Camouflage9

Moira sat on her bed, waiting. Staring forlornly at the distance. The roses a mere blur of color as the past reared its ugly head. Horrible, last images of her fiancee. The sounds. The screams. She shoved it aside. Thought of the colonel. Astounded at his duplicity, his ruthlessness despite the necessity. The darkness in the colonel. It made her wonder about John, despite his assurances. His denials. She knew that darkness was in him somewhere.

John entered his room, crossed into hers. He looked at Moira as she sat, staring at nothing. Miserable. Looking lost, somehow. To his eyes so beautiful in her distress. He knew he could take that distress, that sorrow, turn it around. Turn it to passion, to love. To intense sex. His body stirred at the thought. "Moira?"

She looked over, startled. Stared. Blushed. "John." She stood. "I'm sorry about, about earlier. I shouldn't have reacted like that, I didn't mean to, to dismiss your, your sincerity, your bravery, your, your, I was so disturbed by what the colonel did, did to me and I–"

He moved to her. Kissed her, cutting off her tremulous voice. "It's all right, Moira. Don't apologize." He led her to the table.

"How is McKay's work coming?"

"I gave him some incentive to work faster. Don't you worry, honey. I'll keep you safe." He sat back, glancing at the laptop on the table. "When we get shit-faced drunk, Moira, you're going to have to chug a beer fast. Luckily it will probably only take one bottle, maybe two for you."

She smiled. "True, John. I guess for you it will take a case, maybe two."

"Maybe three. Unless we imbibe the hard stuff. One sip and you'll be under the table," he teased fondly.

"That wine we had on our honeymoon was quite nice," she remarked, as they both avoided the chore ahead of them. "Could I get drunk on that?"

"Yes. But the beer would be faster." He studied her.

"What? Can't decide on what kind of alcohol to use to get me drunk?"

He smiled. "No. I was thinking of something else. Ready? We may as well get this over with. Son of a bitch," he muttered.

Moira nodded. Powered the machine. Made certain the flash drive was plugged into the console. "If I type in the second one it should trigger it to produce the third one and..." She hesitated, fingers poised over the keyboard. "I...I still can't believe he, he did that to me. I suppose there was no other way to test the toxin on my specific ATA gene and DNA since she died in his reality but he could have warned me or just–"

"No. There is no excuse, Moira. None. Don't you dare sugarcoat it. I know exactly what he did. And why. Type."

"You, you said you would do the same, John. Not to me, but to someone...to save the city. The people here." She looked at him. He appeared somber.

"Yes. I would. As a last resort. Not to you. Ever. Not to anyone it's my job to protect. If it ever came down to it, I mean choosing between the protection of this city, these people over the rest out there," he vaguely gestured towards the window, towards the galaxy, "it's my job to protect this city, these people. Our people. That's just how it is, Moira. I'd like to save everybody, but I can't. I have to make choices, decisions based on how best not to save everyone but to save our people, our city. So yes. I'd do the same thing if I had no other option. But never, never to you. Even if the fate of the city hung on it I would never put you in harm's way."

She stared. Touched his hand. "It's...it's all right, John. I understand. The decisions, the hard decisions you have to make that only you can make."

"I don't want to lose anyone else, Moira. But I know, I know I will because I always do. One way or another. Usually in death. By my own doing...inadvertently or not."

She kissed his brow. "It's all right, John," she soothed. "You can only do your best, do what you think, what you believe is best in any given situation. To save as many as you can. But the loss of, of one still haunts you. You must use that to make you stronger."

He met her gaze. "If only...I knew you would understand, Moira. Better than most. About the darkness. The guilt eating away inside you. Day after day. Only engorged by the next loss, the next failure. The next fuck up you're responsible for..." he sighed. Ran a hand through his hair. "Shit. I guess we do need to get shit-faced drunk soon."

She kissed his lips. "Soon, sweetie. Just the two of us. Ready?"

"No, but go ahead. Type." He touched her thigh, scooting his chair right next to hers. "Thanks." He shoved his guilt, his admissions back into the dark recesses where they belonged. His decision still gnawing at him. "And?"

Moira typed in the second name. Waited. The screen flashed. Then another name lit up.

Diarmat Ua Duibne.

"Want to try to say it?" she teased, glancing at him.

He shook his head. "Hell no. Story?"

"Diarmat Ua Duibne, famous lover. Possessor of the ball seirce, the love-spot which made him irresistible to women. A beauty mark. Like you have. So obviously the response is–"

"What? I don't have that. Do I? Where? Huh. That explains a lot, I guess." He shrugged, smiled. "And here I was thinking it was my charm."

She laughed. "That too, sweetie. The corresponding name is Grainne. She eloped with him while, um, while betrothed to an aged Fionn mac Cumhail."

"Ends tragically, I'm guessing," he commented as she typed in the name.

"Yes. In the death of the lovers." She tensed. "I'm, I'm almost afraid of what he's going to say."

"He'll never touch you again, I promise," John vowed. Sliding his arm around her as the colonel's haggard visage filled the screen.

Sheppard spoke. "Bravo, Moira. I knew you could do it. I knew. And that you will understand. Don't listen to John and his pathetic platitudes. His false assurances that he would never do this to you, because he would if he had to...he'd make it seem like it was all your idea. Actually convince you to volunteer. I know, Moira. So do you. Work on the formula. We are missing some extra protein to make it completely lethal. Work on the anomaly. Leave the rest to me, Moira. Don't you worry, baby, I'll take care of you."

The screen went blank. John switched it off, yanked out the flash drive, not caring if it damaged it. Longed to crush it in his hands but set it aside. The fury building. "He knows."

"What?" Moira had been startled by his use of the things John said to her. The nickname. The same words but with a slightly different intonation. Making an assurance into a subtle threat.

John stood. Abruptly pacing. Thinking. Stopped to stare at Moira. He tapped his earpiece, his decision solidifying. "Locate Colonel Caldwell for me."

Moira turned in her chair to see John's intent gaze. "Caldwell? John?"

"Sir?" the voice sounded in John's ear, "Colonel Caldwell is in the mess hall. Shall I page him?"

"No. Yes. Wait." He thought. "Page him to Doctor Weir's office in one hour, please." John clicked off the comm, gaze never leaving Moira's.

She stood, unnerved by his scrutiny. "John? What is happening?"

"Moira. I'd do anything to keep you safe. Anything. Even if it means giving you up."

"You...you're divorcing me?" she asked, stunned.

"No. Of course not! I'm giving you up for a few months," he explained.

"Oh. I thought you...wait. What? I don't understand, John. You...you're sending me to Earth?" she realized. Clasped her hands together as he nodded. "Why? I won't leave you! Let me go to Pleistocene Park!"

"Not far enough," he countered. "I need you out of this galaxy. It's the only way."

"No, John," she refused. "We don't even know if he'll come here, let alone when, or where, or–"

"Listen to me, Moira." He moved to her, drew her to sit on the bed. Her hands clasped in his. "I do know. He's coming, Moira. Coming here. For you. For the formula. Soon. No, listen to me," he continued before she could object, deny, "you are going to Earth, ASAP. For as long as it takes to confront this bastard, to deliver the formula and to shut down all doors to that fucking reality once and for all. To eliminate all threats to you."

She swallowed. "John...you...he will want the formula, not, not–"

"You? Oh he wants you, Moira. Have no doubt of that. He needs you. To help fight the ATA Wraith. A ready supply of your DNA. To reclaim the fallen city when he kills all of them."

"How, how could he reclaim the city?" she asked, startled. Worried.

John looked at her hands in his. Fingered the wedding ring. "You. I realized his agenda, Moira. Not only to use you to create, to test, to finish this biological weapon. Of course he wants you. He wants you for sex. But not just for sex. To reclaim the city. He'll enjoy the sex with you but his aim will be to, to impregnate you. A child of ours, yours, will have the potential of our combined ATA genes. Doubly strong. Doubly potent. Enough, in time, to reclaim the city and raise it from the depths. Enough to counteract the plague he's unleashed on their galaxy."

She stared, shocked. Appalled. John's gentle voice serious. Sincere. Fraught with tension. His gaze downcast. Long lashes veiling his eyes. Shadows across his forehead from his short bangs. "But...but there's no guarantee a child would even inherit our, our ATA gene...it's a lottery, John. A gamble. The rules of inheritance are not clear cut."

"True. But between us, our DNA there are pretty good odds that we could produce a child who has an incredible ATA genetic heritage. And with their advanced science who knows? They might have a way to ensure it. If not he'll just keep trying...until he gets what he wants from you. And he's coming now, well, not now, but soon. Before I have a chance to close that anomaly. But not before the formula is ready. Before I, um, impregnate you. Because he won't tolerate you having my child, even though the genetic material would be identical. Trust me. He wants the child to be his, not mine. And yes, you are safe now on the pill but once he has you he'll make sure you don't have access to that anymore. So he will bide his time. Keep having sex or weaning you off of me to tolerate him. You are going to Earth, Moira. Now. Tomorrow, when the Daedalus leaves. For as long as it takes."

She absorbed it all. Felt tears. Appalled by his cold logic. His assessment of his darker self. The motives clear. Concise. She was touched by his concern, his thoroughness. His absolute devotion to her safety, even at the cost of being separated. "It...it could be months..."

He finally met her gaze. Handsome face stern. Resolute. Brilliant green eyes beautiful. Warm with love as he looked at her. "I know," he said quietly.

She felt tears. "Oh John..." she whispered, resigning herself. Flung herself into his arms. Clinging tightly.

He held her close, savoring her warmth, her love. Loath to give her up but knowing he had no choice. "Only for a few months, Moira...only a few..." he murmured in her ear. Kissed down her throat.

She pulled back to catch his mouth with hers. Soft, deep, desperate kisses. Her fingers pulling at his shirt. He moved her onto her back, never breaking his lips from hers. But he pulled back with a soft groan. Sat. "John?" she asked sadly.

"Soon. First I have to arrange your transport to Earth. And make plans."

"Plans? What are you going to do, John?"

"I'm tired of being one step behind him. For once I am going to be one step ahead of him. Maybe two steps. End this once and for all."

"John, you, you can't kill him!" she realized. Sat and touched his arm. "It may seem like killing your darker self, your guilt, your pain, but it's not! It's not the same as what is inside you. You can't kill him, John. Despite everything he has done his Atlantis needs him. And we...we need you. I need you. I love you, John. You."

He kissed her. "I love you, Moira. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. To bring you back to me. But you're right. I won't kill him. But I will end this." He touched her cheek. "Only a few months, sweetheart. As long as you are safe I can act freely. Do what I must. You see that, don't you?"

"Yes. I...I don't want to leave you, John. But I see that," she realized, resigning herself. "I wish I could stay here. Maybe I, I could reason with–"

"No. There's no reasoning with him. It's too late for that, Moira. You can't keep thinking you know him like you know me. Because you don't. You don't really know me, Moira. Not that part of me. And he would play you like a fiddle because he knows exactly what to say, what to do. To make you see him as me. To make use of that shared loss you share. That experience. He's not me. Understand?"

"Yes."

He kissed her again. "I know what you are thinking, and yes, there is some of him in me. It's unavoidable. More than I would like to admit. You might need some time to accept that, but I trust you."

"John! No! You are nothing like him!"

He smiled briefly. "In regards to you, no. Never. But in other ways, yes." He stood. "I'll go arrange your transport. We have to do this, Moira. For both of us. For you." He hesitated, then abruptly left.