Inhibition9
Moira stood close to the bed. Adjusted the blanket around the two little boys. They were sound asleep, cuddled together like puppies. Mirror images of each other, one older by a few years. Mirror images of their father. As he once had been. When he had been fully human.
She turned, exited the adjoining room, closed the door. Walked over to the bed as her heart pounded with trepidation, with sorrow. Feared the consequences if they were discovered. If he was discovered to be gone from his cell. "John?"
John was seated in the bed. The darkness concealing his features, both human and Wraith. He was something in between how, halted by desperate measures that were proving futile to reverse his condition. He was staring at her. Could see her as clearly as if all the lights were on in the room. "Off. Now."
She knew what he meant. What he wanted. Needed. She swallowed. Nervously removed her nightshirt. Could feel his yellow, alien eyes raking over every inch of her naked body. She gulped, got into the bed next to him. Settling on her back, forcing down the queasiness. The fear. John moved over her suddenly. His mouth on hers, half human, half not. His body on hers. Human skin and Wraith scales rubbing. Scraping. Then the abrupt penetration. Moira clung, wincing as he growled, grunted with every motion.
Men were running. Boots pounded the floor. Searching with intent efficiency. The door was opened. Lights flared, bright spots from raised P90s even as the room was flooded with its own illumination. John freed her, rolling off her, quick as a cat. Moira sat, gasped. Covered her naked body with the blankets from the bed. Evan strode into the room, past the other staring marines. His expression of disgust colored by surprise as John emerged from the blankets, sitting next to her. The lights revealing the extent of his mutations.
This wasn't the John she knew. This was a horribly mutated half-Wraith, half-human John. Eyes once a brilliant green were now yellow slits, almost feline as he blinked against the brightness. Part of his skin was composed of bluish scales. Lining one half of his face, half of his chest. One arm completely covered by the weird mutations, ending in a no longer human hand with long, dark nails. Rough skin that had rubbed her raw when he had taken her.
Evan fired his gun. Moira screamed. John fell back, blood flowing over the blankets.
Moira jerked upright, the scream trapped in her throat, on her lips. Heart pounding wildly. She looked at John. He was fully clothed as she was. Sprawled on his back, snoring. Very alive. Very handsome. The only thing marring his skin was the dark shadows of stubble lining his jaw. "John? John!" She nudged him. He snorted, rolled onto his side away from her. Moira put a hand to her chest, trying to calm down from the vivid nightmare.
She heard a noise. Stared at the door. Saw movement. Shadows crossing the light back and forth. Back and forth. Heard footsteps. Stealthy. She gulped. Scrambled off the bed and ran to John's room. Grabbed the 9mm handgun and ran back to the bed. Sat next to her husband. She held the gun pointed at the door. Waiting. Waiting.
John stirred. Rolled onto his back. Uncomfortable. He woke, feeling his rumpled clothes. Boots still on his feet. Raw taste in his mouth from the beer. He looked at Moira. She was sitting next to him, holding a gun on the door. He looked around the room. Did a quick double take. "Moira? Sweetheart, what is it?" he asked, abruptly alert. Seeing her tense stance. Her finger on the trigger. Gaze glued to the door.
"I heard a noise."
He slowly sat, not wanting to inadvertently jostle or frighten her. "A noise made you draw my gun?" he asked.
"No. The nightmare did."
"Oh. What nightmare?"
"I heard a noise," she repeated. "Look! The door. Someone's there. Outside the door," she whispered. "Don't you worry, sweetie. I won't let it happen. I won't!"
"Let what happen?" he wondered. He stared at the door. Saw the shadows breaking the light. Back and forth. Back and forth. Heard a footstep. "I'll be damned. Give me the gun, Moy."
She hesitated, looked at him. Did so. "What–"
"Ssh." He checked it, frowned and clicked on the safety. "Stay put." He stood. Moved with silent, fluid grace to the door. Stood a moment, listening. Heard the creak of a boot. A shuffle. He glanced back at Moira. She was frozen, staring. He nodded. Held up his hand, a gesture for her to remain where she was. He looked back at the door. Waved it open. Raised the gun. Finger poised on the trigger.
"Sir!" The startled marine nearly dropped his P90. Staggered backwards.
John lowered the gun, eyed him. "Tonner?"
"Yes, sir! Sir! Sorry, sir! Did I disturb you, sir?" The man was almost visibly sweating.
"What are you doing here?" John asked mildly.
"Sir! Doctor Beckett suggested sentries on all of the men affected by the pulse wave, sir. I was assigned yours, sir. By Doctor Weir, sir. As a precaution, sir. Not that you need a guard, sir. Not that you need to be watched, sir. Or your wife, sir. No one is watching her, sir. No one! No one is even remotely watching your, your, your wife, sir, sir!"
John tried not to smirk as the man's face reddened. "I see. Very well, Tonner. Resume your duty."
"Yes, sir! Goodnight, sir!"
John closed the door, snorting his amusement at the man's extreme nervousness. "Stand down, Moy. It's all right. Carson's just being cautious, and rightly so. There's nothing to worry about. Not a thing." He moved back to the bed. Set the gun on the table. Began to remove his boots with a grunt. "What nightmare, Moira?"
"I...sorry, John..." her voice trailed off as she watched him.
He dropped one boot to the floor. Removed the other. "What nightmare?" he repeated. "Let me guess. The same one as before? Staring my mutated self?" The other boot hit the floor with a thud.
"Yes. But...but another scene. You...you were killed. Shot. Right here. Beside me."
He looked over at her, turning. She was staring at him. Tears in her brown eyes. "Wow. Here?" He patted the bed. She nodded. "Shit. Wait...you...I was mutated and you...we...wow."
Moira shrugged. "I...I don't know...I..." She shuddered, recalling the memory of that nightmare. The abrasive feel of the scales on her. In her. Almost brutal. She shivered, hugged herself.
John scooted next to her. Reclined. "Come here, Moy. It was only a dream. A nightmare. We have contingency plans, sweetheart, remember? It won't happen." She silently nestled into his arms, needing the very human feel of him. "Who? Who shot me? Ah. Of course. Evan."
"How did you...damn. I forgot how smart you really are, John. You...you can't let it affect you. It was a nightmare, of a future that might not even–"
"I know. As you should know." He kissed her brow. "Go to sleep, Moy. I guess those fucking pulse waves finally affected you as well."
"John...don't you worry. I won't let it happen. I won't!" she vowed, fingers clutching at his t-shirt. "I'll find a way, I'll find a way to stop it, to prevent it, to–" she proclaimed in a strenuous voice.
"All right, sweetheart, I'm sure you will. We won't let any of it happen. Relax." He caressed her back. "You've pulled a gun twice so far. I have to say I'm impressed, Moira. Surprised, but impressed."
"Shut up, John."
"I'll have to train you on a P90 next, I'm thinking."
"Shut up, John."
"Although I'm not so sure a P90 in the hands of a pregnant woman is a good idea."
She kissed him. "Shut up and go to sleep, sweetie. All right?"
"All right." He paused, waited. Waited. "Gunslinger."
She snorted. "Hilarious, John."
He laughed. "It is, Moy. Locked and loaded, baby, that's how I like my women."
"That's how I like your ordnance, sweetie."
He laughed. "Let me see your stance, baby. So fucking sexy."
"Get over it, would you?" She pulled free, turned away from him. "Go to sleep, colonel!"
He scooted close, spooning against her. Slid his hand down along her hip. Rested it on the baby bump. "As ordered, Moira. Just don't shoot me."
"If you don't stop it I will,"she threatened. Snuggled back against him. Caught his hand. "I won't let it happen, John. I won't." She stared forlornly at the dark, even as the images faded.
"All right, sweetheart, you won't." He kissed her. "Nor will I." He gently caressed the baby bump, then slid his hand up to her breasts. "You know, Moira, I've been thinking about the peanut butter. I don't think it will work. Because of the consistency. Caramel is much smoother. Easier to lick." He kissed her throat.
She smiled, amused at his serious tone. She caught his hand, stopping his questing fingers. "I see. Well, colonel, you certainly have given this careful thought, haven't you?"
"Yes, doctor. Don't you forget how smart I am." He closed his eyes. "We'll have to experiment. Tomorrow. Peanut butter. Caramel. Sex. No guns."
"Okay, John. No guns," she agreed. Trying to relax in his arms. The press of his body to hers. His warmth and solidity reassuring. Real.
"Unless that turns you on, baby. You know I think it turns me on, actually, you with a–"
"John!" she scolded, smacking his hand. He chuckled against her skin. "Go to sleep, please!"
"Sorry. I'm trying, but the image of you with a gun is giving me a hard-on," he teased, shoving himself against her.
"Will you put that damn thing away and go to sleep?" she flared, but smiled at his teasing. "And it would help if you stopped talking."
"It would? Huh. I should have thought of that."
"Hilarious, John. Shut up!"
He laughed. Kissed her cheek. "As ordered, Moira. My Moira. My sexy little gunslinger."
