Survival of the Fittest10
Moira stood in the shade of the Jumper, shielding her eyes against the harsh glare of the sunlight. She watched as the four men jogged around the emerald pool. It was their fifth lap. The botanist had fallen behind and had slowed to a walk, breathing heavily of the warm air. The three soldiers were neck and neck and neck. Heading round again for the sixth lap. Sunlight glinted off the pool, creating waves of green that shimmered in the hot air.
She shook her head, wringing out the last clean shirt she had salvaged from the packs. She hung it to dry over a drive pod with other assorted clothing. She set up a makeshift table hewn from broken logs. Seats were chopped stumps. She set out the piles of fruit on big leaves that served as plates. Checked the cooking venison on the open pit fire, not liking the source but understanding the necessity. She spread out the utensils scavenged from the packs. Bottles of water from the Jumper that were nearly empty now.
She stepped past the table, waited until they were on her side of the pool. "Heads up! Burgers on the grill, boys!" she shouted.
Not breaking stride the three men turned, jogged towards her. Matthew followed, his stride quickening at the offer of food.
Moira smirked at their disheveled, dirty clothes. Their bare chests beaded with sweat. Their incoming beards. All-over scruffy appearance. She tried not to stare, couldn't help herself. Comparing. Contrasting. Ronon's heavily muscled physique to Evan's leaner torso. Matthew's skinny build compared to John's muscled tautness. "Shirts," she warned, moving back into the Jumper. But turning to watch John. The sweat sparkling on his brow. Beads sliding down back. Sliding down his chest, dark hair tangled with it. The dog tags glinting silver. Drips of sweat sliding down his waist into his pants.
"What about shoes?" Evan asked, causing laughter. The men pulled on their t-shirts, snatching them from the drive pod.
"What? No shoes no service," she retorted, breaking from the distraction. She emerged as the men took their seats. She sat next to John as Ronon speared the meat with a knife. Cut and served it on the leafy plates.
"We're not doing too badly," Ronon noted as Matthew reached them. Pulled on his shirt took the remaining empty seat. "We've found fresh food. Fresh water from the falls." He glanced at Moira. At the messy fall of her mostly bound hair.
"You sound almost happy we've been here a week," John noted, making a face as he regarded the other man. Saw where his gaze had wandered.
"It could be worse, sir," Evan agreed as they ate. "Although I am tired of fruit." Evan noted the clingy, torn shirt Moira wore. It's color an indeterminate shading somewhere between green and brown. Revealing flashes of her bare waist as she moved.
"I'll second that, major," John heartily agreed. Imperceptibly scooting a little closer to Moira. "Where the hell is the Daedalus?"
"On the way, with any luck," Matthew hoped. "Even I'm sick of this planet and it is a botanist's dream." Laughter. Matthew shrugged, eyes on Moira. At his angle he could make out her lower back bared by the torn shirt. Her rear snug in the pants.
"Can you imagine if McKay was here?" John joked, but his glower directed at Matthew made the botanist lower his gaze. "We'd be out of food in a day."
"An hour," Ronon corrected. Laughter.
John eyed Moira. She was unusually quiet. Eating, drinking, laughing when they laughed. "Moira? Anything wrong?"
"No." She sipped her bottled water. She had noticed the men. Their stares, even without being aware of it. Felt her own stare lingering on each one for a few moments. Felt John beside her. Caught the motion of a bead of sweat trickling down his strong arm, sliding across muscle.
"I vote for fish tomorrow," Ronon suggested.
"Fish it is. If we can catch any," Evan noted.
"I can catch plenty. I don't know about you," Ronon challenged.
"As long as it doesn't taste like fruit!" Matthew declared. Laughter.
"Moira, do we need more water?" Evan asked, eying the emptying bottles.
"I'm afraid so. This is the last of ours."
"Damn. I'm not looking forward to that trek up the hills."
"None of us are," Ronon agreed. "We should find a closer water source. Maybe fly over the continent and relocate."
"No. We need to be in proximity to the Stargate," John argued.
"You really think they're still coming?" Ronon asked. "After all of this time?"
"Yes, I do. In fact," John paused to check his watch, "we'll have lift-off in one hour. Contact attempt as usual."
Moira stood. "That will give me time to finish the laundry." She gathered the remaining clothes off the drive pod, entered the Jumper.
"What's wrong?" Matthew asked, watching her disappear into the vehicle.
All eyed John. He frowned. "What?"
"What did you do, sir?" Evan asked.
"Me? Nothing! What?" John asked, perplexed.
"Go." Ronon pointed at the ship, began to clear up the mess they had made.
John sighed, shrugged. Entered the Jumper. Moira was kneeling on the floor, folding shirts and pants. Neatly placing them in each appropriate pack. He moved next to her, touched her shoulder. "Hey, Moira. Need any help?"
"No."
He caressed her shoulder. "Honey...is everything all right?"
"Yes, John." She briefly smiled at the endearment, at his hesitant tone. Resumed her task.
"Moira, you know we're getting out of here. As soon as the Daedalus arrives. Should be any day now. Promise."
"I know."
Her calm tone rattled him. He sat next to her. Caught her hands, stopping her. "Moira, what is wrong?"
She met his gaze. "Nothing is wrong, John. Why do you think something is wrong?"
"You're acting weird," he observed. "You're too quiet."
She smiled. "I thought you'd never complain about that."
He smiled. "I'm serious, Moira. Talk to me. You're still upset over the deer?"
"Muntjac, no. I know we had no choice."
"Is it the enzyme? You think we're still exposed to diluted doses?"
"Yes. We can't avoid it. It's in the water, the fruit, everything. But since we are aware of it we can take care of it accordingly. Like your morning jogs."
"Yes, that's one reason I instituted them. And your afternoon ones. Moira, I won't let anything happen to you."
"I know, John." She freed her hands to finish her task.
He searched his memory, perplexed. "The cramped quarters? We can sleep outside if you–"
"No, no, it's too dangerous. It's fine."
"The cavemen? We haven't seen them all week."
"So they're not a threat," she agreed.
"The sex?" he asked quietly, scooting closer. "Or rather the lack of sex. I know that bothers me."
She smiled. "That would. But no. I don't like it either but I can wait. As can you."
"Maybe," he grumbled. "Ah! Is it the beard?"
She met his gaze, laughed at his expression as he stroked it. "No."
"Once we get home it's gone. Promise."
"Okay. But it's not the beard."
He sighed. "Then what? Is it me? Did I do something?"
"No, John. It's not you, or anyone else," she added, seeing where he was going. "It's nothing, okay?"
"Okay. I guess." Disbelief. He considered. "Are you sure it's not the lack of sex, 'cause I can fix that, believe me."
She laughed at his sincerity. Kissed him. "No. I'm fine. Stop fussing. Go. Do your ship checks, will you? Don't we take off in an hour?"
"Yeah. But I want to make sure you're all right. Did something happen today? Last night? Are you certain it's not the lack of sexual–"
"John!" she laughed, playfully pushed him. "Go! Now. All right?"
He smiled, kissed her. "All right, jungle queen." He stood, moved to the front of the ship.
Moira finished, stood. Watched him prepping the ship. Checking the controls with meticulous precaution. She debated, biting her lower lip. Looked back out the Jumper. They were alone as the other men were clearing the mess, the fire pit. Laughing jovially.
"Well? Ready to tell me now?" he asked.
She whirled, startled by his perspicacity. He was still fussing over the console. Glanced back at her, gestured for her to come closer. She advanced slowly.
"Sit. Talk." He pointed to the co-pilot's seat. Leaned down to check the crystals under the console. He held a penlight in his mouth to double-check their alignment.
"Sex," she finally stated.
"Ow!" He banged his head on the console at the word. He straightened in the chair, rubbed his skull. "I said that."
She smiled. "Sorry. No...not that. It's me."
"You." He stared. "Sweetheart, I already offered if you want to end this drought of–"
"No, no. It's nothing. Get back to work," she noted, looking away from him, embarrassed.
He caught her arm, stopping her. "No, no, not so fast, Moira. You said sex. Talk. Now. If not the lack of it then what?" She was silent again. He sighed. Considered. "The glen of roses?"
"No."
"Bringing you in the cave, well almost."
"No." But she colored at the memory of his hand searching, seeking. Making her audibly react.
"Bringing me on the ledge with that delicious mouth of–"
"No!"
He stood, frustrated. "For God's sake, Moira, spit it out! I've run out of things to guess!"
She freed her arm angrily. "Of course you have, John! Nothing bothers you!" She stood, stomped out of the ship. "You have no idea, do you? Any of you!"
"Moira!" He cursed, moved after her. "Moira!"
"Fuck you, John!" she snapped, furious.
"Fuck me? Then fuck me, Moira! Fuck me!" He paused. All eyes moved from her to him. "What? I don't know what the hell her problem is! I didn't do a damn thing! She won't tell me!" he shouted. Nevertheless he sprinted after her. "Moira! Moira, slow down!"
She ignored him, swerving round the pool, into the tree-line. "Leave me alone!"
"No! Get back here!" he ordered.
"Fuck you, John!" she called over her shoulder, furious at how oblivious he was.
John grabbed her, spun her round. Pinned her to a tree. "Fuck me? Then do it, Moira! Please! Fuck me if you need to, want to, because I would like nothing better!"
"Let me go, you bastard!"
"No! Damn it, Moira, you're going to talk to me! Is this the enzyme?" he demanded, bewildered.
She pushed at him but he held her there. "Or what? What are you going to do to me, John? Fuck me?"
"Do you want me to?" he retorted, staring at her. Messy hair falling out of the ponytail. Torn shirt riding up past her waist as he pinned her to the tree. Brown eyes full of anger. He kissed her suddenly. Again. His hold loosened as she moved into his arms, hugging him.
"I...I'm sorry, John," she sighed.
"What the hell is wrong, Moira? Geez! Talk to me!"
"Sex," she muttered against his shoulder.
"Not that again," he said tiredly. "What about it?"
"It's me. Just me. I didn't think it would bother me but it does. I'm trying not to think of it but I do all of the time. It makes me uncomfortable. I can't help it! Especially after the, the glen of roses, the..." She broke off, holding herself against him again.
"Okay, now we're getting somewhere. The glen?" he prompted. Stroked her hair. Could still smell the scent of the overwhelming flowers in her hair, on her skin.
"The glen." She sighed. "I wish...I wish..."
"What? That it never happened?" he asked tersely. Drawing back to view her face.
"No. It was wonderful...very, very...I mean, even without that damn enzyme it would have been so...oh John it was wonderful!" she gushed. Kissed him.
"Hmm, I agree. So...the glen?"
She sighed. Moved out of his arms. "You'll laugh."
"Laugh? Why would I laugh?" He pulled her against him. Wrapped his arms around her waist as they stared at the ferns. "Tell me."
"It's a...it's me. I'm just embarrassed."
"Why? Moira, it was still you. Hyped on enzyme and very, very...but it was still you. You don't have to be embarrassed about that. Not in front of me. Not at all. Hell, it's such a turn-on when you want me that much. When I want you that much." He kissed her brow. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about concerning our wonderful, wonderful sexual intimacy. Nothing."
"Not you."
"What?" He strained to hear her soft voice.
"Not you." She felt hot but oddly secure in his arms. His body pressed to hers. His voice near her ear. Breath stroking her throat.
"Not me?" He thought. Smiled. But tried to keep his voice serious. "Ah. Them."
"I knew you'd think it was funny!" she flared, hearing the merriment.
He tried not to laugh. "I'm sorry, Moira, but, well, it had to be done. I mean, well, the enzyme. In me. In you. I know, I know we weren't exactly discreet but under the circumstances I think we did our best. To be discreet."
"It...it doesn't bother you?" she asked, solemn as she turned to view his handsome face.
"No. I mean, maybe," he amended seeing her annoyance. "I'd rather keep our amazing exuberant sex private, but we didn't have a choice, did we? I don't mind being the envy of every guy on the planet, but hey, what can I do? You chose me. Only me."
She sighed. "Men! I knew it wouldn't bother you! Not like it bothers me. And...it's the enzyme."
She stared at his chest. Touched. "It's in all of us, John, however diluted. And the fact that nothing's happened yet, I mean...no one's had any kind of, um, reaction..."
"That's good, right? I mean, we all know about it. It's under control. The morning jogs, the labor in the afternoon. Working it out. Say...how exactly do you work it out?"
"I'm serious, John!" she scolded, meeting his amused gaze. "It's starting to affect us, though. Without any of you being aware of it. And I...I can feel it in me too. Affecting me on an unconscious level, just like you. If we, if we don't off this planet soon..."
"Nothing will happen," he vowed. "Nothing will happen to you, Moira. I'll do what I have to do prevent that. Trust me."
"I do, John, it's just...we can't let it go that far. Come to that. You know? And I don't know how to stop it. To arrest the enzyme already in our system. We're out of clear drinking water now. What are we going to do?"
"We'll keep it under control, Moira. Don't you worry. Unconscious or not we will keep it under control. I will." He ran his fingers up her arm. "No one touches you but me. And believe me, subliminally or not they know that." He grinned. "Especially after the glen they sure do."
She frowned. "Men! I just wish, I just wish I wasn't under all that scrutiny. All that knowing scrutiny every day. I just want to be alone with you, John! In my bed, alone with you. After a really, really hot shower."
He smiled. "I'd like nothing better, Moira. That Jumper floor is killing my back. And I want to be alone with you. I want you all to myself, in my arms. Completely."
"I bet," she noted sarcastically. "John, what are we going to do?"
He gently moved strands of hair back from her rosy face. Kissed her. "Do? Now? I can think of a few things, Moira, but we need to check for the Daedalus first."
She smiled, tapped his shoulder. "No! I mean when we get back to Atlantis."
"Do? Exactly what do you said. Hot shower. Hot meal. Cold beer. Or two. Then your bed. Just the two of us. I'll put out the do not disturb sign."
"Promise?" she relented, eying him.
"Promise." He kissed her again. "All right?"
"Yes. I'm sorry, John. I didn't mean to take it out on you."
"Any time, Moira. Just remember what you said. Eso me, Moira, once we get back."
"Eso me, John, got it," she answered. "I just wanted you to be aware, but I didn't want to tell you. In case you went all alpha male and all. On them."
"I see. Don't you worry, Moira. We can handle this. All of us. If not...I'll handle it."
He led her back wordlessly to the Jumper. The men stared, silent. "Let's go! Problem's sorted." He sat in the pilot's seat, waited for everyone to take theirs. "Here we go again." He flew the ship higher, higher. Broke atmosphere. "Atlantis, do you copy? Daedalus, do you copy? Hello?" Silence.
"Looks like we may need to build a house, sir," Evan noted.
"Or move into one of those caves," Ronon suggested.
"Maybe we can reach the nearest planet," Matthew offered.
"I already checked. It will take a year at sublight. Daedalus, copy? Hell–"
"Colonel Sheppard? This is Daedalus. Acknowledge," came Steven Caldwell's voice.
A whoop erupted in the Jumper. John exchanged a smile with Moira. "Colonel Caldwell, we've been looking for you every day! What's your twenty, sir?"
"Just broke hyperspace on the planet's far side. Fly on over. We'll leave the door open."
"Thank you, sir! On our way!"
"Is everyone all right, lieutenant colonel?"
"Yes, sir. We're all fine. Sheppard out." John glanced at Moira. "Hey, we will be fine, right? I mean, the enzyme?"
"Yes...once it clears our systems," she agreed. But wondered.
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Moira turned at the knocking on the cabin door. She opened it. Smiled. "Colonel Sheppard? I hardly recognize you."
He smiled, entered the room, eyes on her freshly showered hair, clean blue shirt and gray pants. "I could say the same, Doctor O'Meara. What happened to my jungle queen? I decided not to wait." He ran a hand over his clean-shaven face. His clean gray shirt and black pants were crisp. "Better?"
"Much. I couldn't stand those filthy rags anymore!"
He grinned. "I don't know, jungle queen. They were quite fetching."
She laughed. "You mean revealing. What's our ETA?"
He sat on the bed. "Two hours."
"How is your arm?"
He glanced at the fresh bandage. "Fine. Healing slowly. Everybody's bunked down for the night after a meal. A brief report to Caldwell." He frowned. "No beer yet, though."
"We're halfway there, then," she commented, sitting next to him. Glanced at him. Smiled. "I know what you're thinking, John, but this mattress is too hard. Harder even than yours."
He ran his hand over it. "Damn, so it is." He smiled, touched her thigh. "Do we wait?"
"Yes. We're not exactly alone here. And this cot is so small..."
"True." He sighed, stood. "Rest. We're almost home. Halfway there, as you said."
She smiled. "Are you sure, John? I wouldn't want you to be in any, um, difficulties because of the enzyme."
"Hilarious, Moira. If I feel any, um, difficulties coming on I know where to find you. And you're right, that cot is too small and too hard. I'm tired of hard surfaces." He grinned. "I can only hope you're not tired of any hard–"
She laughed. "Enough, colonel!" She stood, kissed him. "I'll see you when we disembark. Won't I?"
"Yes, Moira. Let's give it..." he considered, brow furrowing as he thought, "a day or two. A night or two, I mean. Once we're back, given our reports. Settled into normal routine. Maybe a few days. Carson will probably check us over, and it will take a few days to be clear of that damn enzyme, won't it?
"I think so. Maybe. It's strange. Maybe because it is diluted. We're not as, um, affected as before. Remember?"
"Yeah, it's hard to forget that experience." He smiled. "Not that I want to. Except for the puking. That I can do without."
"Me too," she agreed, causing him to smile. "How do you feel?"
"Cleaner. Frustrated. But otherwise fine. You?"
"The same." She paused. "Look, John, don't feel you have to...that is, don't feel obligated to...um...we don't have to...I mean, don't feel you have to–"
"Oh, I have to, believe me, jungle queen," he teased, moving to the door. "I'm just making certain our discretion card is back in play, that's all." He winked. "Then other things can be put into play. Don't you worry, baby."
She sighed. "Will you stop calling me baby?"
"Only if you stop calling me sweetie. Goodnight, Doctor O'Meara."
She smiled as he opened the door, stepped out. "Goodnight, Colonel Sheppard."