up at her. "It's all right, Johnny. Daddy is just pissy still. You'd think after all that sex he'd be in a better mood, wouldn't you?"

"You'd think, huh? Hilarious, Moy. Fucking hilarious." He stared at his son.

"Did you tell him?"

"No. He guessed. I forget sometimes how smart he is. Under all that blustering and annoyance and flippancy and bitterness. He won't tell anyone about Johnny."

"Okay."

"That's it? Okay?"

"Yes." She met his gaze. "We can trust Rodney, just as we can trust Carson. Are you ready to talk now, John?"

"No. Like I said, I would just rather fuck you again, baby."

She frowned. "Then I guess Johnny and I will be going on a mission, colonel. Since you won't tell me what the hell happened to you."

"Damn it, Moy, like hell you're going anywhere! I don't want to talk about it, okay!" At his tone the baby freed the nipple, began to fuss, spit up a little. "Shit, sorry. Sorry, Moy, I..." He sighed, abruptly left.

Moira felt a wave of tears, pushed them aside. "It's all right, Johnny, hush..." she soothed, kissing the infant. She eased him to sit, patted his back. "Here we go, darling." She knew she had to wait for John, knew she couldn't force an explanation out of him. "I'll find out what's wrong with daddy. Don't you worry." She stood, pacing. Burping the baby as he clung to her. "Easy, darling. Everything's fine now. You see?"

"Mama, mama goo!"

"Yes, darling. Here we go." She sat on the bed, playing with the baby.

John downed the beer. Tossed the bottle aside and stared out at the ocean beneath him. He was on the balcony. The waters roiled, a blue-green expanse extending to the horizon. He sighed. Scowled, hearing footsteps. Tensing at the intrusion. The sunlight glinted on his gold wedding band and he stared at it a moment.

"Want to talk about it?"

John frowned. Kept his gaze on the waters, the horizon. "No."

"No." Elizabeth sighed, stood next to him. Eyed him. Eyed the waves. "From what the others have told me the mission was successful. Mostly. I mean we secured a ZPM. The Wraith culled some, but not all, thanks to you and your team. We've run into hostility before, on several worlds. Blaming us for awakening the Wraith. For even bringing them to their world. Is that was this is about, John? Everyone is concerned."

"Great," he grumbled. "And no. Not that. It's nothing, okay?"

"Johnny's okay, isn't he? And Moira, is she–"

"Fine. They're both fine, and will continue to be fine. Excuse me!" He stepped past her, evading any more interrogation, concern.

"Mama! Mama goo!" the baby cried, giggling.

Moira smiled. "Yes, darling!" She kissed him. Nibbled his ear to make him giggle in delight, to coo. She laughed softly, smiled. "You are so like your father it is scary."

"Is that good or bad?"

Moira looked over to the threshold. John stood there, holding a bouquet of pink roses. She lifted her son, kissed him. Carried him to the crib. "There, darling. Go to sleep now. There's a good boy." She turned on the mobile. Music played. The various aircraft turned slowly. She stepped to John. Took the flowers. Pushed past him to toss the roses carelessly onto the table in their room. "Roses won't do it this time, John."

He silently swore. Followed her. "Moira, I never meant to–"

"Here!" She whirled, shoved a beer towards him. He took it, startled. "If you won't talk to me there's not much point to any of this, is there?" He stared, half expecting her to take off her wedding ring, throw it at him. March out with the baby. But she glared at him. "I guess Evan was right. I'm just your fuck buddy after all,"she deliberately provoked, knowing he loathed that term for her.

He glowered. "Don't talk like that."

"Why not? You do. You talk to me like that. Like you don't love me, like I'm just your fuck buddy. Just some piece of ass to fuck and go, as you charmingly put it once."

He moved to sit on the bed. "You know that's ridiculous." He opened the beer. Drank.

"Do I? I don't know any more, John. Are you going to talk to me? Or just fuck me again so you can feel in complete control?"

"Sit that pert little ass down!"

Moira pulled out a chair instead of joining him on the bed. Sat across from him. Waited.

John took another long sip of the beer. Reluctant, yet wanting to tell her. Trusting her, yet embarrassed. "I'm not..." He paused, sipped. Stared round the room. Looking at everything but her. "I'm not John Sheppard. The John Sheppard I once was."

Moira waited, but he kept silent. She inwardly sighed. It was going to be a long afternoon. "What do you mean?" she asked at last. Voice gentle.

"Just what I said." He drank, eyes on her now. Challenging. Almost daring her to continue.

She did. "Because of me. John junior." He nodded. "Because you are a husband now. A father. You have more responsibility. Your priorities have changed." He nodded again. "But it was like that before, John. What happened? The villagers? The women? The culling? The caves?" She saw his reaction, the slightest flinch. "Swee..." she caught herself. "John, what happened in the caves?"

"The village," he said at last, as if he needed her to guess it, find it, and then ease it out of him like some weird contagion. He drank more beer. "It was funny, really. Flattering. Not like it hasn't happened many, many times before, but never so openly. All those women, beautiful women, Moira, all over me. Offering me their most intimate welcoming ceremony. I'm talking sexual intercourse, Moy. Sex with beautiful women. Just sex with no ties, no meaning except to forge an alliance. Wouldn't have meant a damn thing. The old John Sheppard probably would have gone for it. What the hell? It's not like he's offered that much sex every day with no ties and no relationship crap. Nothing but physical pleasure."

"And you?" she asked mildly.

"Me? No. I'll admit, the thought did cross my mind. Briefly, very briefly," he hastily added to her stare. "But no. I have a wife who loves me and trusts me and gives me everything I need and want and desire. I value, no. I treasure her love and trust above everything else. Sometimes all that love she has for me is almost a burden, but I know I never want to lose it. Would die without it now. Without her. Only her."

"The village?" she prompted as he drank. Mollified by his words. Moved.

"My team extricated me finally after their hilarity. We moved on to the next village. Those people were not as welcoming. Were downright hostile. They had just endured a Wraith culling and were suspicious of anyone coming through the 'Gate. It was such a weird contrast. And then...then the Wraith came. Second wave of culling. The villagers blamed us, wanted to throw us to the wolves, so to speak. But in the end we became allies. Running together to the caves. To hide." He eyed the bottle uneasily. Guiltily.

Moira heard the disdain in his voice. The self-loathing. "And the old John Sheppard wouldn't have done that."

"No. Hell no!" he flared. "He would have been out there! Rounding up the stragglers, killing as many Wraith as he could even though we were outnumbered, outgunned! It was a fucking Hive ship! I swear I was going to do just that! We were going to take out as many as we could, we saved as many as we could but we could have done more! I could have done more! I could have..." He sourly eyed the bottle. Drank.

"What happened in the caves, John?" she asked gently. Touched his knee.

He drained the last of the beer. Licked his lips. Eyed the bottle in his hands. "The caves. Something innocuous. There were corpses there. Bodies. Caved in, trapped after the last month's culling. All died there. There, there was a woman. I almost fell over her corpse. A woman with long brown hair. Holding a, a baby. Both had died in the caves. I guess it's better than being culled, I don't know. I couldn't understand how the husband wouldn't have gotten them out. I would have. I would have dug until my hands bled to get them out of there."

"John..."she said. Moved to sit next to him. He glanced at her, saw her eyes full of love, sympathy. Worry.

He eyed the bottle. "It...it hit me, Moy."

She waited, but he fell silent again. Brooding. She touched his arm, gently caressed. "What hit you, John?"

"I couldn't stop thinking."

"Thinking of what?"

"Thinking of you. John junior. I...I shouldn't have been there, Moy! I should be here, with you and Johnny. What am I doing? What am I missing as he grows up? I should be here protecting you, defending you, caring for you, giving you everything you need, everything he needs. Not risking my life out there. If something happened to me what would happen to you two? Who would protect you? Defend you? Provide for you? A son needs his father, and you, Moy, you need me."

"Yes, John," she agreed. Kissed him softly. Caught his hands to take the bottle, set it aside.

"Who would dig you out of that cave, Moira? Who would never, never give up until you and Johnny were safe, secure? Only me. You need me here, Moira!"

"I do, John. We need you here," she agreed. "But we also need you out there."

"What?" he asked, meeting her gaze.

"To protect us, defend us. Protecting yourself, John, because we need you, love you, want you. I would like nothing better than to keep you here with us, but I can't. Everyone needs you out there. As long as you are extra careful, not reckless. We need you out there too, to keep us safe here. I wish you never had to go through the 'Gate again, but I know that you do. That you will. It's who you are. It's what you are. All that I ask is that you are extra careful, extra cautious, colonel. Because it's not just you out there anymore. It's us too. We're with you, John, always. To make certain you come back to us safely."

John stared at her as she looked down. Freed his hands to stand. She moved to the table as a wave of tears hit her. Knowing it was what he needed to hear, had to hear from her. "Thank you for the roses," she said, voice quavering with emotion. She swallowed. Stilled it. "You are still John Sheppard. Just a wiser, better one, I think."

John felt a wave of love for her. It was almost overwhelming. Relieved she understood, accepted. Make him think it through all the way. He stood. Moved to stand behind her. Slid his arms around her, drawing her against him. He kissed her throat. "Moira," he said into her ear. "Thank you. I'm not him, you know. James. I'll always come back to you. Even though you feel like you've sent me into danger I'll always come back to you."

She caught his hands at her waist. "John, please..." she whispered, stunned at his perception. The memory of her murdered fiancee in her mind.

"I'm just saying, Moira. Don't you feel like you're causing harm to me. You're not. I'm trained for this. I'll be fine. I love you, Moira."

She turned to him. Brown eyes wet. "John." She hugged him. He kissed her brow. Held her close. "How–"

"I know." He moved her back gently to kiss her lips. Kept kissing her. Soft, slow kisses. Tongue sliding slowly into her mouth, almost shyly. Hands gliding along her clothes.

Everything melted away under those kisses. Under his caresses. His fingers in her hair, stroking and tangling as his mouth merged with hers over and over. He guided her towards the bed, step after step. Body maneuvering hers. She murmured, hands sliding up his chest.

"Moira," he said, breaking a kiss to glide his lips along her throat. "My Moira," he breathed heavily against her skin.

"John, oh John," she sighed dreamily, lost in his brilliant green eyes. The soft fullness of his lips. The teasing sensuality of his tongue. The low, possessive rasp of his voice. The feel of his fingers stroking her hair, her back. The feel of his long, lean body bumping along hers. "Oh John, you, you...wait!"

Her tone froze him. He stared as her hands slid off him. Disentangling her body from his. Seemingly her affection as she touched his chest. A gentle pressure that held him in place. "Moy?" he asked.

"What are you planning to do?"