Synthesis13

John woke. Rolled. Found himself tangled in the sheets. He reached across them. Searching. Searching. "Moira?" he muttered. Missing her warmth, her softness he sat. Stared round the room as he yawned. Darkness swallowed it still. He glanced at the clock. The blue numbers told him it was nearly two in the morning. He stared at the table where the data pad sat, surrounded by a sea of roses. Dark blossoms like clouds threatening to overwhelm the small machine. "Moira?"

He sighed, grumbling to himself. Got out of the bed and headed for his room. "Fuck!" he exclaimed, as his shin hit one of the chairs blocking him. He stumbled backwards, leaning down to rub his leg as the pain hit. He stared, uncomprehending for a moment at the odd assemblage of furniture. A blockade to his room. To her. He wondered at that.

He shoved the chairs aside. Crossed into his room. Headed for his bed. Stopped. Moira was asleep on her side, curled in the blankets. He tugged them from her. She had on her sabertooth cat pajamas. He felt a surge of affection for her, erasing his irritation. He slipped into the bed next to her. Spooned against her. "Moira?" he asked, gently nudged her. He settled close, arm over her waist. Relaxing he went back to sleep.

Moira woke. Found herself sprawled on top of John. She lifted her head. Scrambled to sit as she stared at him. Startled. She glanced over to the threshold between their rooms. The two chairs were across from each other, fallen to their sides. She looked back at him. Nudged him. "John? John!" She pushed. Poked his bare arm. Realized suddenly he was completely naked.

John stirred. "Ow!" he complained, catching her hand as she poked him again. "What the hell? Moira?" He blinked, staring up at her.

"Didn't I leave you in my bed?" she asked, frowning.

"Our bed," he corrected. "And yes, you did, baby. I followed you. And what the hell was that?" he pointed towards the chairs. "Trying to keep me out, were you?"

"Yes."

"Yes?" He stared, startled. "Huh?"

She tried to free her hand but he kept hold of it. "John! We need to finish that flash drive. There could be more vital information on the–"

"Don't care. Why?"

She sighed. "John, please. Let go. We need to finish that flash drive and give the respective files to Carson and to Rodney, then I need to collate all of this with our own data to see if there is any kind of correlation between their enhanced Wraith and our own, plus the–"

"Why?" he repeated, a trace of anger in his voice. Also worry. His grip on her hand gentle, but firm. Unyielding. "Look, Moira," he continued at her silence. Her stillness. "Sweetheart, are we, um, are we okay? I mean...you left our bed...blocked the doorway there. I know my libido was in, um, overdrive. So was yours, by the way. I'm just saying...I guess I sort of, um, overdid it. The sex, I mean. The hours and hours of exuberant sexual ecstasy, repeated sex. Nine, baby, nine! Oh, sorry. Ah. Is that it?" he guessed, quelling his flare of pride. "Moira?"

She kissed him. "We're okay, John. You are really terrible at this, aren't you?"

He shrugged. "Yes, Moira, you know that. Answer me."

"Yes. You and your fucking ordnance. Now let's get dressed and work on that flash drive so I can–"

"Whoa." He caught her arm, detaining her as he sat. Pulled her gently to him. "Whoa, baby, are we okay? I detected a hint of anger there. Shall we talk now or file it for later usage?"

"And by usage you mean..." she asked, tensing. Gaze narrowing in warning.

He smiled, ignoring it. "Yeah. Sex. I mean sex, baby. You–"

"Fuck you, sweetie!" She pulled free.

"Please do."

"Damn it, John, don't you ever listen!" she flared, hitting his arm. "You...you just don't get it, do you? You just can't see past your own, your own–"

"Cock?" he guessed. "Words fail you, I know," he baited. Laid back to stretch languidly. Folded his arms under the pillow, under his head. "I have that affect on women. And after nine fucking climaxes, well...no wonder you are hating me right now, sweetheart. I mean, let's face it, in your very limited experience this must have seemed like a carnival ride that would never end. Sexual ecstasy over and over. Frankly I'm surprised you could even get out of our bed, much less barricade the doorway like that. As if that could keep me from you. As if anything could."

She shook her head, sighed. "Seven, you arrogant bastard. I'm sorry, John. I'm not like your fucking lots some women who were probably used to your sexual excess."

"No...I've never done it nine times like that with any one but you, baby. You." He studied her as she was frowning at him. "Well? I...um, I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked, suddenly worried again. He sat. Stroked her arm. "Moira?"

"No," she finally answered, to his relief. "You would never hurt me, John." She reclined in the bed suddenly, drawing him to her. He settled close, holding her as she snuggled against him. "I'm sorry, John...I just...you...my God, John! You just...you just couldn't get enough! I mean...my God, John! You...you..."

"Ssh." He kissed her gently, stroking her arm, her side as she snuggled, clutching at him. "My Moira. Hmm...let me see...how about today we go for twenty, baby?"

"John! Damn it!" she swore, shoving free and sitting as he laughed. "You son of a bitch! I hate you!" She scrambled out of the bed. Glared at him. "Get out of your bed and put on some clothes! We have work to do! And for God's sake keep that fucking ordnance of yours in your pants!" She strode into her room as his laughter chased her.

Moira showered. Quickly combed her hair, tied it back from her face. Dressed in an olive green t-shirt and navy pants. She moved to her bed, quickly made it, smoothing over the rumpled blankets and sheets. She straightened the roses on the table, staring at the vivacious blooms. Shaking her head at the seeming incongruity of her husband. Giving her dozens and dozens of flowers. Declaring his love for her. Then indulging, insisting on repeated sex. The increasing intensity, possession, roughness.

She sat at the table. Brought the data pad back to life from its own dozing. She opened the Wraith biology file again, perused it.

John entered her room. Freshly showered, shaved. Clad in a black t-shirt and olive pants. Boots quietly clomping on the floor. He rubbed his chin, staring at her. Studying her as she chewed on her lower lip, staring at the screen. Freed her lip to softly mutter to herself. Shake her head. Sigh. He neared. Stood behind her, reading the screen over her shoulder. "Problem?"

She started, having not heard him. She glanced at him. "No. Well, yes. There's a lot here to sort through...and frankly I'm no geneticist so it will take some time."

He grabbed a chair, sat next to her. "What now?"

Moira closed the file. "How about the anomaly?" She moved the cursor to it. Debated. Glanced at John. He was eying the screen. Waiting. She looked at the screen. Typed a word. The file opened.

"What was the password?" he asked, as information began to scroll across the screen.

"Lemon." She smirked at his raised brow. "Must be for Rodney. Wow...look at those equations!"

"I'm no physicist but damn that looks complicated. Crap. Earmark that for Rodney as well. No. Let me send it to him now." He touched the keyboard, typed rapidly. "Maybe he can find a way to shut it down."

"The anomaly? I doubt–"

"If anyone can do it Rodney can. I want that thing shut down for good."

"John! The, the colonel's relying on me to help with this data to–"

"Don't care. The only Atlantis that matters is this one. The only reality that matters is this one. The one with you. And me. I want that thing shut down for good, so he can never, never get his hands on you again," he grimly asserted. His voice low, serious, sexy. His gaze intense. "Nothing will take you from me, Moira. Not even him." He closed the lap top. "Enough for now. Let's get some breakfast," he said in a lighter tone. Met her gaze. "What?"

"I'm not hungry. You go. I can keep working on this."

"What? I'm starving! How can yo not be hungry? Are you feeling all right, sweetheart?" he asked, gaze perusing her. Noticing her hand on her stomach. The slight hunch to her frame.

"I'm fine, just not hungry. My stomach is upset again. Go. Eat. But come back here, John. I still need your help with this, okay? In case I run into another roadblock."

"Okay." He kissed her. "Are you sure you're okay? And we're okay?"

"Yes, sweetie. Go."

He relented. Stood. "I'll bring you something back. I need to tell Rodney to keep those equations to himself for now. Same for Carson. Send him that data, would you? Then we can see what else is on there. Back in ten, Moira."

"There's no need to rush, John. I'm fine, okay? If I get hungry I can eat one of the chocolate bars."

"Cute. Back in ten, Moira." He kissed her again. He headed for the door. "Oh!" He circled back to his room. Moved to her and dropped two pieces of fabric on the table. "Sorry, baby. I didn't mean to rip off your panties like that, although it was really hot. I couldn't wait to get them off that pert little ass of yours. I'll buy you some new ones."

She smirked. "John, John, I can buy my own underwear, thank you. God knows what you would get for me, so no."

"Hmm...think what I could get for you, Moira. Although I do prefer nothing...but I do like my trophies."

"Shut up." He laughed. "Will you go?"

"Going. Moira...we are okay, right?" he tested. Hand on her shoulder.

"We won't be if you don't go now, John! Go!"

"Fine." He kissed her. "Moira, we'll go panty shopping real soon."

"Shut up and go!" she ordered, but laughed at his earnest expression.

He smiled. "Going, Mrs. Colonel. Back in ten."

Moira smiled, shook her head as he finally left her. She shoved the torn panties aside, opened the data pad and set to work once more.

John wolfed down his breakfast. Grabbed a tray and placed a Danish on it, a glass of orange juice. A banana. He limped to where Rodney was sitting, devouring an omelet with gusto, eyes glued to his data pad. "Rodney, keep those files close. Your eyes only, unless you need Zelenka to help you understand them."

"What? Why would I need his help to understand these...oh ha ha," Rodney snarled. Glared at his friend. "Why the secrecy? What's on here anyway?"

"One is tech. Ancient and Wraith tech, the hybrid ship and weaponry. The other is about the anomaly. The equations for triggering it, and hopefully closing it."

"From...oh...the other reality? The other Sheppard?"

"Yes. Keep it encrypted for now. I'm just being cautious, is all. Let me know what you can make of them ASAP." He crossed the room, sat at a table. Where Carson was staring at his data pad, blue eyes wide.

Carson looked up at him. "Colonel? Moira just sent me the most astounding–"

"Yes, I know. Your eyes only, doc, for now. Intel from the other side."

"You mean the other reality? The other Sheppard?"

"Yes. Keep it close, for now."

"All right. Where is Moira anyway?" The doctor glanced round the room.

"In our room. She said she wasn't hungry but I'm bringing her this anyway. She hasn't eaten a lot in the past few days, actually," he said, frowning. "Her stomach's been upset a few times, and I thought she looked all flushed, but I thought that was from all the...anyway, she's been all over the board, Carson! One minute she's all over me, the next she's pissed! One minute she's all sciency–"

"Sciency?" Carson asked with a smile.

"–and the next she's all concerned over the colonel, the other me, I mean! So emotional and then she's all analytical...women!" he groused.

"Is she sick? Or stressed? She's been through a lot recently, John. It could be residual effects from the enzyme. She was on it for three days, right? Maybe it's hormonal then, but don't tell her I said...John?" The sudden look on John's face made Carson worry. "What is it?"

The thought dropped like a bomb. John stood, nearly upsetting the table. "Crap. Oh..." Then he was gone, limping rapidly out of the room. Forgetting the tray in his haste.

"John? John!" Carson called, bewildered.

John entered her room. "Moira! Moira, I–" He froze. Retching sounds were emitting from the bathroom. His stomach clenched in sympathy, in tension. He neared the closed bathroom door. Stopping again as more sounds of violent vomiting filled the air. He waited. Touched the door cautiously. Silence. The sound of water running. The toilet flushing. "Moira? Are you all right?" he asked.

Silence. Then her voice, weak. Rasping. "Do I sound all right?"

He smiled briefly, relieved at her sarcasm. "No, you don't. Do you want me to–"

"No! Give me a minute!"

He stepped back from the door. Waiting. Oddly nervous, apprehensive.

The door opened. Moira staggered out of the bathroom. Her face was flushed. Eyes bright. Skin damp from a washcloth. Her hand was pressed to her stomach. "I...I'm okay now...I guess...something doesn't agree with me, I guess..."

"Moira? Are you pregnant?"