Inheritance10
"Where the hell have you been?" Rodney greeted as they emerged, stepping into the 'Gate room in Atlantis. He sounded both irritated and relieved at the same time.
"Nice to see you too, Rodney," John quipped.
"It's been three days! Three..." Abruptly Rodney grasped John's arm tightly, as if to make certain he was there. He glanced at Moira. "I saw you! I saw your dead bodies before a wave of light transported you!"
"John..." Moira warned, anxiety on her face.
John met her gaze, shook his head. "Just wait, Moira." He eyed Rodney. Elizabeth. The marines. "Three days? It was only one to us." He held up a hand. "We'll debrief later."
"Get to medical. Both of you. To be sure. Then get cleaned up, have something to eat, and we'll debrief," Elizabeth advised.
John exchanged a glance with Moira. She eyed Rodney. "Did the cave collapse?"
"Yes. How did you know that? Just after I was rescued. But I knew you weren't there. You were...somewhere...but not there. Injured? You look fine to–"
"Oh shit! John, this isn't–"
"Whoa, whoa, the sequence is different," he soothed, catching her hand. Trying to stem her rising panic, his own anxiety.
"Sequence? What–" Rodney began, mystified.
"It's hard to explain. We're both fine. Really," John assuaged.
"Really? I saw you! I mean I saw your dead bodies before a–"
"No, no," John firmly held onto Moira's hand. Could feel her drawing away, trying to escape.
"It's real, I swear, Moira, this is real. Trust me."
"John," she was shaking her head.
"What's happening? Of course this is real! What–" Rodney stared at them.
"Shit. Moira, I'll prove it." He freed her hand, spun round to a marine. Snatched the man's knife from its sheath. Guns rose. All pointed at him.
"Whoa, whoa!" Rodney raised his hands. "John, what the hell are you doing?"
"John?" echoed Elizabeth.
"John, no!" Moira cried, but he shook his head.
"No, Moira. You promised me. You swore to me. I'll prove it to you."
"No! I believe you, John! I do! I swear!" Moira pleaded. Tears in her eyes. She moved to him but he stepped back from her, keeping the knife out of her reach.
"Don't you worry, Moira. If this is real Carson will heal me. If not we'll wake up in that bed again...I think. Or on that plain."
"John, no! I believe you, I do! Stop him!" Moira cried, lunging to grab the knife from him. But he flipped the blade and cut across his wrist. Deeply. Blood spurted in a crimson wave. "John!"
She rushed to him as he fell to his knees, dropping the knife. The bloody blade left a red smear on the pristine floor.
"John! Get Carson, now!" Elizabeth shouted, horrified.
"John! What the hell?" Rodney shouted.
John grimaced, but smiled at Moira as he hit the floor. "See, Moira? It's real...so far...real...no!" He shoved her away, let the blood flow. "We have to be sure! Shit...I think I cut a little too deep," he realized, as dizziness assailed him.
"John, no, no!" Moira cried, grabbing his wrist to stem the flow of blood. "No, no!"
"I feel woozy, but we're still here, right?" he asked. Vision blurring.
"Yes, you proved it! All right? Damn it, John, why? Why?" she cried, tears falling.
"I'll be fine, Moira. Carson will stop the..the..." His voice trailed to a whisper as dizziness escalated. He heard a commotion, but it sounded far away. Voices shouting. Carson running. Swearing. Marines lifting him. Moira being pulled away from him, her expression anxious, desperate. He reached out towards her with bloody fingers before the darkness took him.
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Moira hovered by the bed. Wouldn't move. Wouldn't budge. "I told you," she explained yet again, "we were here before. In a, a simulacrum, an illusion implanted by the program. It wanted us to believe we had returned. Everything was so real, but it wasn't. The only way was to, to die, in that version, to wake up in reality. So I...I sliced my wrist and we woke up on that planet. Again..." She glanced up at Rodney, Elizabeth, Carson. All watching her. She looked back at John was stirring. His wrist wrapped in gauze, a thick bandage.
"That makes sense," Rodney finally noted. "A violent act to break the simulation, the illusion implanted in your brains. To shock the system into awareness. So that's why he–"
"Yes," she glumly stated.
"He didn't want you to do it again," Carson realized. "He didn't want to watch you die again. In case you were wrong this time. So he took the risk."
Moira nodded, unable to speak. A torrent of misery and guilt engulfing her. She forced back the tears burning behind her eyes. The past looming upon her.
"Well, this is real. This is Atlantis," Elizabeth stated. Sighed. "Why would the Ancients devise such a program in the first place?"
"Failsafe," John muttered. He opened his eyes, blinked. Saw the circle of concerned faces. Turned to see Moira's guilty, unhappy expression. "Hi." He winced at the pain in his wrist. Eyed the bandage.
"Good thing you cut across, John, and not up like Moira did," Carson informed. "You lost a lot of blood, though."
"I know," he stated. Slowly sat. Touched his sore lip. "I didn't mean to cut that deeply. We had to be sure," he explained, looked at Moira again. Saw her misery, her worry, her love. Emotions washing over him.
"Moira explained," Carson soothed. "As for any back injuries you both exhibit none. Only a slight bruising and tenderness. Whatever did heal you was quite powerful."
"Whatever transported you was quite powerful," Rodney interjected. "I'm thinking this programming was tied to an ascended Ancient. Who else has that kind of power? And who else would intervene but only so far."
"And this failsafe program had been running for years? Centuries?" Elizabeth asked.
"Until the city sank," John said. He longed to talk alone to Moira. To touch her. Soothe her. But he continued, "Most who went there could return to Atlantis before it fell. Some even ascended. We had a devil of a time convincing the program that the city was safe, alive, inhabited again."
"Now that the cave's been destroyed what will happen to the program?" Carson wondered.
"We need to find that planet to–"
"No!" John and Moira said together, stemming Rodney's enthusiasm.
"All right, off you go," Carson shooed them away from the bed. "You two stay here," he pointed at John and Moira. "I'll bring you something to eat. You must be famished. And thirsty."
John waited until they had dispersed. "Moira." He caught her hand. "Sweetheart–"
"I'm sorry, John! I'm sorry! How could you? How could you?" she demanded, yanking her hand out of his.
"I knew what I was doing. It's all right. I knew how to make it less...dangerous, but jarring enough to wake us if this wasn't real. But it is. I did it for you, Moira."
"I know. I'm sorry! I wish you hadn't! You cut too deeply, John! You...you..." Tears sparkled in her brown eyes.
"Moira? I'm fine. Don't. Don't go. It's all right, I swear!"
"Don't ever do that again, John! Don't!" she insisted, voice rising with emotion, with underlying hysteria that he couldn't understand.
"Okay, Moira, I won't. We're fine. We're safe."
Moira shook her head. "No, John, we're not fine. We can't be fine after, after this. I can't...I can't let you do this...I won't...not again. I can't..."
"Moira? I don't understand. Are you breaking up with me? Over this?" he asked, puzzled. "I won't let you!" He swung his legs off the bed even as she was backing away from him.
"Yes, John, I am. To protect you. I won't let you hurt yourself, I won't be the cause of any of this, of you hurting yourself! I won't! I can't! I would rather die! I would rather die than go through that again!"
"What? Go through what again? Moira, wait! You don't want this, do you? I–" he stumbled, trying to follow her. "Moira, wait! I need your help here!"
Moira had turned, was fleeing. She whirled, saw him falling. "John! John!" She ran to him, caught him but he stood. Pulled her up into his arms. Kissed her.
"Er, am I interrupting something?"
John had Moira in his arms. Her body pressed to his. His mouth entwined with hers. His tongue in her mouth when Carson's awkward words broke upon them.
Moira pulled free. "John...I'm sorry...I'm sorry..." She backed away from him again.
"No! Moira, you can't!"
But she whirled, fled. He moved to pursue her when Carson grabbed his arm, stopping him. "No, John."
"I have to–"
"No. Let her go."
"I can't! I can't...I..." John sighed, sat on the bed. "Maybe I should let her go. If I cause her that much misery, that much pain. And I don't even know why. Why is she reacting like that? I should let her break up with me...hell, I should have broken up with her weeks ago and–"
"No, don't be an idiot, John," Carson chastised. "You need to eat. You are lightheaded and not thinking clearly. The same as Moira."
"But she–" he began, protesting.
"Feels responsible? Guilty for what you did? Of course. Would do anything to prevent you from repeating it? Of course. You'd do exactly the same."
John sighed again. Ran his hand through his hair. "I did. I mean, I saw her...I saw her die. Twice. For me. I won't let her do that again. I won't! If that means losing her then–"
"It doesn't. She'll come round. Now eat. I'll go take her dinner to her. See how she is. Go on. Trust me. She'll come to you, John."
"How can you be so sure?" he asked. Skeptical. Eyed the covered plate sitting near him.
Carson smiled. "I know Moira. Now eat before you pass out. You don't want her feeling worse, now do you? And stop being an idiot!"
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Moira ran to her room. She paused, staring at the familiar aspects. Furnishings. Relaxing a little. But sobs broke from her. She crumpled onto the bed. Miserable. The scenes of John falling to the floor, bleeding profusely playing in her mind. The savage way he had cut his own wrist. For her.
A knocking at the door roused her. She stood, wiped her eyes. "Yes?"
"Moira, love, it's me. Carson," he identified, as if the Scottish accent wasn't enough. "Let me in, please."
Moira opened the door. Saw the food, drink on the tray he held. "Carson?"
"You're going to make yourself sick if you don't eat, love. Here." He entered, placed the tray on the table. "I've brought your favorite. A chicken sandwich, fries, and water. Of course John wanted steak and a beer but he settled for a burger and water. Now...let's calm down and recuperate, shall we?"
Moira eyed the food. Eyed him. "Carson..."
He smiled. Hugged her. "It's all right, Moira. He knew what he was doing. The wound would not have been fatal...even as deeply as he cut. The lack of food and water was a more serious concern, as it was for you. There, now." He patted her back.
She relaxed for a moment. Pulled back. "Really? I–"
"I have no doubt he'd do worse if it meant saving you. As you did to save him. There's no need to make each other miserable over it, is there?"
"No...I guess not...but, but he–"
"Don't break his heart, Moira. He needs you now more than ever, despite the fact that he doesn't seem to realize it yet. Don't take that away from him. You still love him, don't you?"
"I...yes...I...that is why I can't be with him! Because I–"
"Are you going to be an idiot too? Moira, eat your supper. You need to recover. Take a long, hot shower. By then John will be in his room. All right?"
"Okay, Carson..." She blushed suddenly. "But I can't be with him. Not after this. I–"
"Don't be silly, love. I'll hear none of that. Get some rest. I'll tell Elizabeth the debrief will have to be tomorrow."
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The hot water pounded John. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back. Let the water pound out all thought, all feelings. Washing off the dirt, the grime, the sweat, the sex. Cleaning his body. Finally he stepped out into the foggy bathroom. Grabbed a towel. Didn't bother to shave. He pulled on a blue t-shirt, blue sweat pants. Lounged back on his bed. Arms folded under his head.
He shifted. Unwrapped the bandage on his wrist. Studied the jagged slash on his skin. Saw just how deep he had actually cut. Hadn't realized how dangerous the cut had actually been. He wrapped it, winding the white cloth round and round. Brooded. Looked at the door as knock sounded, almost too soft to hear. He kept silent. Waited. Touched his sore lip.
Another knock. A voice. "John?"
He jumped off the bed. Opened the door.
Moira stood, holding his jacket. Her damp hair curled past her shoulders, against her tan shirt. Gray pants fell to her shoes. "I...I came to return your jacket." She entered, brushing past him, not meeting his gaze. He turned, closing the door. "I know it's damaged in the back but I thought you'd want it returned anyway. Maybe someone could fix it, but I haven't seen any sewing machines here in the city but you never know it could be someone's hobby. Maybe they could send it to Earth to a tailor, or a laundry service or I bet the SGC has its own laundry service on base, I mean how else to get all those similar BDUs clean mission after mission oh John say something before I can't stop rambling and–"
John smiled, took her into his arms and kissed her. A long, passionate kiss halting all words, all emotions. A kiss erasing all doubts, all worries. Merely the motion of his mouth on hers. He finally freed her mouth from his. "Moira, shut up."
She stared, breathless. "Thank you, John. I–"
"Oh no." He kissed her again. Taking the jacket from her. Dropping it onto the floor. "Stay with me, Moira."
"John? No, no, I can't, I can't, I–"
"No, don't say a word, Moira. Not one...except yes...or my name. Nothing else, Moira. Nothing else. You will stay with me."
She briefly smiled. "Yes, John. But I–"
"No," he scolded. "Only yes, John. That's all I want to hear, Moira. Well, I'd like to hear oh John too...several times. Maybe later?"
"Yes, John," she agreed, but hesitated. Glanced at his bound wrist. Faltered. "I–"
"No." He kissed her, moving her towards the bed. "Ow. Damn lip. Nothing else. Nothing." He switched off the lights, pulled the covers down on the bed. Slid under them. "Well?"
"Yes, John." She removed her shoes. Got in beside him. He raised his brows at her fully clothed form, but she snuggled against him. Clutching at his shirt. Hiding her face on him, as if she could hide from her thoughts, her guilt. "John." So much emotion in that one word.
His arm encircled her. Curious at her overwrought misery, but not asking. He stroked her back, her hair. Kissed her brow. "Goodnight, Moira."
"Yes, John." Her voice was muffled against his chest. She closed her eyes, suppressing a sob. Clinging to the feel of him, his solid warmth. To the scent of him. Reassuring herself he was fine, he was alive, he was healing and well.
John woke. Stared at the darkness. Saw the familiar contours of his room. Felt Moira's body pressed to his as he spooned against her. Felt her rear shoved against his crotch. Smiled. Watched her slow, steady breathing. Realized she didn't have a bra on under the shirt. Wondered about panties. He gently kissed her cheek, settled comfortably. But frowned. Recalling her distress. His own violent reactions witnessing her almost death. The cutting of her wrist and arm. The deep despair that had enfolded him. The helplessness of yet losing another. Watching another die because of his negligence.
Moira woke, hearing a noise. She tensed. Rolled onto her back. Sat. Recognized John's room. The familiar furnishings. The sounds of the ocean beneath them. The sounds of John softly snoring as he lay sprawled on his back. She smiled. Nudged him. Nudged him again. He muttered, rolled onto his side towards her. She snuggled into him. Lightly kissed his lips. But frowned. The scene replaying in her mind yet again. What he had done for her. How she had caused him to harm himself. How she could have caused his death. Another death because of her stubbornness. Because of her love.
John opened his eyes. Found himself on his back. Found Moira half on top of him. Breasts pressed to his chest. One hand on his arm. Legs spread. But still fully clothed. Fast asleep. He stroked her back, her hair. Felt a twinge in his wrist. He eyed the bandage. Moira shifted on him. Sliding up his body. Her shirt slid up to reveal the scar on her side. His fingers touched, traced it slowly. She murmured inarticulately. "Moira?" he asked. Considering. Glanced at the clock. The glimmer of sunlight just rising over the ocean.
"Yes, John?" she whispered. Raising her head, abruptly awake. "John, why do I always wake up on top of you?" she asked. Expression oddly serious.
He smiled. "I'm not complaining. Well, I am. One, you should be naked. Two, we should have just had sex."
"Hilarious, John." She moved but he kept her in place. "John?"
"So? Sex? Or are we still broken up? Remember?" he asked, half teasing, half serious.
"I...no. I don't know. I–" she stammered, uncertain.
"Then no," he decided. "We have the debrief this morning."
"Great," she muttered.
"Don't you worry. We'll stick to the Ancienty stuff. The programming. The failsafe. The machinery. Nothing else."
She sighed. "Who knew the Ancients were such...such perverts." He laughed. "I'm serious, John! Watching while we–"
"Twice," he recalled. "It wasn't an actual Ancient, Moira. Just a program. A machine."
"You probably got off on that, didn't you?" she accused. "You and your kinky–"
"Yeah, I might have if I'd known we had an audience," he teased. "But I don't want anyone else to see you naked. Uninhibited. Just me. Oh... Moira, what are we going to do?"
"What?" His sudden concerned tone threw her. The solemnity on his handsome face.
"Your clock radio certainly has seen us engaged in several, several sexual acts. Maybe we should turn it to the wall next time," he informed. Laughed at her scowl.
"Hilarious, John!" She kissed him, settled on him. "John...we...um...you..."
"No." He closed his eyes. "Not now, Moira, please. I'm too fucking tired to deal with anything, all right? And if we're not having sex let's get some more sleep before that debrief."
"Okay. Okay, John..." she conceded, reluctant to say anything more. She closed her eyes, nestling upon him. Content to let it be for now.
But John's eyes opened and he stared at the ceiling.