Conditioned Aversion5
Moira shook her coat. Took it off with a flourish. Bits of ice and snow scattered on the floor. She stomped her boots. Flung the coat onto a chair. "I have to say, Daniel, that wasn't one of your better ideas."
Daniel laughed. "Sorry, Moira. But you have to admit that it did get your mind off things. Especially when we crashed into that snowbank." He brushed the ice crystals off his jacket.
Moira sat on the bed, facing the wall. The dresser. "True. Almost falling through thin ice and then flying into a snowbank does tend to take my mind off other things. We could have frozen to death up there!" She hugged herself. Stared at the dresser.
Daniel was about to speak when a noise drew his attention to the doorway. John stood there. Finger to his lips. Daniel smiled, nodded. Quietly exited the room.
John stood in the doorway, lured by the sound of her voice. The loved cadences. The sarcasm. The underlying sorrow. He drank in the sight of her. The rush of emotion making him speechless. The rush of love, desire, regret, worry colliding. His gaze traversed her messy ponytail. Her dark green turtleneck sweater enfolding her curves. Her blue jeans tucked into boots under which pools of water were forming. Head tilted downwards as she stared at her hand. At her wedding ring.
"I...I did forget for, for awhile, Daniel. You've been so kind to me, so kind. I don't mean to sound ungrateful, I don't," she apologized. "How can there be no word yet? How?" Her voice cracked over the word. "What if, what if something's happened to John and they won't tell me? What if he's, he's hurt, or, or worse? I need to speak to John! I just need to hear his voice! I need to know if he's all right, even if he doesn't want me anymore as long as he is all right that's all that matters! I need to hear John!" she lamented, trying to keep back the tears. The rush of emotion shaking her.
John's heart nearly broke over her misery, her longing. He said quietly, "you can hear me now, sweetheart. I will never, never not want you. Not need you. Not love you."
Moira jumped off the bed, startled. Whirled. Lips parting, brown eyes widening in disbelief. John lounged in the doorway, filling the frame with his lean, muscled body. Clad in a green and black flannel shirt, black jeans and boots. Open olive coat. Dark brown hair disordered. Stubbled face marred by cuts. A bruise on his jaw. A particularly nasty cut above one eye. "John?" she whispered, heart hammering so fast she could hear it. She nearly tripped over her own feet.
"Yes, Moira. Wow, paleo girl, you are quick on the uptake, aren't you?" he teased. Deliberately using their recent nicknames to let her know it was really him. He was really here. In three long strides he was there. Moira flung herself into his open arms, almost knocking him over. "Ah baby," he breathed, wincing as she clung tightly. He didn't care. "Moira...oh God...Moira...how could I ever forget...how could I ever lose the memory of you?" he muttered in her hair, breathing in the scent of her. Snatches of vanilla, strawberry, soap.
"John! Oh John!" she murmured, afraid to open her eyes. Afraid to let go lest he vanish. His words didn't make sense to her. She didn't care as the very solid feel of him, the scent of him, the warmth of him enveloped her. She swallowed the fear, the sorrow. Tears rushing to her eyes but she kept them at bay. She forced herself to draw back a little. To see his face. "John! How did you, when did you, what happened? Are you hurt?"
He answered with a kiss. Kiss after kiss. A feverish explosion of loss, relief. Cutting off all words until he slowed, slowed each kiss to savor the taste of her mouth, her lips, her tongue. Sliding his own tongue to tease with erotic persuasion.
She murmured, pulling back as his hands wandered all over her body in eager exploration. "John! John, John, you came for me! You..." She touched the cut on his brow, gaze narrowing in concern.
"Later." Her kissed her again. Freed her before he let passion rule them. Guide them to the bed. To the wall. To the floor. "Let's go. Now." He began to pull her towards the doorway.
"Go? Wait! What? Where?"
He smiled. "Grab your coat. We're leaving, baby. You. Me."
"To go back to Atlantis? John, what happened? How did you get hurt? How did you manage to out think your–"
"It's over, Moira. And no, not to Atlantis. Not for two glorious days and nights. So–"
"Wait!" She drew back from him. He was moving too fast and she felt frozen. Unable to follow. "Then where? I'll need to pack my clothes and my things and my–"
"No. You won't." He turned to her, smiling. "You won't need clothes at all, Moira. Not at all."
She smiled, shook her head. "Hilarious, John. John...John..." Suddenly she was in his arms again. Hugging him. "Oh John! I've missed you so terribly! It's like my heart was ripped from my chest! I tried not to think of you but I thought about you all of the time!"
"Me too," he said into her hair, kissing her brow. "Moira, my Moira...how could I lose you like that? How could I not know you, need you, want you? Moira...I'm sorry, so sorry...will you be able to forgive me, forgive me at all?"
"What?" She drew back, puzzled. "John, I don't blame you for sending me here. For so long. You had no choice, I understand that." She kissed him. "You haven't lost me, sweetie. Never." She moved away from him. Had to turn away lest her emotions overwhelm her, make her burst into tears. "I'll pack fast. Just, just give me a minute, please."
"I'll buy whatever you need, baby, let's just get the hell out of here and into bed," he argued.
"John!"
He sighed. "Fine! A minute." He felt the same longing, the yearning, the stress and sorrow. He had to glance around the room. At the bed. He tried to imagine her sleeping in it. Alone. Cold. He pursed his lips together briefly, debating what to tell her. How to tell her. It was eating away at him like everything else. He wanted nothing more than to rush to her, to fall to his knees and beg her forgiveness, drown in her love, keep her trust in him. Instead he moved to the bed. Sat.
Moira was throwing clothes and personal items into her bag. Clearing out half empty drawers with ruthless efficiency. Glad for something to do. She made several trips to the bathroom and back, throwing necessities into the bag. She stopped suddenly. Looked at John. He was watching her. Foot tapping impatiently on the floor. "John! Don't just sit there! Talk to me!" she ordered. "Tell me what happened!"
He shrugged as she resumed her movements. "Later. We need to get going, Moira. You don't need everything, baby. Hardly any clothes at all. Trust me on this."
"What happened, John?" she persisted. "Obviously he beat the crap out of you."
"Obviously," he agreed. "You should see him. I beat the crap out of myself, Moira. How weird is that? He grazed my forehead with a bullet. I shot him in the shoulder. My plan worked like a charm. The plan was flawless, executed perfectly. Hell, I had almost three months to fine tune it before he showed up. Cautious bastard. I outsmarted myself."
"I never doubted you, John. But I did worry."
"I'll tell you the details later." He looked at his hands. Bruised knuckles. The wedding ring clean of all blood. "You, you should have seen his face when I told him you were gone. That I'd given you up just to keep you safe. Such fury, Moira. Such rage. I guess I look like that when I'm pissed. I've felt it but never seen it. No wonder I scare the shit out of everyone. To be honest I don't ever want to have that look of murderous fury on my face. I'd never look at you like that, Moy, but at anyone who tried to harm you, or tried to come between us." He sighed. Ran a hand over his face. "Even if it was myself...even if...Moy...I never meant...I..." He realized he was rambling, looked up to see her frozen. Staring.
Moira was standing on the other side of the bed. Hands on the bag. Sympathy in her gaze. Brows furrowed at the odd shortening of her name. Worry over the sudden anguish in his voice. Worry over what he was trying to tell her but couldn't.
"Are you finished? Why didn't you say anything?" he snapped, moving to his feet. He grabbed the bag from her. Zipped it. "Let's go!"
She smiled, recognizing his brusque tone was to cover his regret at his revelations. His emotions unusually close to the surface. "Sorry, John. Wait!" She grabbed her coat, grabbed a shopping bag from the floor. "John, I got things for Rodney and the rest. Popcorn, chocolate, a few–"
"We'll grab it all when we go to the Daedalus! Leave it for now! Move that pert little ass, would you?" He ushered her out of the room, hand at the small of her back. "How could I forget that pert little ass?" he mourned, eyes on it as he followed on her heels. He peered round to see the bag she clutched protectively. "What's in–"
She switched it to her other hand. "Never you mind, sweetie. Are we going to some hotel?"
"Yeah. We're going to a mountain resort, way the hell up and out of reach. Private. Just the two of us, baby, with all of the amenities. Ah." He nodded at Steven who nodded back, smiled at Moira. "Caldwell's agreed to lay over a few extra days," he told her quietly as he guided her to the elevator.
Moira glanced back at Steven. "Really? How did you ever swing that?"
"You did. Under that gruff exterior and hard ass colonel beats the heart of a teddy bear and a romantic. At least when it comes to you." He pushed the button. The elevator started to rise. He peered round her shoulder.
"Wow. Maybe I should have gotten him some no, John!" She shifted the bag to her other hand. "Only if you're good," she scolded.
He smiled. "Oh baby, I plan to be very, very good. That is if I can even remember how to do it. It's been three months, Moira! Tell me, did any of those smarmy scientists make a move on you?"
She smiled. "No. Don't be ridiculous, sweetie. Tell me, sweetie, did any of your four fucking ex-lovers make the moves on you?"
"No. Don't be ridiculous, Moira." Yet he glanced at the panel of buttons, composing himself. Making Moira wonder. Worry. "Ah, baby, it's more like four months, really. Here." He stepped out of the elevator. Turned. "Moira?"
She was staring at him, assessing. John nearly gulped. But she followed him out of the elevator. Out of the base. To the waiting car. "A limo, John? Again?"
"Only the best for my Moira. Give me that bag. I'll put it in the back with this and–"
"No." She got into the limousine, waited. Set the bag near her feet. A dread was coiling in her. His odd words. Hesitations. The guilt and worry in his eyes. She knew he had been through hell and back. Knew he was bottling it all up for her sake, just as she was bottling up her own torrid emotions for his. She scooted across the seat as he joined her. He leaned forward to push a button. The privacy screen rose, blocking the view of the driver as the car pulled out of the parking lot. "John?"
He smiled. "We've got thirty, baby. How about we–"
"No," she smiled. "No limo sex, sweetie." She nestled against him. Kissed him. Several kisses later she noticed he was moving her back, back, shifting, leaning over as his mouth wandered across her jaw to her throat. As his hand stretched down to the bag. "John!" She laughed, pushed him away from her. Away from the bag.
"What? I was just wondering what's in there, baby. Something for me?"
She pushed again. "Yes. But not now."
"Ah. Is it sexual or–"
"No!" She smacked his hand as it snaked along her thigh.
"Ow! Well, you better distract me then, sweetheart, because discovering all intel is my job."
"Is that your job, colonel? I always wondered." At his scowl she continued. "I always thought your job was just to sit and look pretty."
"Hilarious, Moira. If you weren't sitting down I'd spank that pert little ass. I still might."
"Sorry, colonel." She kissed him. Nestled against him as her fingers stroked along his chest. His waist. His thigh. Searching. Running her nails lightly up and down, up and down the length of him.
John's body instantly reacted. He was growing hard under her touch, and any concern he had over his lack of performance was gone. He caught her hand, halting her. "No. Don't do that, Moira. That's dangerous territory, baby. My ordnance is set to explode, so if you want me to deploy you'd better be ready."
"Sorry, sweetie." She snuggled against him. "I wouldn't want you to deploy prematurely."
"It's not funny, Moira," he chided, feeling her contained mirth. Feeling his arousal.
"Yes it is, John." She kissed him. "Tell me about the–"
"What have you been doing at the SGC?" he countered. Distracting them with conversation.
His arm slid round her and he stroked her back.
"Not, not much," she admitted. "Updating the Wraith intel. Learning about the Goa'uld. There's a nasty species for you. Catching up on the latest in paleontology. Ice-skating. A little shopping for our friends. Oh! There was a mammoth dig and I got to–"
"Back up. Ice skating?" he asked.
"Yes. I know, at this time of year? But at the higher elevations there was just enough–"
"No. With?"
"What? Daniel. I, I missed you so terribly, John! I couldn't stop worrying about you, thinking of you although I tried, I tried, but I couldn't, I just couldn't–"
"Daniel? Took you ice skating?" he repeated sourly.
"Yes, John." She sat free to meet his dour gaze. "It wasn't a date, silly. I am a married woman. He was just being nice. Felt sorry for me. Everyone did. Does." She looked away from him. "It was...it was almost like before...and no one would tell me what had happened to you..." Her voice fell into a whisper.
He touched her hand. "Moira," he realized, jealousy gone. "I'm sorry. I...I had to be sure you would be safe when you came back. I had to be certain...I had...."
"It wasn't your fault. It was me, my own..." She broke off as the car stopped. "Are we here?"
"What?" He looked out the window, so wrapped up in her sorrow he hadn't noticed. Sleet was lining the window. Rain and ice mixing in a chilly onslaught. "Yes. We're here."