The Descent of Wraith12
John woke from a tangle of weird dreams. Memories of the progenitor. The beautiful woman in the tank who was partially Wraith. The one who had cut him open and nearly ended his life. The red lights flaring over his wife and son. Sex with Moira. Taking her so roughly, lustfully. One moment it was Moira writhing under him, the next it was the woman with red hair. Appetite voracious, wanton. Demanding more and more of him as if to drain him dry. So he pounded into her to make her stop. But then it was Moira again under him, taking all of him as he drove her to rough heights of pleasure, then himself. Relentless.
They had enjoyed rough sex previous to this, but he knew that this had been different. Blamed the enzyme. His confusion. He wondered if he had inadvertently crossed a line, recalling her sorrow. The baby's crying. He scowled. Guilt vying with the sheer salacious enjoyment of the sex. Satisfaction colliding with concern. The enzyme made him not give a damn what she thought or felt. His love for her did.
Someone was touching him. A little hand patting his face, tugging cautiously at his scraggly beard. John tried not to smile, not to react. The baby gurgled. Softly prattled. Testing this strange growth on his father's face. One little hand caught his father's nose. Gripped. "Hey!" John protested, opened his eyes. Met the bright blue gaze of his son. The baby grinned. "Very funny, junior." He freed his nose from his son's grip. Tickled his tummy to make the infant giggle. "Moy?"
"Here, John." He glanced over to see her sorting through some papers, her back to him. Ponytails snaking down her back across her blue shirt. Dark pants hugging her rear.
"Dada? Dada goo! Dada za? Za za!"
He eyed his son. The baby was clad in yet another sailor suit of blue and red. "Not yet, captain. Hey, Moy, this kid is Air Force. Stop dressing him like a Navy guy, all right? Dress him like a pilot, would you?"
"And how would that be, exactly? The only pilot I see is stark naked," she quipped.
"Oh. Well..." He smiled as she turned. Stood. Moved to the bed. His smile faded under her serious gaze. "Moira?"
"How do you feel, John?"
"I..." He glanced at the baby who was solemnly watching him. All mirth gone from his chubby face. "What is it? What is with you two? I'm sore, aching, tired. Well?"
"Mama goo." The baby crawled to the edge of the bed to reach her.
Moira lifted him, kissed him. "Rest, John."
"Wait. What's going on with you two? It's like you're leagued against me or something!" he accused. He sat, grimaced. Touched his abdomen. "Moira!"
"Don't be ridiculous, John. Rest." She set the baby into his stroller.
"No...you are. You are! Ah. I know what this is about. Because you're still pissed because I won't choose. Is that it?"
"Here we go, darling." Moira settled the baby who was prattling at her. Both ignoring John.
"Damn it, Moira! Is that it? Moira!"
She sighed. Moved to him. "Keep your voice down, John! You'll upset Johnny!"
"Then fucking answer me! Don't you dare ignore me, woman!" he flared. The surge of anger hot. Fury like a tide in him.
She sat close. Touched his arm, felt the tension. "I'm not ignoring you, John. Relax. We're not leagued against you. How could we be? You are everything to us. To me."
He relaxed a little, somewhat mollified. "Then kiss me," he pouted.
She smiled. Kissed him. "There. You need to–"
John pulled her into a longer kiss. Hands grasping her arms, keeping her close. Kiss after kiss, each more aggressive then the last. Until she drew back, glancing at the stroller as the baby started to fuss. "No." John turned her face to his, caught her mouth again. "You keep that pert little ass right here, baby."
"John, relax." She tried to move but he held her in place. Fingers tightening on her bare arms. The baby fussed. "John! I need to–"
"You need to take care of me, Moira! Johnny's fine. Just showboating again." He kissed her, pulling her against him. "I want you, Moy. I want that sweetness, that tight, tight little pussy. Fuck I want to fuck you until you scream my name," he said hotly into her ear. Ran his mouth down her throat as the anger was being replaced by hunger.
Moira freed herself. Stood. "Rest, John. You're still not..." She moved to the stroller, trying to stay calm. Reacting despite herself although her passion was tempered by caution.
"What?" He blinked. "Moira? I...oh um...shit. The enzyme...it must be the enzyme, right?"
"Go to sleep, John. We'll be back in an hour. Maybe two." Her voice was soft but terse. She wheeled the fussing baby out of the cabin.
John swore, staring after her. Wanting her. Angry. Worried at the same time. His emotions were strong, swinging back and forth when normally he had everything under control. He laid back, closing his eyes.
Moira sat in the mess hall. Gently bouncing the baby on her lap as he sucked on a toy. "And?"
Carson set down the Ancient scanner. "Nearly normal, according to this. From the sample you've given me, nearly so. That nearly part troubles me. But it's less than yesterday," he confided quietly. "Injury?"
"Healing rapidly," she answered just as quietly. "Too rapidly, but we expected that because of the enzyme. He has faint scars now. It still pains him from time to time. When he's not...well...when he's himself."
"Himself? What do you mean? Has his personality been altered?"
"Ga! Gaga Carsh!" the baby prattled, freeing his toy to grin at Carson.
Carson smiled. "Is that so, wee Sheppard? We can all see your sparkling personality, my lad!" He tickled the baby's tummy. The infant giggled.
Moira smiled, kissed the baby. But grew solemn. "Yes. I mean he's mostly normal, himself but sometimes...there are flashes...episodes, I guess. Not that he would ever hurt me or Johnny...just..." she struggled to explain, trying not to blush at the memory of last night. Of the rough, rough sex. "A rather fierce intensity. I can't quite explain it. It's John...but it's not."
"Hmm. Could be the trauma of what he's been through, both physical and emotional. The medications. Like the last time, remember? Plus the enzyme...it's unlike other versions we've encountered so it could be affecting him differently. We'll monitor him closely."
"Ga zoom! Za za zoom!" the baby proclaimed, waving his toy plane in the air. Grinned.
"Yes, wee Sheppard. You are certainly happy today," Carson smiled. Tickled the baby. The infant gurgled. "Is this your plane plane?" he asked, about to touch the toy.
"Get your hands off my son!"
They froze. The baby hiccuped. Moira turned in her chair to see John standing. Stance a little awkward. Hand at his abdomen. He had on a black t-shirt, gray pants. He was clean-shaven. His hair still damp from the shower. "John? You should be resting!"
"I said get your fucking hands off my son and my wife!" he repeated, voice a growl.
"John!" Moira scolded, alarmed.
Carson sat back from them. Looked at the glowering colonel. "I see what you mean, Moira," he noted mildly.
"What? You've been talking about me? Behind my back?"
Moira glanced at Carson. "Like before, yes, but this is different. More intense. Could the enzyme have altered his brain chemistry to the point of altering his, his personality? Intensifying more aggressive behaviors?"
"Possibly, love, but I'm sure it's only a temporary–"
"Damn it! I'm right here!" John slammed his fist onto a table. The baby started to cry, scared at the abrupt violence. He clutched at his mother.
"John! Please!" She stood. "Please, sit down. You don't look so good."
"Don't I? Could you manage to take your eyes off Carson long enough to notice?" he flared. Irrational. Jealous. Angry. He swayed a little. "Fuck, I don't feel so good...you..."
Moira moved to him, eased him into a chair awkwardly as she still was holding the baby. "John, rest, please! Carson?"
"Let me check." The doctor stood, moved towards them.
John drew his gun. Drew it so fast the motion was a blur. "Stand down, doc, and stay the hell away from my family! They're mine, got it! Mine!"
"John!" Moira cuddled the baby to her, glancing at the doctor. "Get Rodney, please!"
"I'll get a sedative as well," Carson agreed, leaving.
Moira pulled a chair next to John's. Sat. Kissing the baby to soothe him. "Ssh, darling, ssh, ssh. John, please...the gun? It's scaring Johnny."
"Huh? Oh. Sorry. I..." John blinked. Stared at the gun in his hand. Wondered how it had gotten there. And why. He holstered it. Grimaced with pain suddenly. "Moy! What's happening to me? I...oh shit!" He hunched over as a cramp seized him.
"John? Easy, honey, help's coming! Ssh, Johnny, ssh." She tried to comfort both.
"It hurts, Moira, like the enzyme ripping me up on the inside, like before!" He complained.
"Hold on, John! Carson!" she cried. She sprang to her feet. Set the crying baby into his stroller. Knelt next to John, caught his hands in hers. "John? Can you hear me? Honey, hold on! Hold..." She froze.
John lifted his head. A predatory gleam in his brilliant green eyes. A quick smile on his lips. His hands closed on hers. "I still want it, Moira." He kissed her, yanking her up him, practically into his lap. She scrambled, careful of his injury but yielded to the kiss. Making his grip on her relax. The baby was crying loudly. Moira slid back. John smiled. "I still want you. Well, not you. I want that fucking tight little sodden pussy of yours until you beg, beg me to stop and I will keep fucking you anyway."
"I'm sorry, John," she said, heart hammering in her chest.
"Sorry? You should be, baby, for not giving yourself to me when I want it. You are going to suck my cock until you fucking choke on the–" Moira slapped him. Hard. "Ow! What the fuck was that, you little bi–" He hunched over suddenly. Moira leapt out of the way as he vomited. Fell from the chair onto his hands and knees.
"John! John, you... oh ew!" Rodney rushed. Froze. Moved to the stroller as did Moira. "Moira, are you okay?"
"Yes! Carson!" Moira cried, gathering the crying baby to her arms.
Carson rushed past them to John who was vomiting all over the floor. Heaving with the violent expulsions. "Whoa! Easy, easy, John! There you go, colonel. Just what you needed! His body is rejecting the enzyme at last."
"Obviously," Rodney noted, grimacing.
"Help me get him to his feet!" Carson stated as at last John had finished. Was about to collapse into the disgusting mess he had left on the floor. Rodney made a face but moved to help. Moira watched, cuddling the baby as he quieted at last, secure in his mother's arms again.
John's head ached. His stomach ached. He blearily opened his eyes. Squinted at the harsh lights of the infirmary. He felt a new bandage on his abdomen. Made out a form towering over him, blocking the light. Stern features coming into focus. Dread locks. A beard. Bare arms. Muscled. "Ronon?" he croaked. Moved slightly, trying to see if Moira was near but Ronon blocked his view. "What?" he asked at the continued glare. A thought dropped. Chilling him. "I...I didn't hurt them, did I? Oh my God...I didn't...Moira? Johnny? Moira!" he called.
"John." Moira stepped past Ronon. Touched his arm. "It's all right, Ronon. Please."
With a grunt the Satedan reluctantly stepped aside, but did not wander far. John met Moira's concerned gaze. "Moira. My...where's Johnny?" He looked around, moaned.
"In his stroller, John. He's fine. I'm fine. Don't you worry. Rest." She drew a chair close, drew the stroller to her. The baby was quiet, reaching earnestly. Moira lifted him. Stood a moment, debating. John waited, heart lurching in his chest. Stomach turning. She sat on the bed, set the baby between them. "How do you feel?"
John relaxed a little. Looked past her to see Ronon watching, standing guard. To see Rodney quietly talking to Teyla across the room. To see Carson working on a data pad. He looked at his wife again. "I...um...not good. Like that chick in The Exorcist. You know, the movie? Reagan. That was her name. I think I even puked pea green soup."
She smiled. Kissed his cheek gently. "Nearly. John...you...John..." She felt tears, forced them away. Caught his hand in hers.
"That bad, Moy? From what I can remember it was. I...I didn't hurt you, did I? Or Johnny?" He looked at his son. The baby was snuggling on his mother's lap. Little face sad.
"No, John. We're fine. Now."
"Now. I..." He stared at her. "The things I said to you, the way I talked to you like a..." He grimaced, appalled as the memory filled his mind. "That wasn't me. I mean it was, but it wasn't. Was it? Good God, Moira, I love you! I would never, never–"
"Hush, John, I know," she soothed softly. Kissed his cheek again.
"I...what the hell happened to me? I pulled a gun on Carson!" he recalled, moving to safer territory.
"Yes, you did, colonel," Carson agreed, joining them. "But I will overlook it just this once. You're fine now. Rest. Rest easy, Moira."
John stared as she visibly relaxed. "What does that mean? Moira?"
"You're fine, John," she agreed.
"You said that earlier, and obviously I wasn't," he complained.
"You're fine now, John. I promise." She kissed him on the cheek again. "Just–"
"What the fuck was that? Moira?"
"You're not minty fresh, John."
"Oh."
She smiled. "Your body rejected the enzyme. Like before, rather violently. It just took longer than we expected. You rejected that along with all of the medication and food you ate."
"Oh."
"You need to rest now, colonel, because your body will heal at a normal rate now. Let your mind heal as well. Those adrenal surges will cease and you'll be back to normal."
"Oh."
She frowned. Touched his arm. "How do you feel, John? Do you understand me?"
"Yeah. I'm not an idiot, baby."
"Just checking, honey."
"Hilarious, Moira." But he stared at her. Wondering why the endearment had changed. Missing her usual term of sweetie for him. He wanted to ask, but not with everyone watching. He laid back, groaned softly. "I feel like shit, er, crap. So sore. How's Johnny?"
"Fine now. Now that his father is more like himself. Go to sleep, John. I'll be right here with you. So will Johnny. We'll be right here until we get home."