Camouflage7

Moira turned to John suddenly. "John!" she exclaimed as they reached their room.

"Moira!" he echoed. Waited. "What?"

She ignored his teasing. "I've been looking at his the wrong way!" She moved to the data screen. "We need the flash drive. Before we see Carson. That's what the colonel wanted me to see."

"Who? Carson?" he asked, not following her train of thought.

"No! That's why he infected me with that, that altered enzyme. To drastically bring the point home."

"What point? What? You want to see the flash drive again?" he asked, disappointed.

"Yes, John, please." She waited.

He sighed. Trudged to his room. Retrieved the flash drive. Trudged back to find her sitting at the table. He sat next to her, inserted the drive. "Well? Point?"

"What? Oh! Look at the screen. I should have realized this sooner. It's all about the enzyme, not the Wraith at all."

"The enzyme?" he repeated. "Go on."

She smiled. "I know. I didn't see it either. But once I connected the dots...you see, he wanted me to connect the dots. All these variables have a common theme running through them."

"The enzyme?" he repeated, more confidently.

"Yes. But it's more than that. It's adaptability on a microbiological, chemical level. I'm no geneticist so Carson will have to confirm this, if he hasn't already."

John waited, eyed the screen. "Are you going to tell me or do I have to guess?"

She smiled. "Think about it, John. Use that mensa brain of yours."

He smiled at her teasing. "The enzyme."

"Yes." She pointed at the screen. "The permutations of the enzyme. Its chemical composition. It's an original life form, one wholly indigenous to the Pegasus galaxy. I've collated its, well, its evolution, if you will. From a plant's toxic by-product to the Iratus bug's absorbing its chemical properties. And subtly changing them. To the creation of the sub-Wraith, theoretically the proto-Wraith, to modern Wraith. Each time changing on a micro level. Except look what happens when it infects humans, or even humanoids. Dramatic chemical changes. Hormonal surges of rage, of lust..."

"I remember that, baby," he teased. "Talk about an aphrodisiac." He touched her thigh. Gently squeezed.

"Except the difference is the ATA gene. People with the ATA gene are affected by it, but they don't become addicted. Or malformed. And if ingested their bodies violently reject it. Like mine. Like yours."

"Yeah, I remember vomiting that stuff over and over." He grimaced at the memory. Looked at her. "The ATA gene combats the enzyme. Purges it, if you will. So how did the Wraith overcome that? The ones in his reality. Since they naturally produced the enzyme as part of their feeding?"

"That's my mensa boy," she commented. She kissed him. "I have no idea."

He smiled. "Score one for me, zero for paleo girl. Come on, I'm sure you have a–"

"Theory? No. Not at the moment. Logically those things shouldn't even exit. The ATA gene is not compatible with the enzyme. So how did the Wraith in that other reality overcome the bio-chemical interaction?" she wondered.

"If I am supposed to answer this one I just lost my score," he complained. Sighed. "How?"

"My guess? Another genetic tampering." She tapped the screen. "Enter chemical number three. The Hoffan drug or the retro-virus or some other thing we don't even know."

"Ah."

"But I'm not sure which. This is Carson's field, not mine. I don't know why the colonel thought I could figure it out. So...that brings me to the flash drive. There's a second message."

"And how do you come by that?"

"The clue. Second queen to pawn. It's not a reference to a second Wraith queen. It's a reference to Irish mythological cycles. Remember? Cuchulainn and Morrigan? It's a second set of lovers. Doomed lovers, since they're Irish."

"Wonderful," John grumbled. "Do you know the passwords?"

"Maybe." She typed in the name Cuchulainn. The screen blinked, went dark. Then a name popped up on the screen.

Naiose.

"I'm not even going to try to pronounce that," he wryly commented, shaking his head. "Well?"

She considered. Looked at John. He was eying the screen, staring at the blinking cursor. Handsome face cast in the bluish glow from the screen. Expression thoughtful. Impatient. Suspicion in his green eyes. "'Fair would be a man upon whom these colors should be. His hair like the raven. His cheek like the blood. His body like the snow,'" she quoted softly. "'Or his brows like the raven. His lips like the blood. His teeth like the snow.'"

John met her gaze, riveted. Could almost hear a trace of an Irish lilt in her voice. The love warm in her eyes.

"It's you, John. And me...sort of..." She colored suddenly. Typed the name Deidre. "Naoise and Deidre. Doomed lovers pursued by a jealous king. To their deaths." The screen lit up, a file opening. Darkness. Then the colonel's visage. Moira scooted back in her chair, startled. John relaxed at her reaction. Slid his arm around her shoulders.

Sheppard smiled. "I knew you would figure it out, Moira. I'm sorry about infecting you, but it was the only way. John must hate me now, but you will understand the necessity. The brevity of our time together forced my hand. Find the connections, Moira. Connect the dots, as only you can. Look at each sequence. I'll be waiting for you."

The screen went blank. John logged off, closed the pad. Pulled out the flash drive. "Son of a bitch," he muttered, still disconcerted by the dark side version of himself. A living, breathing man. Him. But not him. "What the hell does that mean?"

"I don't know. Something...something in the sequencing of the DNA codes, the genetic structure..." she wondered.

"No. I'll be waiting for you. A third message? Or a literal threat?"

"Maybe a third message," she reasoned, "a third pairing of lovers. Of..." She frowned, thinking. Chewed on her lower lip as John's fingers caressed her shoulder. "Hmm." She freed her lip. "And the sequencing..." She opened the laptop. Brought up the Wraith data again. Caught his hand on the flash drive. "Could you leave it here, John? I may need to access it again. Once I figure this out."

He freed it reluctantly. "Okay. But tomorrow it gets locked up again." He hid a yawn behind his hand. "Shit, I'm beat. Why don't you let Carson take a stab at this now."

"Of course. It has to be here but I'm not seeing it," she muttered, staring at nothing. "The gene therapy treatment only works half of the time, right?"

"Yes. Only half receive it successfully."

"They can't have used all natural genes to implement the treatment. They would have run out eventually. So they would have had to replicate the gene, like we did. So it would only work on half of the population. Except the enzyme would presumably counteract it...unless..."

"The Hoffan serum. Effectively blocks the enzyme. Kills the host," John realized. "What if they used a modified version of the serum, to block the enzyme's reaction to the ATA gene? Those Wraith on the Hoffan home world were looking for the original formula, remember?"

She looked at him. His brow was furrowed in thought. "You may be onto something, John. They must have modified that too. That makes sense. A superior genetically altered Wraith with the capacity to activate Ancient technology. My God...no wonder the city fell."

He nodded. "They would be unstoppable, Moira. Unless the retro-virus worked. But it would have to be altered as well, wouldn't it? Unless...unless those men we encountered. Infected with the retro-virus like I was. Halted in that phase, the blue Wraith phase."

"Their development into full Wraith was suspended somehow, by Ford," she agreed. "Where are you going with this?"

"Let me think." He was silent, brows knit. Gaze unfocused on the distance. Fingers drumming on the table while his other hand still caressed her shoulder. "Arrested by the Hoffan serum, perhaps? Because the pure bug enzyme restored me."

Moira clicked on the screen. "The colonel stole Ford's research too. Put in onto this. Here. Maybe he created a synthesized version of the enzyme as well. I bet you're right, John! Another point for you. But how does it all fit?"

"Hey, baby, you're the connect the dots expert. Me, I prefer those mazes you had to doodle around to reach the prize," he teased. Suppressed another yawn behind his hand. "Moira, it's getting late. We should be snug in that bed. Asleep. Out of these wrinkled clothes." He smiled. "Pleasantly tired after some pleasurable sex. So?"

"It must be here, somewhere," she mused.

He leaned close, ran kisses down her throat. Brushed back her hair. "My Moira. I want to make love to you, baby. Sweet and slow. Bring you into a deliciously vibrant climax. So?"

She smiled at his kisses. His teasing, low voice. "We have to figure this out, John. Go to bed, sweetie. I can't sleep with all of this in my mind, and we still have to see Carson to–"

"Then let me distract you, baby," he offered. He turned her face to his. Kissed her. Kissed her again, slowly. Searching. Parting her lips to teasingly slide his tongue. "Tongue? We're not in the infirmary, baby. Hmm...when will that residual side effect of the enzyme kick in?"

She smiled. "Not yet, I'm afraid. And yes, tongue. You–" He kissed her again, more passionately. Guiding her mouth to angle to his. He closed the laptop. Ran a hand down from her shoulder to caress a breast. "Oh John," she murmured.

"Oh Moira, all this science crap can wait," he wooed. Kissing her again. He stood, pulling her with him. Pulling her into his arms, against his body. Hands running up under her shirt to unhook the bra. Sliding now to cup, caress her bare breasts as his kisses continued. "Moira Sheppard," he teased into her ear. Nibbled her earlobe to make her whimper. "Caramel or chocolate, baby?"

She laughed softly, hands running over him. Succumbing to his charm, his love, his desire. "John...we have to...oh John, you–"

"Let's go to bed, baby. Maybe an orgasm will give you another breakthrough," he suggested with a leer. "I'm only doing this in the interest of science."

"Oh? Is that so, sweetie?" she replied as he led her to the bed. "Purely for science?"

"Not so purely, but yes. I do what I can," he joked. "Oh. Hold that thought. I'll go get–"

"No you won't," she argued, guessing his intention. She pulled him back to her, kissed him. Slid her body along his.

"Moira, I really should go get a condom."

"No. You don't need one, John. How many times must I tell you that?" She unbuckled his belt. Undid his pants. Unzipped. Slid her hand in to catch his growing hardness. She kissed him. "Make love to me, John. Sweet and slow."

"Moira, I will, after I get a...oh God..." he moaned as she squeezed, squeezed. Stroked.

"Make love to me, sweetie," she wooed, freeing him to run her hands up under his shirt. Feeling his muscles, his warm, hard body. The chest hair. "I want you, John. Nothing between us. Nothing."

"We really need to discuss this," he countered, but was moving her back onto the bed. Unzipping her pants, unbuttoning them. "Moira, it will take five seconds, maybe six to–"

"I said no, John. Naked cock or no cock. And if you can't get it up I'll get back to work," she threatened.

He smirked. "That again? Crap. I can get it up, baby, don't you worry. Question is can you take it? All of it?" he asked, shifting on her. Thrusting against her.

"Yes. As long as it's only you, just you, nothing else on that hard, big, long ordnance of yours, sweetie. Just that large, stiff weapon you are wielding."

He smiled. "Fuck. I'll be wielding it, don't you worry." He moved off the bed. "And I am wearing one so get used to the idea, baby, until we have that particular discussion." He crossed into his room, still talking. "I don't see what the big deal is, Moira. I really don't. As long as you avoid this discussion we need to be extra careful, is all. All right?" He grabbed a packet from the dresser, turned to limp back into her room. "It will be fun, baby, we can make it fun and I will still get you off in..." He stared.

The bed was empty. The room was empty. Silent.

"Shit," he remarked dourly.