Camouflage6
Moira stared, stunned at his refusals. Alarmed at his fury. His jealousy and fury that were scarily akin to his darker self. She stood. Followed after him. "John! Is that a military decision, Colonel Sheppard, or a personal one?" she demanded.
"Both. You should have seen how you were looking at him, Moira! How...because he's me, but not me! He's not me! Do not trust him! Don't you dare to ever, ever trust him!"
"What? You...are you that jealous of...of yourself? Don't be ridiculous, John, I–"
He whirled to face her. "Am I being ridiculous, Moira? Am I? Considering what you did with him? Considering how you feel about him because he's me but he's not? I saw that look. Hell, you look at me that way. And him, because he resembles me, but he is not me! Got it? You will do your work here, doctor, on Atlantis. That is a military decision!" He turned away from her. Strode to his dresser. "You married me, baby, not him! I don't care if he knows Gaelic or Latin or is so fucking smart! He is not me! And he has the fucking death wish thing, not me! Got it?"
She stared, startled by his vehemence. He yanked a drawer open. Pulled out a small metal box. He spun the dials, entering the code. "John...you...you have a strong box?" she asked, sidestepping for a moment.
"Yes. There's not much in it," he sourly noted. He dropped the flash drive into it. Locked it. "The code's in my military handbook, if and only if something happens to me. Otherwise leave it for now, please. If you really need this intel tell me. I don't want anyone else to access it."
"Okay, John," she softly agreed. She could almost feel the fury radiating off him. Every line of his body tense. Voice terse. His resemblance to his darker self closer than she had ever seen. It both rattled and intrigued her.
"You should probably keep that necklace in here," he offered, returning the box to the drawer. Calming slowly. "That tsavorite? And the diamond ring. Tell me, Moira...do you have any mementos? From the dead guy, er, the former fiancee?" he asked, regretting his harsh term.
"No."
"No?" He turned at her voice, so soft, so devoid of emotion. He raised a brow. "I find that difficult to believe. Nothing?"
"No. Do you have any mementos from your past? From Afghanistan, John?" she retorted.
His gaze narrowed. "No. Not from Afghanistan," he quietly commented. Leaving the rest unsaid.
"Really? Why? Because you don't want to be reminded of it?"
"I don't," he agreed. He turned away again. Closed the drawer. Fingers on the dresser. Tension flexing every muscle. "I don't want to be reminded of any of that...stuff..."
"I don't want to reminded either. But I am. Every day. That and the other stuff. It's more than what happened in Afghanistan, isn't it, John?" she tested, recalling the colonel's one word clue. "Something else haunts you, something worse. From your past. I only say that because I have that too. An, an event in my past and then the, the fiancee...I recognize the symptoms. You know what I mean. We, we need to get shit-faced drunk and tell our deepest, darkest. Not now, but soon, I think. You see, I know." She silently neared him. Touched his back, the lightest of touches to feel his tension. He had gone very, very still.
"You know? What do you supposedly know?" he mocked. Considered. "He didn't just die, did he, Moira?" he realized. "Is that it?"
"Yes," she admitted. "He didn't just die...I...I was responsible for...so, you see. I know. I know how to lock all of that away, bury it so deep it remains in the shadows. I know about the guilt that eats you up inside, little by little. I know about shutting it all down, burying it. Trying to move on day to day, week to week until it becomes so entrenched it's a part of you now. Part of your buried psyche. Always there. Do you, do you remember when you broke up with me, John? Because you didn't want to fall in love with me. Because you believed you'd fuck it all up like you always did? Well, I didn't want to fall in love with you either. Because I knew you would leave me. In some way. For another of your lots some women. Because every time I ever gave my heart and trust and love that person left me. Worst of all everyone I deeply loved has...has died because of me. The guilt tells me it will happen again. Because it always, always does. And I know I should leave you, should let you go to save you. But I...but I can't. I just can't."
John was staring at the wall. Listening to her every word. Every catch in her soft voice. Every emotion seeping through as she tried to remain calm, collected. He was stunned speechless by her too accurate understanding, her honest empathy. Surprised that she held similar experiences, emotions inside of her. Curious too. He could not imagine his Moira capable of anything dark. He turned to her. "I won't let go, Moira. I won't."
"Don't!" She backed away even as his arms were moving awkwardly to embrace her, enfold her. She had to turn away from him, from his proffered love. From his surprise and sympathy. "I, I'm sorry, John. I don't know why all that spilled out of me. Usually I can keep all of it bottled up inside me. But you...you are the only person I've ever met who seems capable of truly understanding. Not just be sympathetic and pity me, and secretly be appalled by what happened. Or just give me pat responses and expect me to be fine, as if nothing ever happened. As if I wasn't responsible. Or just shove a bottle of pills at me and force me to see a shrink who shoves more pills at me. To make it all go away, John, but it doesn't go away! No one ever gets that! It doesn't! Except you, you get that, I think." She took a deep breath, released it. "I'm sorry. I've never revealed so much at one time like this. I must, I must really trust you."
John was staring in surprise, sorrow, sympathy. Her words pinpointing his own feelings about his past. Perfectly understanding everything she had said. Every word. Every emotion. He touched her shoulder. Fingers caressing a moment. Felt her tension, her sorrow. Her pain cutting across him, a mirror to his own. He stepped closer. Oddly awkward, unsettled. But drawn to her. He slid his arms around her waist, drew her against him. Buried his face in her hair. "Moira," he breathed, voice low. "Moira, you can trust me. As I trust you. God...where have you been all my life?" he muttered.
She turned to him, hearing the strained agony. Feeling the answering one in hers. She kissed him. Gentle kisses growing more passionate, more desperate. "Oh John...John..." she murmured, feeling tears.
"Moira," he said against her skin. Voice rasping with emotion. "I know. I can't take it away. I can't. I wish I could, but I know I can't. But I can take you away from it. Drown you in my love, in sex, in pleasure. Steal you out of your misery and mine where we can be content. My Moira." He kissed her deeply, pulling her towards his bed. Hands exploring along her body.
Moira eagerly, desperately returned his kisses and caresses. She pulled him onto the bed, onto her. Moving invitingly beneath him. Welcoming all of him. "Drown me, John, drown me," she whispered tersely.
John's kisses grew more passionate, tongue gliding, hands sliding down her breasts to her pants. Fumbling with his zipper. With hers. Impatient to take her, to distract her. To claim her as his own again. To give her all the love and pleasure he could.
The comm unit twanged on the wall. "Colonel Sheppard to the 'Gate room. Colonel Sheppard to the 'Gate room."
John sighed, swore. He shifted on her, tapped his earpiece as Moira waited, stroking his arm. "Sargent? Report!"
"Colonel, Reynolds and his team have just returned per your orders. Reynolds says he has the intel you requested."
"On my way. Direct them to the conference room." John switched off the earpiece. Met Moira's resigned gaze. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry."
"Go," she sighed. "I should be working with Carson anyway."
He kissed her. Stroked her hair. "We'll pick this up afterwards, I promise."
"The sex? You do mean the sex, John, don't you? Because that is all I want to resume right now," she insisted.
He smiled. "Yes, Moira. The sex. Is it still tease John's cock day?" he teased, trying to lighten the mood. Abate the sorrow. Distract the thrumming desire between them.
She smiled. "Yes. All day, sweetie." She kissed him. "John. I...I'm sorry I–"
"No. Not for that. Nor for anything, sweetheart." He kissed her again, sat. Ran a hand through his hair. Fixed his pants. He looked at Moira. She had rolled onto her side away from him. Was staring at the wall. Knees slightly bent as if she would curl into a fetal position. Curl up into a ball of her own misery. He touched her arm. "Sweetheart? Are you all right?"
"Fine, John. Go."
He leaned close. Kissed her cheek. "I'll be back ASAP. Moira, I, um...we..." He didn't know what to say. What to do.
"Just go, John. And don't you dare run into any of your four fucking women," she grumbled.
He smiled. "That again? Moira, you have no need to be–"
"Will you just go!" she snapped.
"Fine!" He stood. Stared at her a moment. Then strode out of the room.
John dampened down all emotion, all memories, all concerns for Moira. He limped into the conference room, sat. Nodded for Jason to begin his report. Studied the filmed footage taken from the Jumper. Looked over the scanner's readout. He rubbed his chin, thoughtful. "Apart from this apparently abandoned facility you saw no other habitations? No signs of life, apart from the blurry image of this guy?" John rewound the footage to a fuzzy picture of a bald man. Had recognized him from another mission, except he had been killed. Killed by violent, malformed cavemen.
"No, sir, not even a village," Jason replied. Wondering at his commander's grave, solemn manner but not questioning it. "Just that facility, but we couldn't tell if it was Wraith or Ancient. Or of an indigenous design. No energy readings of any kind. And apart from that guy no one else. No sign of the Wraith either. Massive plant life. Some animals but nothing remarkable. At least not to us," he shrugged. "And that lake is about thirty klicks from the Stargate."
"Very good, major. Dismissed." John watched them file out of the room. He frowned, playing back the footage slowly. Searching for something, anything. Finding nothing. Pondered the bald man's appearance. Reviewed the footage of the animals, deciding. He tapped his earpiece. "Sargent, patch me through to my quarters." He waited for the acknowledgment. "Moira, I need to see you in the conference room now, please." He switched the earpiece off, waited.
Moira was wrapped in misery. Curled on the bed, fighting back tears. Disjoined images and memories colliding, colliding. Recalling the awful events yet again. What had happened to her former fiancee. Wondering what was lurking in the depths of John's past. Causing the guilt, the morose affects she knew only too well. Regretted saying so much to him, revealing so much. Yet was oddly comforted too. His voice from the wall startled her. "John?" She sat, sighed. Stood and fixed her clothes. Reluctant. Nevertheless she made her way to the conference room.
She entered quietly. John was sitting at the table, chin in hand, staring at nothing. "John?"
He met her gaze. "Close the door, please. I need you to take a look at this. Reynolds brought back some intel."
Moira shut the door. Moved to him and took the seat next to him. "What did they find?"
"Not much. Watch." He turned the screen towards her. Hit play. Sat back to watch, to gauge her reactions.
"Play that back again, please," she said softly. He did so, noting it was the section with the animals. He smiled fondly at her. But her sad, almost resigned tone upset him. He longed to protect her, but from what he did not know. "Moira?"
"What conclusions do you want, John? Obviously that man can't be the same one we encountered on M1K436 because he was killed. So either he has a clone, a brother, or something else. Those plants are profuse but unremarkable. The acceleration and rapid growth may indicate the presence of the enzyme. We know this is the third planet but the answers may lie in that facility, whatever it is. Those animals are early versions of their modern counterparts. I won't bore you with the details."
"Please, bore me," he encouraged. "By earlier versions you mean prehistoric?"
"Pleistocene era, like the cavemen who could be variants of Neanderthals but not the bald man. He is modern. Homo sapiens, I mean. Logically we can assume the Iratus bug is there too, in some form. Or was. It depends if the proto-Wraith even exist. The colonel...the colonel thinks they did, or do. Think of it, John. Because the colonel certainly did. The sub-Wraith we encountered were an evolutionary dead end, just like the early humanoid species. The proto-Wraith are the next step in the evolutionary process, but still not the final product. Remember the colonel's clues? His suppositions about natural selection and origin of...source of..."
"What? What is it, Moira?" he asked, paying close attention to everything she said. Seeing her look of sudden realization.
"Shit! It's right there, John!" She stood, paced. "The colonel said the answer must be on that planet! A way to eliminate the Wraith, but do we have the right to terminate an entire species?"
"We are at war, Moira," he reminded.
"What about the facility?"
"You tell me. We haven't put boots on the ground yet for a proper recon, but we will. It appears abandoned. Hell, the whole planet appears abandoned. So?"
She considered. "I have to go there, John."
"No. We had this discussion."
"No, you made a rash decision based on personal feelings," she reminded, meeting his gaze. "The colonel wouldn't place me in harm's–"
"Wouldn't he? He made you ill, Moira, for no damn good reason!" He stood, closed the data pad. "This is clearly a military mission. For my team. End of discussion."
"Discussion? What discussion, John? You just make decisions and that's that?"
"Yes, Moira. I am the military commander, remember?"
"Yes, you never let me forget that, do you?"she snapped, hands on hips as she faced him. "This is clearly a scientific mission, colonel! I need to go as does Carson! We are the only ones who can understand and decipher the data! Or have you forgotten that I am a biologist, colonel?"
"No, I haven't, doctor, since you keep reminding me," he retorted. "Any and all data my team retrieves you can study to your heart's content here in Atlantis. Remember the clue, Moira? Second queen to pawn. What if he meant there's a Wraith queen there? Another one with another breeding program? What then? So no. You are staying right here."
"Maybe that's not it at all! The colonel wouldn't put me into any danger like–"
"Enough!" John snapped. "I certainly won't! You are not going and that is final!"
"Fine, Colonel Sheppard. I'll just go to Doctor Weir!" She headed for the door.
John sped to it first, stood in front of her, facing her. "Like hell you will! You are not going, Moira! There are too many unknown variables! I won't let you fall into a Wraith queen's clutches! Or his!"
"Then you can't go either, John! If there is a queen there she will want you. You have the strongest ATA gene in Atlantis, hell, maybe in the whole Pegasus galaxy! And–"
"So do you, Moira, your gene is nearly as strong as mine, so you are staying right here. As for the colonel not putting you in danger don't think he wouldn't do it. Not for a second. Just to rescue you, to take you from me," he argued.
"You are being ridiculous, John!" she accused.
"I am not! This is a military mission, Moira. Therefore it falls completely under my purview. As do you," he added. A salacious glint in his brilliant green eyes. Her anger was only stoking his own. Was oddly arousing him.
Moira glared. "Is that so, Colonel Sheppard? Am I under your purview?" She was trying to hold onto her anger, but John was dangerously sexy. His anger making him tense, tempting. Green eyes narrowed, gazing intently at her. Long, lean body coiled like a leopard about to pounce.
He smiled. Could not help it. "You will be, baby. And then you will be on top of my purview. And then underneath it again. Repeatedly."
"I'm serious, sweetie," she argued, yet her breathless voice betrayed her. Her lewd interest as her gaze wandered over his body, moving back to his face again.
"So am I, baby." He stepped closer to her, closer, not stopping until he backed her up into the table. "I'd like to take you right now. Right here. On the fucking table."
She rolled her eyes. "Conference table sex? Hilarious, John. I am going to Weir to override your stubborn, blind, pigheaded decision to–"
He pulled her into his arms, kissing her. A long, passionate kiss. Mouth possessing, claiming. Tongue gliding in to tease, to ensnare as he grabbed her rear to squeeze. She squealed into his mouth, squirming. He lifted her, dumped her onto the table. Shoved her thighs apart to move close. Pushed her onto her back.
Moira grabbed his arms as she found herself prone on the table, feet sliding on the floor. His kisses overwhelming. Hot. Sensual. She could feel his arousal pressing, pressing her thigh. "John!" she squeaked, pushing at his chest. Both alarmed and enamored by his bold, sexual actions. Intent.
John freed her mouth. Straightened. Pulled her to her feet. "Moira. My Moira...you will not go to Weir. If I deem that planet safe I will take you there myself. But not before," he reasoned, reigning in his desire, his hunger for her.
She was still grasping his arms, feeling the strength. The muscles bulging, rippling. She freed his arms. Touched his chest. "John...I...I..."
"I won't lose you, Moira. I won't let go," he vowed, voice serious, low. He drew her closer. "I want you, baby. I want to make love to you, to drown you in love and sex and pleasure."
"I...I..." she stammered, staring. Her hand pressed to his chest. Their lower bodies pressed so intimately she felt a blush warm her cheeks. "Here?"
He smiled at her consternation. Her desire. "No. We don't have the best tactical advantage here, unfortunately. Ours. Tonight." He freed her, stepped back before he became even more aroused. Became noticeably hard. "We still have the caramel sauce, don't we?"
"Hilarious, John," she scolded, but excitement sparkled in her brown eyes. "Is it that important to you? That I don't go?"
"Yes."
She sighed. "But you will need my expertise, my–"
"Always. But I won't risk you in any way. In any way," he stated. Frowned.
"What?"
"And he would know that."
"John? Are you trying to out think yourself now? You are going in circles."
"You're right, Moira. Shit I hate this stuff!" He sighed. "Let's go see if Carson has discovered anything. Then, baby, you and I are going to bed."
She smiled. "As ordered, sweetie."