Synthesis8
Moira sat in the biology lab. She couldn't concentrate on the work in front of her. Mulling over all the things John had said. All the flak he was getting over rescuing her. Over their marriage. Over the wild sex. Knew he was being stubborn. Knew Weir had several good points and she agreed with many of them. Over his recklessness. The rescue while he was wounded.
His startling revelations about the colonel upset her. She felt jealous, betrayed, although she knew she shouldn't. That the colonel wasn't her John, wasn't her husband. It still bothered her, thinking of him with another woman, although she knew it was stupid. Unrealistic. She felt tension coil in her, recalling John's own jealousy, anger over what she had done with the colonel, despite the circumstances. Wondered if he ever would forgive her. If he considered what she had done a betrayal of him.
And then the fact that an ex-lover still was stationed at Atlantis made her tense. One who thought that John had a renewed interest in her. She wondered how many others there were scattered throughout the city. She trusted John, but wondered if she had somehow pushed him into one of their beds by her own actions. And then the mocking over her deceased fiancee. His words close, but not accurate. Close enough to wound. To open the doors in her mind to the dark places, the dark memories. She shoved the memories aside, but they persisted. She pressed her hands to her closed eyes, as if she could block them that way.
"Moira? Are you all right?"
She dropped her hands, lifted her wet face to Evan. She wiped her eyes. "Fine. Just...some bad memories, that's all."
"Oh." Unconvinced he sat next to her, grabbing a chair. "Are you sure? I mean...well...we kind of need your help."
"My help?" she asked, distracted.
"Yes. With um...Colonel Sheppard. But I can see you already know he's in one of his infamous moods. Bad moods. On a scale from one to ten he's escalated into a twenty."
Moira sighed. "And drunk to boot, yes. He said all sorts of...anyway, he didn't mean to...he didn't mean...he's under a lot of stress, Evan. All the flak over....stuff."
"You know, Moira," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder, "when men get upset, really upset, they get drunk. And when men get drunk, especially reticent men all sorts of things spill out of them. They say a lot of things they don't mean. That they will regret once they're sober."
"Oh yes, he'll regret it," she muttered darkly. Met his gaze. "Thank you, Evan. I know he, he didn't mean to say those...things about...but he...all the flak...over rescuing me when he was injured, which he shouldn't have done. As for the rest...I...I don't know..." She eyed the microscope. "Maybe it was all a mistake. Maybe it all was. But I...I can't give him up, Evan! I just, just can't!" Fresh tears filled her eyes.
"Why would you have to give him up, Moira? No one can come between you now. As for his stupidity and thoughtlessness...well, he was drunk. He loves you, Moira."
"I...know." Yet she sounded doubtful. "I don't know what to do, Evan."
"Talk to him when he's sober. Calmer. And if you can somehow sweeten his disposition before tomorrow it would be greatly appreciated. Otherwise we'll be going on a brutal training run on some Godforsaken planet, I know it. Please, Moira..." He moved to his knees in front of her, "you're our only hope." She smiled. "To spare us from the wrath of Colonel Sheppard."
"Evan!" She sighed, but smiled as he moved to his feet. "I'll see what I can do, but I can't promise you anything."
John wolfed down the black coffee. Downed some pills to ease his headache. Downed a glass of water. Ate a few bites and then snatched as many candy bars as he could stuff into the pockets of his jacket, ignoring the curious stares of the people in the cafeteria. He strode down the hallways, glowering expression causing everyone to give him a wide berth.
He slowed, limping as his leg began to ache. Reached the botany lab. He entered and nodded curtly to the scientists. The women staring at him in silent speculation, regard as he crossed to the hothouse in the back. He moved slowly past varying specimens of plants. Shipments of different crops. Flowers. Saw the row devoted to countless roses. Roses he had ordered weeks ago. A smile came and went. "Doctor Brown?"
The auburn-haired woman turned, smiled. "Colonel Sheppard. I think you may have gone a little overboard here," she teased, indicating the number of roses dominating the whole row.
He shrugged. "Not really. Not now. I need those."
"Oh? Okay...how many?"
"All of them."
"All? Excuse me?" Katie Brown looked at the roses, then to him in surprise. Saw his sheepish gaze. "Oh my...that bad?"
"Yeah. I'm afraid I put both feet in this time," he admitted. Hesitated. "Um, I don't know if she'll forgive me...after what I said to her...I...I didn't mean to, to hurt her..." Guilt assailed him. The memory of her pained expression, the vulnerability he had tapped and hit without realizing.
Katie stared. Replied, "I'm sure she will, colonel. She loves you. Just talk to her. Explain. Now, how many did you need?"
He felt a flicker of relief, but wondered. Wondered if Moira would forgive him. Be able to trust him after his accusations, his jealousy, his harshness. "All. Do you have a big enough bag to, um, hide them? And some, um, vases, or something?" he asked awkwardly.
She smiled, amused by his chagrin, his discomfort. "A few bags, yes. Let's see what we have."
Moira nibbled on a sandwich, but sat back. Stomach upset. She sighed, drank some Coke. Shook her head. "Okay, I guess." She glanced at the clock on the wall. "It's been an hour. He should be sober by now, right?"
Evan smiled. "Are you sure? You should eat more before you face the dragon."
"True, but I'm not hungry." She sighed. "I don't know exactly what to, to say."
"Don't worry about that, Moira. Once he sees you, how upset you are, he'll realize how stupid he's been and apologize. Then you can set him right."
"Maybe..." She frowned. Reluctant. "The thing is, Evan...what if he has changed his mind? Changed his feelings about, about me? What if he realizes this whole thing was a mistake and that we shouldn't have gone this far? I mean all the flak he's getting now. He doesn't need any of that! He's got enough responsibility here without adding me to the mix of it and besides I think he may have been happier before all of this, before me and our, our marriage and now what if it all boils down to this? His job and the rest of–"
"Moira, no," Evan halted her rush of words, of worry. "He won't change his mind. Once the colonel sets his mind on a course then that's it. There's no turning back. None."
"Oh."
"Believe me. He's made it quite clear. Always has. That you belong with him. Always have. The real question is if you want to remain with him after this latest debacle or not."
"Me? Of, of course I do! But I caused this whole debacle! I–"
"Did you? I don't think so, and nor does he. Go talk to him, Moira."
She sighed. "Okay. I guess. I don't like facing the wrath of Sheppard either, you know."
Evan smiled. "I know...but only you can tame the beast. Go!"
She shook her head. "Is that an order, major?"
"Yes, doctor. Go face the dragon."
"Yes, sir." Moira had to laugh. But she quickly became somber as she left the cafeteria.
John fussed about the room. Setting the flowers, the chocolate. Crossing back into his to prepare, as if he was setting a trap to catch her. To lure her. To enchant her. He recalled some of the things he had said. Cursed himself over and over in his head. He sat on his bed, waiting. Rubbed his forehead. A dull ache persisted, a leftover from the hangover he had almost avoided. He pulled out the chain he wore. Fingered his dog tags, then stared at the gold wedding ring. The legend inscribed on it in Gaelic. Gra anois agus godeo. Love now and forever.
He sighed. Turning it round and round. He took it off the chain. Replaced the chain under his shirt. Stared hard at the ring. Recalled the quick, impromptu wedding. To Moira. His Moira. He frowned. Wondered if it had been all a mistake. This rush to a heated relationship. Marriage. This emotional roller coaster he found himself on with her. The heights of passion, of sex, of love. The lows of arguments, indecision, suspicion. The darkness in their pasts that seemed to both link them and divide them at the same time. He stared at the little gold ring.
Deciding.
Moira paused outside her room. Hours had passed. She had been wandering aimlessly, reluctant to face John. Hoping he had sobered up at last. Bracing herself for his inevitable bad mood. Hoping he had forgotten most of what he had said. She steeled herself. Entered her room and closed the door. Froze. Her mouth dropped open as she gasped.
The table was covered with roses. Dozens and dozens. Hundreds in vases, jars, loose. Reds. Pinks of all shades. Whites. Yellows. Lavenders. Red and white stripes. Nearly obliterating the table. More stood on the dresser. Still more were scattered along the floor. Petals were strewn on the bed. On the floor. She neared, inhaling the rich aroma as it permeated the air. She saw the chocolate bars scattered among the flowers on the table. Saw a bottle of caramel sauce with a green bow. "John," she said warmly, feeling tears. A laugh of utter delight escaped her.
John heard her gasp, her laugh. The way she had said his name. He smiled. Began to strum the guitar he held on his lap. To lure her.
Moira whirled, hearing the music. A familiar melody she couldn't quite place. Quiet. She neared the threshold between their two rooms. Slowly, as if afraid he would stop. As if afraid she would spook him. This startling and uncharacteristic display of emotion, romance.
John began to sing, his fine tenor voice on key and quiet, colored with a hint of a husky edge that Moira found sexy, riveting. She neared, pausing between their two rooms as John's voice hit the air to accompany the music. "Baby, when I think about you, I think about love. Darling, don't want to live without you and your love..." He continued with the song, voice lowering further as he reached the refrain, "Feel like making love...feel like making love to you..."
Moira stepped into his room as he played the guitar. Stopped. Utterly enchanted, enamored. Stared raptly at him. He was sitting on his bed, intent on his guitar. Her gaze devoured him. From his disordered hair, short strands falling across his forehead. Long lashes shadowing his downcast gaze. Strong jaw line shadowed by scruff just beginning to show. He wore a black and green flannel shirt. Unbuttoned past his collarbone, giving her a glimpse of his chest. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. Black jeans encased his long legs, but his feet were bare. She gulped, breathless. His sheer gorgeousness overwhelming.
John finished. The music faded into silence. He licked his lips as if unaware of her. Licked them again, slowly. Tongue teasingly visible for a moment. Lower lip wet. Beckoning her like a magnet. He leaned over to set the guitar carefully aside. Finally straightening to look up at her. Brilliant green eyes assessing, serious. Smouldering. A slow smile formed, seeing her stunned, passionate reaction. But he gave her his best puppy dog look. Pouted. "So...Moira...am I forgiven?" he asked.
Moira was so bedazzled she couldn't speak for a moment. Her lips parted but no sound came. She felt tears as the rush of emotions. Overcome by surprise, love, lust. Then she collected herself, smiled. Walked over to him. "John...you are such an idiot."
"What?" he exclaimed. "Hey! I–"
She kissed him, leaning close to capture his mouth with hers. A long, passionate kiss. She murmured, wanting him. All of him. Her lips parted, tongue darting across his. She nibbled his lower lip, sucking, softly moaned. She stepped back, flushed. Aroused. "Oh John!" Then she flung herself onto his lap, hugging him.
He grinned, relaxing at last. Reveling in her love. "So?"
She kissed him again, hands running across his shoulders, chest. Tugging at the buttons. "Oh John! John! You...you..." She drew back suddenly, serious. Hand frozen on his chest. Brown eyes staring, staring. "John...do you love me?"
"Huh?" he asked, confused.
"Do you love me? Not just the sex, but me...without the sex? Me? Do you?" she asked. Tense.
"Yes," he replied, brows furrowing in puzzlement.
"Do you?" she persisted, appearing so serious, so forlorn he inwardly cringed. "Even after, after what I did, for you? Even after...after all of this? Even after this, this flak you are getting. Because if you want a divorce, John, I'll understand, I will, I just need to know if you, if you love me. Love me despite all of this. Love me when you don't even know what, what terrible things I've done," her gaze fell to his chest, fingers tightening on his shirt, "and love me after, after everything else..."
He lifted her face to his. "I love you, Moira. You are Moira Sheppard now. That will never change. Unless you want it to. Can you forgive me? God...I hurt you, in ways I didn't even know I could...I'm sorry, sweetheart! I'm so sorry!" He kissed her gently. Hands stroking her back, soothing. Comforting. "Moira, do you forgive me?"
She nodded. Felt tears. Settled against him a moment as his arms enfolded her. "I love you, John. Can you forgive me? Can you–"
"Yes." He kissed her brow. "I'm sorry. All that shit spilled out of me...I don't even know where that came from...really, I don't. I just...need...you. I want you...all to myself. I never meant to hurt you, sweetheart, not like that, not in any way...I just...crap! I'm not good at this," he complained. Sighed. "But I love you, Moira. I love you."
"Okay." She relaxed. Stood suddenly, pulled him to his feet.
"Okay?" he questioned. He smiled, embraced her. Kissed her. Shoving her body along his. "Baby...I take it you forgive me? Really?" he tested. Still uncertain.
"Yes. John...John...take it all away. All of it. Take it away," she urged, pressing her body to his. Wanting to drown in his love, in sex, in his exclusive attentions.
He kissed her, stepping away slowly. Ran his hands down her arms. "Okay."
She smiled. "Okay? Just okay?" she teased, calming. She watched as he turned away to lift the guitar. He placed it against the wall. Moira admired the tight jeans, enclosing his rear. "John...oh John...such a fine, fine six you have...my God...that shirt...you...you sang! You sang...you...the roses! The..." she stammered, finally starting to articulate.
He moved back to her. "Wow...just the affect I wanted, Moira. You know me...exuberant sex. Exuberant romance. Sweetheart," he grew serious, "I am so sorry! I'm sorry! I never meant to hurt you, to cause you any–"
She touched his lips. "No. It's done. Over. We're past it now." She caught his hand, led him to her room. To her bed. "I...I...oh John..." She pushed him onto it. Clambered over him as he laughed in delight.
"Ah baby...wow! Moira, I just–"
She showered him with kisses, but scrambled off his suddenly, sat. "We can't."
"Huh?" He sat, scooted to the edge of the bed where she sat. He touched her back. "Moira? Are you all right? Sweetheart? We need to...we need sex, baby."
She met his gaze, bit her lower lip. He stared. "We can't, John. Can't have exuberant..." She sighed. Stood. But suddenly straddled his lap. "I want you! I want–"
"Then take me, baby, however you want," he encouraged. Hands sliding up to free her hair from the ponytail. To run through the rich silkiness, softness.
Moira kissed him repeatedly, moving on his lap. Hands sliding up his chest. Her mouth slid across his jaw, circling his ear until he groaned. Groaned with delight, surprise as she gently bit his earlobe, then nibbled down his throat. Her fingers unbuttoned the shirt as she proceeded to his collarbone. She opened the shirt, fingers caressing his chest, his sides. Down to his waist. She pulled back, smiled, but paused. Stared. Fingered the dog tags. "John? John, you didn't? John...where...where..." She did not see the wedding ring. Froze.
He held up his left hand. Displayed the gold band on his finger. "Where else, honey? On base only, though, okay? Not off world."
She stared, uncomprehending. Then her eyes lit up. "John? I...I thought you...you...oh John!" She pushed him backwards.
"Whoa, baby, let's...wow..." he laughed.
She kissed him. Hungry kisses claiming his mouth. His throat. Sliding down his chest.
John caressed her back, loving every minute of her sensual attentions. Wondered if the enzyme was finally affecting her. Didn't care either way. Anticipating the sex to come, knew it would be hot, so hot as he plotted what to do. How he wanted her.
Moira squirmed on him but pulled up suddenly. Sat, hands on his jeans. About to unzip them. "John, please, please, please tell me you have on green silk boxers!"
He stared, aroused at her excitement, enthusiasm. Could feel her arousal even through her clothes. "Uh...do I want to know why?"
She unzipped the jeans, opened them. Nearly squealed in delight. She touched the silky green fabric. "Oh John!"
He laughed at her happiness. "Wow...I didn't see that coming. Damn...oh Moira..." he groaned as she caressed. Slid up his body to kiss him.
"Jo-hn," she sang into his ear, teasing. Circled it with her tongue. "Can I tie you up? Please?"
He grinned. "Absolutely, baby. I'm yours."