Synthesis2
Moira smiled, watching the men finish their food. The atmosphere was convivial, lively. Her gaze roved among the friends. Evan appearing the youngest among them, fresh-faced but a quick intelligence and humor sparkled in his blue eyes. He was clad casually, a brown button down shirt and jeans. Only the military haircut marked him as being Air Force. Carson was reclining in the chair. His white lab coat still draped over his blue shirt and pants. A congenial smile on his face, blue eyes flashing with humor. A shadow of scruff lining his chin and jaw. His Scottish accent becoming more pronounced as he heartily imbibed the liquor.
Rodney had almost finished his food. His smile contagious, his enthusiasm shining as he involved all of his friends in the planning of the bachelor party. He wore his pale blue shirt and pants, always the scientist even during his downtime. His hands gestured with his words once they were free of food. John was lounging back in his chair, watching his friends for a moment. His handsome face full of humor, of indulgence as they spoke of the party he really didn't want in the first place. His brilliant green eyes sparkled. Relaxing at the pleasant diversion from more serious concerns.
"All right," John said, as the food was nearly gone, as was the beer. "I do appreciate the thought, but I don't need a bachelor party. Deal's done. Mission accomplished."
"You're still getting one, damn it! If you don't want to come that's fine, but we're going! Right?" Rodney asked, eying his friends. Assent all round.
"Moira, you don't have any objections, do you, love? Apart from the strippers?" Carson asked.
She shook her head. "No. A party would be good, I think. As long as John wants one."
"I don't want one," he objected again, but was ignored.
"But we do, so he's overruled," Evan asserted. "Sir. You know, I bet we could get Caldwell onboard with his," he suggested, gesturing with his empty bottle. "If we phrase it right, I mean. Weir will be the stickler, though."
"Yeah, she's caught us twice now. Hmm...we'll need a good location. Somewhere on the south pier, I think," Rodney mused, rubbing his chin in thought.
"He's right!" Carson set down his beer. "I know the perfect spot! Are we inviting the marines?"
"Of course!" Evan stated, emphatic. "But no more scientists!"
"Hell yes, more scientists!" Rodney argued.
"Boys," Moira cautioned. Their voices were rising as was their slightly inebriated enthusiasm.
"We'll need to draw up a list of supplies," Evan said. "Food. Snacks. Beer."
"Lots of beer," John agreed. He longingly eyed the last bottle of beer.
"We need entertainment!" Carson decided. "Music!"
"Dancers! Dancers, not strippers, Moira," Rodney clarified.
"Dancers without clothes!" Evan corrected. Boisterous laughter erupted.
"Blondes! I want blondes!" Rodney declared.
"Blondes are scarce in these parts," John laconically noted, producing laughter. "Not that it matters to me," he added, watching Moira as she closed the data pad. Brushed a stray strand of her brown hair behind her ear. Her alert gaze darted to the door.
"Quiet. Quiet!" she hissed, moving to her feet. The men fell silent. Guiltily eyed each other like little boys caught doing something they shouldn't be doing. Moira smirked at their expressions, but a knock sounded on the door.
"Oh oh," Rodney said. Snorted.
"Busted," Carson agreed. Smirked.
"It's your ass on the line. Sir," Evan noted. Grinned.
"Mine? I didn't invite any of you," John argued.
Moira opened the door. "Aaron."
"Moira," Aaron Josephes smiled. "I just wanted to see if you or Colonel Sheppard needed anything."
"More beer!" called Carson. The men laughed, relaxing.
"No, thank you, Aaron. Actually...come in. John?" She turned.
"Fine, Moira. Lieutenant, come join the party," John invited with a sigh.
"Party, sir?" the younger man asked, entering. He stared at the gathering.
"We're planning one. For John's bach...oh! Does he know?" asked Rodney.
"No. I guess he may as well," John shrugged.
"Sir?" Aaron asked, having no clue. He glanced at Moira as she stood at the closed door.
"John and Moira are married," Evan explained, grabbing the last beer and handing it to Aaron.
"But keep it to yourself for now."
"Yes," John said. Regretting the loss of that last beer. "We have to keep it quiet for now. Until all the flak hits from above. So no spilling secrets," he warned, slurring a little.
Moira frowned. She moved to John, touched his shoulder. "John! Did you have another beer?"
"Only half a one, Moira. It won't make me drunk," he argued.
"We'll get him plastered at his party," Rodney assured. Laughter.
Moira sighed. "Well, this party is over." The men groaned. "Go on! John needs his rest. He's got to meet Caldwell later today, so scoot! All of you!"
"Yes, Mrs. Sheppard," Evan said. Laughter.
"Or is it Doctor Sheppard?" Rodney quipped.
"It's Doctor O'Meara, now go!" she ordered, smiling at their teasing, their reluctance. "And take your bottles, please. This is not a frat house!" The men laughed.
"It's Mrs. Colonel Sheppard," Carson jested.
Moira shook her head, herded the laughing men out of the room. She closed the door. Turned and moved to John who was watching, smiling. "What?"
"Which is it, sweetheart? Moira Sheppard...I so want to have sex with my Moira Slep, sheps, Sheppards."
"Hilarious, John." She took his hand, led him to the bed but he stopped her.
"No. Yours. I mean ours. Better bed." He led her through the threshold to her adjoining room. To her bed. He sat, reclined and got comfortable. Scooted up to the pillows. "Ah. Moira."
She smiled as he sprawled, stretching carefully. His long, lean body clad in gray. The material loose but outlining his form. She sat. Scooted to recline next to him. "John, rest."
"On top. I like waking up with your sprawled on top of me. Preferably naked. Preferably after sex. Exuberant sex."
She carefully slid over him. Mindful of his bruises, of hers. "How's that? You should rest."
"Kiss me."
She did so. A gentle motion of her lips across his. "John, go to–"
He drew her into a lengthy kiss. "Baby, we need to talk. I need to know everything, Moira. I won't be upset, or mad. If you...I mean...you chose me. Me. You are mine, Moira. Mine."
She tensed, but kissed him. Stroked his bruised jaw. "Yes, John."
"I'm serious, sweetheart. Mine. All of you." He stroked her back, gaze locked with hers. Moving a little to better align her body with his. "Why are you so sad? You have to tell me, Moira. Everything. Did he...did I, no, did he do something to you? Did he hurt you? Is it Ford? Did he hurt you? I...I had to kill him, Moira. He refused to surrender. I gave him the chance. I couldn't just leave him out there, you know. I had to kill him. He was a threat to you. To you. To us. To Atlantis. He killed Banks. Wounded Andrews and Marsden. He shot down...he fucking shot down a Jumper! Killed Torres and his men! He...we lost them, Moira. I lost them...I fucked up this whole thing but shit! Shit, what was I supposed to do? He ran into Michael, he said. God, can you imagine if they joined forces? Moira...did the colonel tell you exactly how the city fell? Is that on the flash drive? I need to know. I need to know what he did to you, Moira. He's not me. Not me. I'm me. Nothing. Nothing would have stopped me from coming after you, Moira. If I had to crawl through the 'Gate to save you I would have."
Moira felt tears, listening to his every word, his every emotion rippling through them. She stroked his cheek, his jaw. She kissed him. Repeatedly. Needing to comfort, to console him. To taste him. His lips gentle, soft. Full. His tongue teasing. His scent clean, fresh. A hint of Aqua Velva and a whiff of cologne marking him different from the colonel. From his darker self. His skin smooth. Hands gentle as they played on her back. His body firm, warm under hers. "John...John..." she whispered.
He drew her close, tasting her tears. Drinking in her sorrow, her worry. Her love. "Moira." He ran his mouth down her throat. His fingers sliding up under her shirt to feel her bare skin. He paused, glancing down to see the bruise at her side but she shifted so he couldn't see it. "You wanted to go with him, didn't you?" he realized. She froze on him, brown eyes widening. Guilt and sorrow brimming to the surface. "Is that it? You feel guilty. You think you should have gone with him, is that it? Let me guess...to help him save the city, save the survivors? To find a way to end those enhanced Wraith? He played you like a fiddle, didn't he? Because you love him because he's me. Is that it?"
Moira couldn't speak. Voice frozen in her throat. Body locked on his. Her fingers stopped their gentle caress as his green eyes bore into hers. A surge of emotion threatening to overwhelm, to drown her. "John...please..." she finally whispered, trying to move. She slid off him but he caught her. Rolled so they were facing each other. He pulled her to him, pressing his body to hers. Allowing no escape, no respite.
"That's it, isn't it? You can tell me, Moira. You think you should have gone with him. Like he needs you more than I do. That's not true, sweetheart. Not at all! Don't you listen to him! Don't you ever believe a word he says! To get what he wants he'll do anything, say anything. Did he? Get what he wanted from you?" John hadn't planned to ask, had decided to leave it alone but it slipped out of him. Her sorrow making him jealous. Making him angry. Finding it odd the man he was seemingly competing with was himself. "Moira?"
"Stop it, John!" She pushed free, sat. Tears spilling out of her eyes now as she stared at the room. Her room. Her things. But their bed.
"Look, just tell me. I won't be mad," he said, but his voice was low. Tension rode it. "I mean, it was me, so it wasn't like you...I mean...did you? Moira, talk to me, damn it!"
"You really want to know?" she snapped, hating herself. Hating him for his perception. His persistence. Knew he would not leave it alone despite his good intentions. She met his gaze. Using her anger to shield her. "Yes. I should have gone with him! Do you know why? Because I would have been of more use there than here! No," she raised a hand before he could object, "it's true! He's lost everything, John! Nearly everything now! And I understand that! In a way that you can't, because we...we lost...we know what it's like to bear the kind of loss that you haven't borne yet! And never will, I pray! He needs my help! And yes, he played me. He offered me all kinds of things. Pleistocene Park. Real research. A way to go between our two realities, in time. Yes," she acknowledged to his surprise, "he offered to let me return here. In time. To help both of our worlds against the Wraith. Against whatever may be coming!"
"But you chose me," he finally interjected. Stubborn. Staring hard at her. Wanting to shake some sense into her. At the same time wanting to embrace her, comfort her. Make her his own again.
"Yes. Do you know why I didn't go with him?" she asked. Voice softening now. She looked at her hands. Blinked away the tears. "Because I was selfish. Because I couldn't, I just couldn't leave you, John. I love you. I want to be with you and only you. Because I will not allow you to bear that loss, like I do. Like he does. Whatever is in your past...mine is worse. So I stayed. I chose you, John. And yes, I feel guilty about that. Because he needs me more than you do...but I...I need you more than I need him. And yes...I know you might not accept that, or accept me, or accept what I've done...but it doesn't matter. All that matters is that I love you, John. And I have to be with you."
He touched her arm. Fingers caressing. "Moira. I–"
"And I hate what you did! What I made you do!" she continued. "Coming after me like that! Injured! What the hell were you thinking, John! If anything had happened to you I never would have forgiven myself! So maybe I should have gone with him after all, if only to protect you from your own reckless stupidity!"
He smiled a moment. "It wouldn't have mattered, Moira. I'd still come after you. No matter what. I love you, Moira. And I don't care what you did with him. I don't. Because it was me, after all, well, a version of me. You did what you needed to do. Same as me, Moira. I'll always come after you, Moira. So you may as well stay with me 'cause that will never, never change."
"Stubborn idiot," she muttered, but a smile hovered on her lips. She wiped her eyes. Met his gaze. "John?"
He smiled. "Moira. My Moira. Now come here, sweetheart. We need to sleep now. After all this talking stuff, emotional crap...God, I'm tired. Come here."
She smiled, reclined next to him. Snuggled against him, hiding her face on his chest. Fingers clutching at his t-shirt. "John...I'm sorry! So sorry for the loss of your men. For what you had to do to Ford! For...for...I'm so sorry, John!"
"Ssh." He kissed her brow, held her close. "My Moira. Doesn't matter. Nothing gets between us," he muttered, closing his eyes. His aching muscles relaxing in the bed. The beer giving him a pleasant buzz, dulling his thoughts, his feelings. "Nothing. Nothing stops me from saving you. Nothing, no one gets between us. Moira...Moira...my Moira...love you, love you..."
"I'm sorry! John...I never...you shouldn't have...you shouldn't have come after–" she stammered, feeling responsible.
"Nothing...no one...my Moira...I'll kill anyone who comes between us..." he slurred, snorted.
Moira stared, felt a weird thrill in her frame at his words. His voice low, intense. Gruff like his alternate self's voice but there was gentleness there too. Protection. "John?" She ran her hand along his arm. Felt the muscle, the strength. She almost gulped at the thought. Memories of passion flitted. She chased them away, snuggled next to him again.
"Moira," he muttered, shifting on his side. Pulling her so every inch of her was pressed along his body. His face half-hidden in her hair. His breath tickling her skin. Content to just hold her for now. To keep her close. To smell the scent of her. Vanilla and strawberry and herself.
Moira relaxed as his voice drifted into a slur, then silence. As his hold gentled on her. His breathing slowing. The rise and fall of his chest comforting as he slid into slumber. His warmth consoling. Solid. Familiar. His assurances sincere, but she knew he wouldn't let it go. Not just yet. But she trusted in his love. His passion. His need for her.
She nestled into him, fingers running along his chest. Felt the wedding ring underneath. Smiled. Felt the strength, the coarse hair under the shirt. She gently kissed his lips, then closed her eyes. So very tired. Emotionally. Physically. Succumbing to it all she finally fell asleep.