Synthesis7
"John! John!" Rodney called, his tone rising in irritation as the military commander seemingly ignored him, clambering awkwardly down the stairs. "John! Did you have time to check the oh never mind," he backpedaled as John glanced at him. The glance was enough. "It can wait," Rodney decided, seeing the fury as John passed him.
Rodney looked up to see Elizabeth standing outside of her office, hands gripping the guard rail as she glared at the retreating figure of John. An equally furious expression tightening her face. "Oh oh," Rodney muttered. Changing course yet again he vacated the control room.
"John! John!"
John scowled at yet another voice summoning him. A woman's voice, but it wasn't Moira's. He turned, hoping his expression would scare her away from him. He watched Susan approach. Large breasts bouncing in her tight yellow shirt. Blond curls bouncing past her shoulders. "What?" he snapped, seeing her angered expression.
Susan stopped. Stared at him. "John...you...John..." Her anger was tempered by desire. He was even sexier when he was pissed. She touched his arm. "We have to talk."
"Talk? About what?" he asked, irritated. Impatient.
"John!" she exclaimed, blue eyes widening. "About what happened between us!"
"What? Nothing has happened between us," John retorted, puzzled.
"Damn it, John, stop it! You know damn well what you did! What you made me do to you! You...you've never been so rough or so...callous. So detached. And even if you are married or were just saying that to spice it up we still need to discuss the–"
"Whoa, whoa! What the hell are you..." John paused. Recalled the colonel's parting words. To say hello to Susan for him. Realized. "Shit," he said warmly.
"You remember now, you bastard? Not that it wasn't pleasurable but you–"
"It wasn't me," he informed coldly.
"What?" She snorted. "Oh, it was your twin, then? Your clone?"
"Sort of." He took a step back from her, moving out of her reach. "It was my double. My darker self. An alternate version from an alternate reality," he tried to explain, but could see the doubt and skepticism already in her eyes.
"Well, well, this is a first. I've heard all sorts of excuses, but this...this is–"
"Not an excuse but the truth. I can prove it! Check the mission logs. Or ask McKay! I was off world on the mission to contain Ford when he was here. And furthermore I am married to Moira. And ever since I've been with her there hasn't been anyone else."
Susan frowned, hands on her hips. "Bullshit! You expect me to believe that another version of you was here in the city and that he–"
"Yes. Ask anyone. Ask Elizabeth. It wasn't me," he repeated tersely.
"Maybe I'll go ask Moira. Your so-called wife," she mocked.
"You do that. And she is my wife. And she knows the truth. She knows I would never betray her. You see, the colonel was here to kidnap her. And he did. You, you were just a diversion, just easy sex, nothing more. The colonel's idea of a game. It wasn't me. It wasn't me," he said curtly, voice lowering. Abruptly he turned and left her staring after him.
Moira sat at the table in the infirmary, eying the sequences on the computer screen. Spirals of genetic code translated into chains of molecules, each colored differently according to their chemical identities. Three columns of data simultaneously streamed along the screen. "Carson, you are right! These are different," she remarked.
"I thought so, love, but I wanted your opinion," Carson agreed, standing behind her. He eyed the screen over her shoulder. "That's why I paged you. I needed you to confirm it. There's more here then the enzyme from the Wraith. Ford was mutating, or at least his Wraith tissue was."
She nodded. "Even beyond an artificial alteration. Yes. It's like it was starting to take over." She shuddered at the thought. "May I send all of this to my laptop? I need it for comparison." She thought of the flash drive. What the colonel had placed on it for her.
"Of course, Moira. Comparison to what?" Carson asked, hitting the keys to execute the command.
"Um..." she hesitated. "Other things. Other Wraith. I'm collating the data on the Wraith genome. The enzyme. The retro-virus. The gene therapy. The Hoffan serum. Everything," she noted. "Carson, didn't you say that the gene therapy was more likely to be successful in the Wraith than the naturally occurring ATA gene?"
"Aye, in theory, but now I am reconsidering that. Why? Oh...the colonel from the other Atlantis?"
"Yes. It worked there. The natural application. Too successfully." Moira frowned. "They found a way round it, somehow. Around the natural resistance of the gene to be absorbed into their own cells, their own proteins. I wonder if the enzyme played a part."
"Because of Ford? Yes, you may be onto something, Moira," Carson considered. "We're missing something, aren't we? Some vital piece. Whatever happened in that reality that did not happen here. Not just the breeding program," he paused, laid a hand on her shoulder, "but something else. Some other variable."
"Yes," she agreed. Touched her stomach as it clenched. The memory of the attempted harvest. The harvest of unborn fetuses to acquire the ATA gene. "There has to be something more..." she mused, touched her cheek. She felt warm.
"Are you all right, love? You look flushed." Carson patted her shoulder, blue eyes full of concern as she turned to him.
"I'm fine...just bad memories, is all," she smiled. Eyed the screen again. Wondered if the enzyme was affecting her. Wondered where John was. Knowing he could help with the erotic affects. The rush of adrenaline. Endorphins. Would be more than happy to help with that. Her smile broadened and she felt a blush heating her skin.
"All right, Moira. I need to show these results to Colonel Sheppard. I hate to bring up the subject of Ford's autopsy but he will be expecting–"
"Don't!" Rodney joined them. Shaking his head. "Whatever you do, Carson, do not approach John right now. He's in a bad mood. I mean a really bad mood. I mean on a scale from one to ten he's at a fifteen right now. On the warpath ever since he came out of Weir's office."
Moira stood. "Wonderful," she muttered. "Thanks for the heads up, Rodney."
"Don't thank me, Moira," he quipped. Pointed at her. "You need to restore his good mood so I can order some supplies."
"And since when is that my job?" she asked, causing Carson to smile.
"Ever since you married him," Rodney countered, not daunted.
She smiled. "Oh. Right. Okay. I'll try, but if he's on the warpath it may be best to just keep out of his way for a bit. Are those supplies for the bachelor party?"
"Um...yes..." Rodney glanced at Carson. Looked back at her. "I mean...I was...if you...I thought we had agreed to go ahead and plan the–"
"Yes. Please do, Rodney," Moira soothed. "I think John would enjoy it, despite what he says. And I know you all would."
Rodney smiled. "Then consider it done, Moira. But you need to restore his good mood first."
"Fine. But no strippers," she warned. Carson laughed.
Rodney sighed. "Fine," he mourned.
"John! John!"
John cursed under his breath at the summons. Another angry summons from yet another woman. He whirled, bottles of beer in his hands. "What? What?" he snapped, nearly shouted. But inwardly sighed. "Oh. Sorry."
Teyla Emmagan shook her head, reaching him. Eying his tense impatience. The beers in both hands. Bottles clinking softly against each other. "Colonel? I merely wanted a quick word. Unless you are busy?" She glanced at the bottles again.
John shrugged. "Yeah, I am. Very busy. Or I will be. So...quick word? About?"
"About what you said."
John frowned. "Not again. What did I say, or rather, are you sure it was me?" he asked.
Teyla's brow rose. "Excuse me? Of course it was you. When you made that comment about my leadership qualities and the accusation that I was neglecting my people for mere creature comforts I had to question the–"
"Crap. It wasn't me, okay? No," he held up a hand, forestalling her objections. The bottles clinked together. "Really! Ask anyone. While I was on that mission my alternate self from an alternate reality invaded the city and took some liberties, then took Moira. I would never question your leadership of your people or accuse you of neglecting them, okay? I'm telling the truth, Teyla, ask anyone. I've got to go."
Before she could comment he turned, limped down the hallway and disappeared around the corner. Bottles clinking noisily at his side. Teyla sighed, considering. She had encountered stranger things since joining the Atlantis team. Pondering his words she strolled to find Rodney.
Moira entered her room, paused. John was sitting at the table. A row of beer bottles were standing in a perfect line, like soldiers. Two were already empty. He was working on the third. Deep, long swallows as he stared at nothing. She sighed, moved to him. "That bad, sweetie?"
He was silent a moment, eying her. "Where have you been, Moira?" he asked quietly.
"Carson. He needed my opinion on some data. That's all." She sat next to him. Watched him drink some more beer. She touched his arm. A soothing caress. She could feel his tension. See his anger in the lines of his body. Could hear it in his voice, low and dangerous and sexy all at once. She kissed him gently. "I love you, John." She waited.
John merely looked at her. Beer in hand. Noted her rosy face. Worry. Her brown eyes full of love for him, concern. Desire, even.
Moira touched his thigh. Ran her fingers lightly along, up towards his lap. "Is it still tease John's cock day, sweetie?" she softly asked.
He finally smiled. "I wish," he grumbled. "Apparently it's crush John's balls day." As she touched his arm again he drank. "Take one, baby. You're going to need it."
"What happened?"
"What happened? What happened?" he repeated gruffly. "What happened is that there is a whole line of people waiting to rip me a new one. Starting with Weir. Not to mention the escapades of my dark side self. The fun he had before he took you."
She considered. "Weir? About the rescue?" She decided to address that first. Knew that was the thing bothering him the most. Causing the anger and tension.
"Yeah. Recklessness."
"Well, she was right, John."
He almost dropped the bottle of beer. Stared at her. "What?"
"You shouldn't have gone on the mission. You shouldn't have come after me."
"Why? So you could run off with him?" he snapped.
"No," she soothed. "Because you were injured. Concussed, shot, cut up...you needed to heal. To recover. Not to be risking your life yet again."
"Is that how it is? You're going to rip me a new one too? Well, get in line, baby, because they're all lining up to ream my ass over this, over that, over you, over us, over him! So take your best shot, Moira. Go on!" he ordered. At her silence he sighed. "Sorry. I know you're only saying that out of concern for me. For my well-being. Because you love me."
"Of course, John. There's no other reason," she assured. Wondering about the colonel now. His antics in the city before he had taken her.
John sighed. Eyed the bottle. "Apparently...apparently your life means nothing. Apparently I'm supposed to delegate and do nothing while some fucking dark side version of me takes you away from me. Apparently I'm not doing my job because you are more important to me than anyone else. Apparently this," he gestured in the air, "was all a fucking mistake." He stood. Suddenly drank, chugging the third beer.
Moira tensed, staring. She tried to remain calm. "How so, sweetie?"
"How so? How so?" He set the bottle on the table. Lining it up with the rest. Licked his lips. "I should have looked at my job description more closely. Because God knows the IOA and the SGC are. Weir is. We weren't supposed to be like this, Moira. Apparently it's against their regulations."
"What is?"
"Come here." He caught her hand, pulled her to her feet. Led her to the bed. He sat, laid back as she sat next to him. "I said come here." She sighed, scooted next to him. Stroked his hair. He touched her thigh as she sat very close. His fingers caressing. "We shouldn't have gone this far, Moira. Hell, it's not like we planned it! Any of it!"
"You mean this? My room closer to yours?" she tested.
"I mean everything! We shouldn't have fallen in love with each other! We shouldn't have such intense, exuberant, passionate sex! Over and over. We shouldn't have gotten engaged and married. Apparently that's not allowed for the military commander of Atlantis! To have a vibrant sexual relationship, to fall in love and to marry you. Because it's clouding my judgment. It's all I think about. And nothing will ever stop me from coming after you when you need me. You see? I guess we should get divorced. I guess you should move back down those two fucking hallways. I guess we can only have quiet, discreet sex."
Moira let him vent, stroking his arm. "Is that what you want, John?"
"No! Hell no!" He eyed her. "I want you. You! In my life. In my room. In my bed. In my fucking bed, Moira, our bed! Fucking. The hell with them!" He laughed harshly. "Maybe the colonel had it right. To abduct you and take you through the anomaly. I should do that. It's a good plan. To live together, to love each other, to have the loudest, most exuberant sex we want. Every day. Every night. Every hour. Can't they see I can do my job and have you as well?"
"It's all right, John. You balance your duties and your time with me. No one could doubt your devotion to this city and its safety. To your men and your teams."
"To you? What about my devotion to you, Moira?" he questioned. "And yours to me. Yours. I'm not giving that up, Moira. You know, I think they preferred it before with my lots some women. Now that I'm with you and only you they can't seem to let us just be together. And the sex...what business is it of theirs if we love to have sex? Often. Loudly. Exuberantly."
Moira felt a blush warm her face. "It's um...not, John. I mean...I mean...it's not the, the first time we might have been, um, overheard, or, or–"
"Hey, Moira, when was the first time?"
"What?" she asked, the question throwing her.
"You know, the colonel had quite a time here, so I've been told. Before he took you. And now everyone thinks it was me, but it wasn't, baby, I swear! You know that."
"Yes, John, you were on that mission," she soothed, as he changed topics yet again. "Sweetie, why don't you relax and get some sleep?"
"I'm perfectly relaxed, Moira...when I'm with you, unless I'm aroused, of course." He smiled. But scowled. "It was him. The colonel wasn't faithful to you, Moira. Did you know? Ah...you didn't. See? You are two are more alike in that regard, aren't you?" he taunted. A trace of anger over her actions with the colonel lingering, lingering.
Moira stared, shocked. Shocked at what the colonel had done. Shocked at John's comparison, his resentment although he had appeared to have forgiven her, to have moved past it. "John..." she said softly, uncertain as to what to say. "I don't...I don't believe you," she whispered.
"You don't?" He glared at her. "Why the hell not?" He sat. Pointed at her. "He was unfaithful to you, Moira. Fucked another woman...hell, not even the same woman, another Moira since there are none but you. Yeah, so he was unfaithful, unlike you since you fucked him and he's me so it's not but it is, damn it, it is! Fuck that deal you made! I'd rather you had left me on that ship in Ford's hands then have to fuck him again! Could you tell the difference? Could you?" he demanded.
Moira scooted back from him, startled, dismayed at the rush of anger, jealousy. "John, please! I couldn't leave you on that ship! You were being tortured! It was the only way–"
"Was it? The only way?" he challenged, voice slurring slightly as the liquor not only loosened his tongue but his emotions. "Or did you want him? Did you want to fuck him, Moira? Just to see if it was the same or different? Some scientific analysis of my dark side self. Well? Which was better? Me or him? Answer me, damn it!"
"No! You don't know what you're saying, John! Shut up! I don't believe anything you say since you are drunk and jealous! Jealous of yourself? That's ridiculous! That's–"
"Is it? You were going to run off with him!" he shouted.
"I was not!" she flared, angered. "Damn it, John, everything I did I did for you! For you!"
He stared. Calmed a moment as her words penetrated. Her love. Her distress. "I'm telling you the truth, Moira. He betrayed you. He fucked Susan...probably to get the edge off before he got his hands on you. She thinks it's me but it's not it's him. And he probably had her suck him off too...she was the best at that...she could suck a cock like you wouldn't believe." He paused, as if lost in the memory. "Wide. Too wide...not tight like yours...not nearly as sweet. So fucking sweet..."
Moira swallowed. His voice has lowered into a husky drawl. His gaze roving, and Moira realized he probably wasn't talking about her mouth but another part of her anatomy. She felt hot. She scooted closer to him. Touched his arm, gently stroking. "John...go to sleep. You're drunk. You...you are upset and, and–"
"Am I? Tell me, who was the first?" At her blank look he sighed, touched her thigh. "Your first. Your first lover! The guy who plucked your cherry. I wish, I wish it had been me," he pouted moodily. "I would have savored that cherry, sucked it dry and given you that first sweet orgasm. When? I bet you waited. Being a scientist and all. Analyzing it. I bet you waited. So, who was it? A boy? No, a man. I bet you waited for just the right guy to pluck your cherry and taste it, didn't you?"
Moira sighed. Putting up with his drunken rambling as he ventured into uncharted territory. "John, when you sober up you should talk to Weir. Clear the air. I'm sure she realizes you are more than competent in your–"
"Who was it?" John persisted, unable to let it go as he stared at her. "Oh!" He pointed at her. "I bet it was the fiancee, wasn't it?" She stiffened. "Ah ha! What's his name, Moira? The dead guy. He took your cherry, didn't he? Ooh, naughty, naughty Moira letting him pluck her cherry before they were even married. Although since he's dead now I guess it was worth it for him, huh? Or was it? You weren't very experienced sexually, baby, before I got between your legs. He couldn't have plucked it as good as I would have."
She stared, appalled, rattled. Knowing he didn't know what he was saying but still she looked away from him, upset. Felt tears as bad memories spilled into her. "John," she tried to keep her voice calm, "go to sleep. You need to talk to Weir when you–"
"Was it? Did he? There's no way he'd be as good as me, baby. The way I would have plucked that fucking sweet cherry of yours...oh, oh shit! Moira! He's dead! He's dead, and oh fuck! I'm sorry! I'm sorry, baby, I didn't mean to–"
"Just shut up, John!" she flared, drawing away from him. She stood. "Go to sleep!"
"Was it him? I don't even know the dead guy's name, Moira! Oh sorry! Shit! I mean...shit, I didn't mean to...Moira...it wasn't me! I didn't have sex with her or anyone I swear! Unlike you, although I guess you did have sex with me not just me but the other me...crap! I...what's his name, Moira? The dead guy who took your cherry, your sweet fucking cherry? I can't believe he'd leave you after taking that sweetness...that lushness of your oh..." He smiled at her. "Hey, baby, how many? Not many lovers have tasted you, have they? And he...that dead guy...how did he die? Did he die from lack of it? Or did he die from too much of it? I know! Your lushness must have killed him. Did you kill him with sex, Moira? Did you...oh shit..." His rambling paused as his head buzzed. Even through the inebriation he saw he had hit a nerve. Saw the hurt on her face, the tears glimmering. The shock. As if he had just slapped her across the face. Struck an open wound. Guilt and darkness swallowed her. He recognized the signs, the symptoms, a mirror to his own past, his own darkness. "Shit. Moira?"
Moira stared at him, appalled. Knowing he had no idea what he was saying, what he had inadvertently triggered in her. Hit upon the darkness within her. Every nerve tensed. A cold bathed her. Tears burned behind her eyes. His words hateful, accusing. Unknowing. "Don't."
One word. Tersely stated. Full of emotion nonetheless. John stared. Felt his gut clench. Head spin from the beer. "I'm sorry! Moira, I just...I need to know, I need–"
"You need to get sober! Just leave me the hell alone until you do! No, just leave me the hell alone!" she decided. She whirled, stormed out of the room before he could say something worse, or she could.
John rubbed his aching temple. "Shit! Good going, John!" he chastised himself. Fell back onto the bed as the room began to spin. "Damn it!"