Hibernation5
John stared at her. Thrown for a moment, then seeing another way not to tell her. "Come again?"
"I, I shouldn't have rushed into it. Like I always rush into everything. I'm sorry." Moira eyed their clasped hands. "It's the real reason you've deflected all of your anger onto lesser, minor things. I didn't mean to push you. You're not ready, and I...I'm not even sure I'm ready." She freed his hands. Moved to the table. Her back to him now as she stared at the roses. Forlorn. "It's just...I'm not even sure I want to shut the door. I know you do, I can see it now. You want your doors firmly shut, all of those thoughts, memories locked tightly away instead of creeping to the surface."
He realized what she was talking about, the things they had slowly revealed to each other about their pasts. He frowned. Knew that she was correct in that it was affecting his mood, his anger, his resentment. Nearly as much as the indiscretion and the guilt attached to it was haunting him. His needling of little things, being pissed at minor things and taking them all out of context.
"So have mine," she admitted. "I had....I had the most evil thought today, John. That if, if I hadn't have insisted we go to that expedition site that day, if I had just listened and heeded his warnings he'd still be alive. I would never have come here. Never have met you, fallen in love with you, gotten married to you. And I didn't want to imagine my life like that. Without you. As if I was glad, or relieved he was dead because I'm with you now, here." She felt tears. "You see how, how horrible I am."
"No, Moira. You are not–"
"I wanted the door opened, John! I'm so tired, so tired of carrying all of this with me every day, every night! I finally met someone who truly understands. Who knows the guilt, the darkness. And I finally felt comfortable enough to talk to you about it. I haven't talked to anyone about this for years. I know you're not ready and I don't know if I am. I want to be ready. And that has never happened. You, you don't have to tell me anything. Or if you do, in your own time. I didn't mean to push you, John. I don't even know if I can tell you everything either."
He moved to her. Touched her shoulders. Felt her tension, her sorrow like a living thing on her. In her. "You can tell me anything, Moy. Anything."
"I can't. I'm afraid, John," she softly admitted. "As much as I want to tell you I'm afraid. As much as you love me I'm afraid it won't be enough. I couldn't bear the thought of losing you. Of losing your love. Your respect. But you are the only one who would truly understand it all. But I couldn't bear to lose you, to see that look in your eyes. You know? The disbelief, the revulsion, the shock..."
"Never. You'll never see that look in my eyes, Moy. Never." He wondered if he would ever see it in hers. Dreaded the thought.
"My aunt looked at me like that. Aunt Peggy, remember? The one you called Cruella. She blamed me, like the rest did. Threw me out, nearly disowned me. If not for Uncle Shamus, and the professor I would have..."
"Moira." He slid his arms around her. Pulled her gently against him. Kissed her throat. "Never. I know all about that look. The disbelief. The revulsion. The shock. In others. In my own eyes when I look too closely in the mirror. My father practically disowned me. My brother barely tolerated me, and he was the most understanding. Yeah, you opened the doors, and I am here whenever you are ready to talk about it. Any of it. I'll never love you less. Hell, I am more in love with you now than I was before, Moy. I don't want the door open. Do you want to know why?"
"Okay, John," she whispered, catching his hands at her waist. He was enfolding her in love, in warmth. Security. Trust, that most precious gift of all.
He kissed her throat. "Because it's worse. Worse than yours, Moy. Worse because it still happens. Afghanistan. Antarctica. Now Atlantis. Every time I lose someone I can't help but go through the long list, all the way back to the worst one. The first one. I'm a monster, Moy," he darkly admitted. "Only no one knows it. Except you. And part of me wants to tell you, longs to tell you because you are the one person who will understand me, understand what I am. But I don't want to risk losing you. You've seen a glimpse, Moy, today. I've started to backslide because that fucking door is opened and I can't quite shut it all the way. Because I've done things, albeit unknowingly, not meaning to, that will break us, break you and I just can't risk that. I can't! I don't want to hurt you, Moy, but I have. I did. I don't want to cause you a single tear but I have. I will. So I have to push you away from me. Before you see me. The real me. Not the John you think you know, think you love, but the battered boy beneath. The one no one sees. All those women, Moy, they only want my cock. Some wanted my heart. But none wanted to get into my head. Only you. And now you have all three, and the thought of losing you scares the hell out of me."
Moira turned to him, eyes wet. Wide at this suddenly loquacious disclosure. Guilt and worry shone in his brilliant green eyes. She touched his face, as if she could erase his pain. "You won't lose me, John. You are no monster. You are just a man. A good man with a troubled, maybe even horrible past. I have a past like that. I'm a monster too. I can–"
"No. I'll never believe that, Moy. I don't care what you did, what you think you did. I'll never leave you, or stop loving you."
"John..." She hugged him tightly, tears falling. "Oh John, John...I need to hold onto you!"
"I need to hold onto you too, Moy, so you see? We're stuck with each other, aren't we?" he said into her ear. "For better or worse." He closed his eyes. Considering the worse. "I won't let go, Moira. Just don't leave me, Moira. Promise me, promise me."
"I promise, John, I promise," she murmured to his insistent, low tone. She kissed his throat as he hid his face in her hair. "This thing...the thing you can't quite tell me...it's bad?"
"Yes." He guided her mouth to his, kissing her. Kiss after kiss, drowning all words. All thoughts. "Moira, my Moira," he muttered, drawing her towards the bed. "I need you, Moy. And this, this is the only way I know how to make it all go away. To make it all better. To drown us in love and sex and sex and to shut those fucking doors," he said low, moving them onto the bed. Sliding his body over hers.
She pulled him closer, kissing him. Small, soft whimpers issuing from her throat as he angled his body along hers. "John, oh John...don't go yet. Not yet. Whatever, whatever this thing is you can tell me...whatever...something when you were, were injured? When you forgot–"
"Yes, I swear to God I couldn't find you, Moy, otherwise it never would have happened," he muttered, the confessing leaking out of him as she persisted. Her assurances of love and understanding a balm to his own guilt. "I'm not going anywhere, baby," he stated. "I love you, Moira, like I've never loved anyone else. Give yourself to me, give me all of your love for me," he urged, hands sliding under her shirt, tugging at her pants. All the while his mouth busily engaged in an exploration of hers, then her throat.
Moira was torn between easing the confession out of him and giving into his sensual demands, needs. Matching her own as she craved his love, his passion. His hand freed her breast to slide down into her pants. Into her panties, long fingers plying the fabric to slip between her opening thighs as he shifted on her. Growing erection pressing her thigh. She caught his mouth with hers in a long, passionate drowning, surrender.
John broke the kiss, fingers pausing on her pelvis. He lifted his head, looked around. His brows furrowed. "Did you hear that, sweetheart?"
"Huh? Hear what?"she breathed, caressing his arm. Taking a breath after all those kisses. Lost in passion, intimacy, tenderness. She drew his face back to hers, kissed him. "John, love me," she urged, nibbling, sucking his lower lip. His fingers slid down to her cleft to caress, to rub and she murmured, shifted invitingly. But he stopped again. Breaking a kiss, fingers pausing. "John?"
"I heard my name being called, Moira. Listen."
"It's not me, sweetie. I haven't even gotten close to oh John, oh John yet."
He smiled. Met her amorous gaze. "You will, baby, don't you worry. There!" He sat, freeing her. "Colonel Sheppard! Hear it? What happened to my earpiece?" he wondered, raising his hand to his ear and finding the comm unit gone.
She sighed. "It's, um, I threw it into the sink."
"The sink? Oh...oh yes," he smiled broadly. "Hope it was switched off, baby, because between our loud, animalistic exuberance and those acoustics we could have broadcast that sex all across the city."
"Hilarious, John! Go!"
"I'm serious, Moira. It was probably on citywide too, so everyone heard our primal mating, didn't they? The whole city has a–"
"John Sheppard! Go!" she ordered sternly.
He sighed. "Why is it always mid-coitus, Moira?"
She smiled. "We're not mid-coitus, sweetie. Not even pre-coitus. And stop calling it coitus!"
He smirked. "Hold that thought, baby."
"Which one? Pre or mid?"
"Full. Full fucking coitus. Oh, wait. Is that redundant?"
"Never with you, sweetie."
He laughed. Kissed her. Leapt off the bed and sprinted to the bathroom. He snatched his earpiece from the sink, slid in over his ear. "Yes? This is Sheppard! Damn thing has some kind of technical malfunction. Copy?" He fixed his pants, adjusting himself awkwardly. "Crap."
"Sir? The two o'clock is about to commence."
"The two...oh shit. I mean, yes, I know that. On my way. Sheppard out." He swore, exited the bathroom. Moira was off the bed, straightening the messy blankets. Clothes no longer rumpled. Hair gathered into a ponytail. "Um, Moira, I–"
"And what about our two o'clock, colonel?" she asked, pausing to view him. Hands on hips. Expression stern.
He smirked. "Baby, if I had known our two o'clock was actually scheduled at two o'clock I would have moved the other two o'clock to three, or even four depending on how we got it on."
"Cute. Very. Next time I'll slip it into your mission specs," she teased.
"Next time I'll slip it into your–" he began lewdly, gaze roving over her.
"I got it, colonel! Or I would have," she sighed dramatically. "Go." She moved around the bed.
He stepped to her, catching her. "Sorry, sweetheart. I have to go do this. Plan the mission for tomorrow. To that facility, and arrange sufficient security detail here while we are gone. Look, I'll meet you for a very late lunch, say in one hour?"
She smiled. Kissed him. "Okay, John. One hour." Her fingers slid up his arm. "Then you had better be able to deploy that hard ordnance of yours at my purview. Got it, soldier?"
"Yes, ma'am. Repeatedly." He kissed her. Smacked her rear and left.