Selection Factor2
Moira carried her tray to the table near the back of the cafeteria. Smiled at her friends as she sat. "We have to be quick." She glanced at the clock on the wall. "John's back and is meeting me here at eleven."
"Will he be on board with this?" Julie Armstrong asked. She pushed a curl of blonde hair behind her ear. Began to eat her sandwich.
"Yes. He has no love of the Ancients and does not put them on a pedestal," Moira assured. She began to eat her first sandwich. "Besides, he is halfway there. He just doesn't know it yet." The women softly laughed.
"Men," Katie Brown agreed with a grin. She sipped her coffee. "Botanically speaking, the similarities are striking. Too striking. And as far as the enzyme is concerned...well, that's not really my field, but from what I can ascertain it is biochemically different in each instance."
"Are you running these comparisons side by side?" Julie asked, stabbing her salad with a fork.
"Yes. Everything at once, so to speak." Moira ate some chips. Drank her Coke. "Evan's supplying me with the mission data, what there is of it he can find. We don't want to get too bogged down in the details. We have to sell this on generality."
"But it's the details that make it so striking," Julie argued. Shook her head. "These planets. Your backwards trajectory. The absence of life. I just don't see how the proteins work into it."
Moira sighed. "Nor do I. Yet. Hence the side by side comparison. A sidebar, if you will." She munched on some chips.
Katie smiled. "Remind me to have snacks in bio two for you." The women laughed.
Moira sighed. "Yes, please. Lots." The women laughed again.
John trudged to his room. Dropped his pack on the floor. He had left his P90 and TAC vest in the armory. He froze. Stared at the new appliance near the table. He smiled. It was a mini-fridge, red and silver. He walked over to it. Squatted in front of it. Ran his hand along it. "Ah, baby, what have you done?" he muttered happily. Opened it. Grinned. It was full of all kinds of beverages. Beer. Lots of beer. Pop. Lemonade. Water. He grabbed a beer, downed half of it in quick swallows. Sat back on his haunches and surveyed the rest of the contents. Several wrapped sandwiches with letters marking them. T. C. H. BLT. He wondered at their labels. Apples. Pears. Strawberries. He opened the tiny freezer drawer. Saw ice. Ice cream. Popsicles. He laughed. Stood, closing the door, beer in one hand. He looked round but didn't see any other changes. Nothing else new.
Sipping his beer he walked into their room. Stopped. Stared. There was a big bed where theirs had been. It was higher, longer, wider. A dark green comforter draped to the floor. Upon it was folded a lovely green and blue plaid blanket that matched the pillow shams. Upon the pillows perched the little white bear with green hearts that he had given her. John smiled. He set the beer on the table. Sat on the bed. Bounced. Grinned. He laid back, exclaimed happily. The support and comfort enfolded him, welcomed him like a lover. "Ah baby," he enthused. Wondered how long she had been planning this. How she had cajoled Caldwell to deliver it, the marines to move it in for her.
He rolled onto his stomach. Scooted up to the pillows. "Ah Moira, Moira," he purred. Stretching languidly, sprawling. "Oh shit!" Suddenly remembering how dirty he was he leapt off the bed. Laughed and straightened the blankets, the comforter. Imagining Moira's ire.
He grabbed the beer, sat on the bed again. Impressed. Surprised. Consumed by thoughts of his wife. His visibly pregnant wife. His child, revealed by the scan. Their son. He sipped the beer, feeling overwhelmed again. A rush of emotions. He looked round the room to distract himself. Saw nothing else new. Saw the broken headboard in a corner. Grinned. Turned to see the new bed's brass headboard. Elegant curves and two posts. He looked at the table. Noted the lack of roses. Instead there were piles of books and folders.
He drained the beer. Moved back to his room to quickly get clean. To wash his hands and his face. To pull on cleaner clothes. He hastened to the conference room, smiled his apology. Sat.
More people had entered the cafeteria. Moira licked her lips. Finishing her first sandwich. "I'll present the preliminary data, once I find an opportunity."
Katie smiled. "There's no rush, Moira. Take your time. John just returned from back to back missions, didn't he? Spend some time with him." She paused, eying her friend's sandwich. " I suppose as cravings go that's not too bad." She indicated the food.
Moira shrugged. "I guess." She drank some Coke to hide her smile. Feeling other cravings stir at her husband's return. She ignored them.
"How are you feeling?" Julie asked. Taking the hint to change the subject to something more mundane.
"Fine. Apart from having sore feet, a sore back, and the occasional emotional roller coaster." The women laughed. "And being tired at the worst times. And not sleeping. Although we do seem to get our best work done at two in the morning, don't we?"
"Yes. But I suspect that will change now that John is here," Katie noted.
Julie nodded. "I doubt he'll let you sneak off to our little lair, will he?"
Moira smiled. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him." They laughed. "No, he'll be fine. Trust me. I can explain it to him." She pondered how to approach him. "The real problem is the men."
"So what else is new?" Julie quipped. Laughter. "How so?"
"They treat me like I'm made of glass! Especially now that I'm, I'm showing!" Moira complained. "Except Rodney. When he's here he treats me like a science experiment."
"Moira! Really?" Katie asked, but was not surprised at the behavior of her boyfriend.
She smiled. "Yes. Because of the increased ATA gene. It fascinates Rodney to no end, the systems I can activate and control. At least he doesn't think I'll break. And Evan. Evan treats me like he always has. He's the only one who isn't uncomfortable around me."
Katie laughed. "You know how men are, Moira. Around pregnant women they become nervous or scared. Or both." They laughed. "And let's face it, you are the first woman here to become pregnant. Talk about pressure."
"Yeah, thanks for that, Katie," Moira quipped. They laughed again.
"What about John?" asked Julie. "Let me guess. He's the worst, isn't he?"
"John?"
"Huh?" John blinked. He straightened in the chair. Realized he had been lost in his own little world again. Moira. John junior. Everyone was staring at him. Expressions of amusement. Curiosity. Annoyance on Rodney's part. "Sorry. I...um...what?"
Elizabeth shook her head. "Planet Buttercup, as you so nicely named it. We were talking about the inhabitants. The," she glanced down at her notes, "the odd preponderance of yellow."
"Oh. Right. Yeah, there was a lot. Of yellow." He shrugged. Suddenly recalled Moira's odd observations. About a thing. A thing Elizabeth had for him. He met her gaze as it was traveling up and down him. He shifted, uncomfortable. "Sorry. Rodney, can you run the debrief? I'm not feeling too good right now. Excuse me." He left the room before anyone could ask or voice concern.
He entered the cafeteria, saw Moira sitting with two other women, way in the back. Heard their gentle laughter. He smiled. Neared slowly, watching her.
"He's what, then? Come on, Moira, spill it!" Katie urged. "Don't tell me he treats you the same!"
"No. Not at all. Well, sometimes...he's...John...well, John is..." Moira smiled, trying to find the right words but not revealing his emotional reaction to her. Keeping that close, that flourish of emotion, of love, of joy that was just for her. Just for their son. "John's..."
"Perfect?" John supplied with a smile, reaching them. "I hope you were going to say perfect, Moira," he teased.
Moira smirked. "Of course, John. What else could I possibly say?" The women laughed.
Katie and Julie stood. "We should be getting back. You'll be down?"
"Yes, later."
John nodded at the two women. Sat across from his wife. Quizzically eyed her second sandwich as she took a bite. "What is that?"
"Cucumber and Swiss cheese. Want some?" she asked round a mouthful.
"No, no thanks," he said, making a face.
She laughed. "It's not that weird!"
"No, not at all," he agreed, giving her a funny look. Smiled.
"Shouldn't you be at the debrief?" she asked.
"No." He raised a brow, seeing a beer bottle on her tray. "Taking up drinking too?"
"No. You look like you need one, colonel. Unless...you already had one?"
He smiled, took the beer. "There's no rule that says I can't have another."
"So...you liked the um, improvements?"
"Yes. Yes! That was brilliant, Moira! Our own fridge! Fully stocked! You're a genius! And the bed...wow...the bed!" he enthused.
She smiled. "Well, you are always going on and on about wanting a bigger, better bed."
"It's fantastic! I can't wait to test it out. To sleep, I mean," he quickly clarified. Drank suddenly. "How the hell did you manage all of that?"
Moira shrugged. "Oh, I had it on order for awhile. Steven was kind enough to bring it here for me on his last trip."
"Ah. And the marines who moved it?"
"Yes, well, I had Evan rally the troops, so to speak. Once they heard it was for Colonel Sheppard they happily helped do the moving. Set up the new bed for me. Moved my old one into your room and put your old bed into storage. Since you prefer my old mattress to yours. Of course the pizza and beer party afterwards was the real incentive. Quite a motivator, actually. You should consider using that next time you need to rally the troops."
"I see. I bet it had nothing to do with the pizza and beer and everything to do with you, Moy," he commented fondly.
She shook her head. "No. It was the pizza and the beer."
He laughed at her serious tone. "If you say so, sweetheart."
"And it was all on my dime, so you–"
"Moira, my dime is now your dime," he chastised.
"I know that, sweetie. Your dime is going to pay for all of the baby things we need."
"Oh. It is?"
She laughed at his expression. "Afraid so, colonel. We can discuss all of that later. And how we're going to convince Steven to empty a cargo hold for us." She chuckled at his pained expression. Shoved a sandwich at him. "Eat. It's turkey. Perfectly safe. Why aren't you at the debrief?" she asked again.
John unwrapped the sandwich. Took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed. "There was no need. I...I couldn't even concentrate. You...our son...we just saw John junior, Moy. You're having my son."
She smiled. "This isn't news, John. Wow...you are so cute when you are–"
"Stop it, Moy. No teasing!" He ate. Drank.
Moira relented. Finished her food, her drink. Noted his wandering gaze, his stare. She sighed fondly. "Go ahead. Ask."
"Ask what?"
"You wouldn't be John Sheppard if you didn't ask."
"Ask what?" he repeated, gaze glancing up at her face before inevitably lowering once more. Trying to see past the bulky sweater.
She considered. Charmed by his genuine puzzlement. Sudden shyness. "Did you notice the headboard?"
"Yeah. In the corner."
"I thought you might want the old one as a souvenir." He laughed. "You were so proud when we broke it, colonel. The new one is made of brass. Did you notice? Very sturdy. Very strong, not likely to break no matter how hard or how often it may hit the wall. And those lovely twin bedposts? Strong enough, say, oh, I don't know, strong enough for me to tie up someone, or to hold onto tight. Real tight." She tilted her head coyly at him.
He met her gaze, smiled at her hints. Her flirtation. "Really?"
"Yes. I'm just saying...so...ask." She waited. Waited as he considered. Gaze lowering. "And if you could manage to look at my face that would be nice."
He met her gaze, smirked. "Oh! Sorry. I just wonder what you are hiding. Exactly. You didn't look like this when I left."
"No. It just sort of...happened," she agreed. Pulling the sweater around her, self-conscious. "John?"
"Ask...oh! You mean sex!"