Natural Selection5

"Extraordinary," Moira mused, peering through the microscope. "Are you certain about this?" she asked, shaking her head.

The botanist nodded as he stood next to her, slicing a piece of the moss apart with a scalpel. "Yes. The flower holds the most potent secretions. The enzyme breaks down much slower on the slides. See? Moira? Is that important?" he asked, alarmed at her expression.

"Yes. Excuse me." Moira hastened out of the biology lab to the infirmary. She paused, seeing rows of empty beds. "Carson? Carson!"

The doctor emerged from an alcove, smiled. "Ah, Moira. What is it? Is your foot–"

"No! Where's John? I mean, where's Colonel Sheppard?" She limped to the doctor. "You have to see this!" She held out a slide.

Carson smiled at her chagrin over the name, replied, "I've released him." He took the slide. "From the moss? I've already had a preliminary–"

"You released him? How could you?"

"What? The colonel only suffered minor bruises and cuts, that is all. You, on the other hand, need to see me about that foot of yours."

"Carson! He was on the enzyme! Didn't he tell you? He got ride of most of it but I think he may still be infected. Look at the slide, please! It's the flowers!"

Carson scrutinized her. He slid the specimen under the microscope. "He never told me that. Not a word. He seemed perfectly all right." Frowning he peered at the slide. "The flowers, you said. Not the moss. The secretion levels are nearly doubled, compared to the leaves." He placed a drop of blood onto the slide. Watched the reaction. "Hmm. Slower penetration, they arenot breaking up as swiftly as the other sample either." He lifted his gaze to her. "How much did John ingest?"

"A lot. Two big mouthfuls of the moss, but most of it came up afterwards. After an, um, an adrenalin surge."

"And the flowers?"

"I...I don't know. I can't be certain. The flowers are so tiny, and it was dark when he ate them. He's been acting...off, a bit, a little, Carson, I think–"

Carson was already activating the comm. "Colonel Sheppard, report to the infirmary. Colonel Sheppard, report to the infirmary now!" He tapped his earpiece. "Doctor Weir, I think it would be advisable to have some marines escort Colonel Sheppard to the infirmary. He's possibly infected with the enzyme." He turned to Moira, but she was gone.

Moira awkwardly ran out of the medical bay, halted, not certain where to go. Several possibilities came and went. Finally she hastened to the Jumper bay. Technicians were swarming over the damaged vehicle. "Evan!" Spotting him she joined him.

Evan was tapping his earpiece, gesturing to two other marines begin the search. "Copy. Moira?"

"We have to find Colonel Sheppard! Do you have any idea where he is?" She touched his arm. "He's very sick, Evan. We–"

"Sir?" Evan turned as John stepped out of the shadows. Swung a fist at Evan's jaw. The major fell hard, without a sound.

"Pleistocene Park!" he stated darkly. His gaze moved over Moira. Smiled. "Strawberries."

Moira sighed. "All right. Enough is enough! Come on!" She grabbed his hand, pulled him towards the hallway.

"Moira?" He glanced back at the sprawled form of Evan. Smiled with satisfaction. "What is happening to me?"

"Flowers, John." She pulled him into an alcove, full of tools, closed the door. "Flowers would have been nice. Hell, you haven't even bought me that drink yet. No, with you it's all or nothing! A rush to the finish line. Not that I'm complaining because it has been quite...anyway, flowers," she rambled, moving to activate the comm unit, "the enzyme that is affecting you was in the flowers, a more potent–"

He stopped her before she could reach the comm. Turned her to him. "Moira, what flowers?" He grimaced, then smiled. "That wasn't so bad."

"It's going to get a lot worse, John. We have to act fast."

"Are you going to hit me again?"

She smiled. "No. I am going to do the only thing I can." She kissed him, running her hands up his chest. Another kiss, as she plotted. "Medical necessity," she stated around his lips, eying him. "You know what that means, colonel?"

"Strawberries?" he asked.

"Strawberries? Sheppard, where are–" came the voice of Rodney over John's earpiece, sounding bewildered and irritated all at once.

"Shit!" Moira grabbed the communication device, switched it off and slipped it into his pocket. The last thing she needed was to be broadcasting this. "John, we need to get rid of the enzyme, fast. Do you know what that means?"

"I don't really care," he countered, pulling her into his arms.

"It means no simulation," she said, flinging her body against his. She slid against him, kissed him invitingly, wantonly as her mouth opened under his. "Real, unclothed sex," she whispered hotly into his ear. "I want you, John. I want you inside me. Here. Now," she breathlessly murmured against his skin. Trailing kisses down his throat. Felt the racing pulse. Her hands slid down to his waist, to his pants. To caress his abrupt erection. Felt the length and hardness.

John smiled. "What took you so long?" he countered gruffly. He pushed her back against the wall. His mouth caught hers as his hands slid up under her shirt, under her bra. Fondled both breasts as his tongue glided into her mouth.

Moira murmured, scooting slightly to the left, towards the comm unit. As if guessing her intention John pulled her back, far from the panel as he shoved his hands down her body. He tore the zipper of her pants down. Yanked her pants off her hips, down her legs. He fingered the lace band of her panties. "Lavender lace," he hotly intoned, fingers sliding into them, into the moist folds of her.

Moira nearly lost herself, squirming but grabbed his hand before he could completely distract her. She pulled him to her, kissed him passionately as John was already thrusting against her, only impeded by their clothes. His hands moved to grab but she caught them, shifted, shifted. Then shoved him back from her as he moaned. Moaned from pain as he doubled over, fell to his knees. She yanked up her pants, zipped them, scrambled to the comm unit and punched the buttons. "I need medical assistance! Jumper bay...in, in some tool room...um...room nine!" she shouted, seeing a number on the wall. She whirled, knelt to John as he was holding his stomach. "John, hold on!"

"Hold on? What the hell did you do to me?" he accused, so close to pleasure, to passion, but now doubled with cramps and gut-wrenching pain.

"Release, John. Isn't that what you said? It's all about release," she explained, enjoying just a little the revenge on his earlier teasing. Only a little as he appeared to be in real pain.

The door opened. A team of marines and Carson flooded into the little room. "He's having a reaction to the enzyme! His body's rejecting it, thank goodness!"

"Get him to medical!" Carson ordered. As the marines hoisted John to his feet and out of the room. John was groaning, still doubled over. The doctor eyed Moira. Her flushed face, disordered clothes. "Are you all right?"

"Me? I'm fine."

"Well, whatever you did probably just saved his life. The flood of adrenalin should destroy the last of the enzyme. Good work!"

She smiled, trying not to laugh. "I did what I had to do, Carson." Seeing his knowing look she hastily added, "I told him he was a lousy pilot. Works all the time with these macho military types, you know. Hadn't you better–

"Yes, I had better," he agreed, smiling. "Come see me about that foot."

**********************************************************************

John's head ached again. His jaw was sore. He touched it gingerly, shifting on the bed. His body felt stiff, drained. Memories flitted. Marines. Moira. Flowers. Punching Evan. The tool room. Moira. Moira's whispered seductions, her pants around her ankles. Panties so close to following. The feel of her breasts in his hands. He opened his eyes. The infirmary was a blurry brightness. He closed his eyes, tried again. Focus, but still too bright.

"Awake, are we, colonel?"

Carson's voice to the right. John turned his head, blinked. "Carson? I...oh..." He shifted again, running his hand down his body, feeling bruises, remembering arousal. He uneasily met the doctor's gaze. "Am I–"

"Yes. Thanks to Moira. You are one hundred percent free of the enzyme." He removed an IV, gave John a cup of water. "Here. You are dehydrated. What do you remember?"

"Not much." He drank greedily, set the cup aside to cover his embarrassment. Recalling all too clearly his state when he was taken out of the tool room. "I–"

"No one noticed anything, except your cramps. You were doubled over the whole time," Carson tactfully explained, but turned to hide his amusement at John's chagrin. "As I said, the enzyme is completely purged. Lucky for you your body rejected all of it, even the flowers."

"The flowers again?"

"Yes, the most potent part. Probably why you failed to mention any of this to me when you first returned from M1K436. Get some rest. I'm keeping you here under observation for a few more hours. Just to be absolutely certain." He looked at John, could not resist adding, "We can't have you tying up another storeroom for medical purposes, now can we?"

"Carson," John groaned, "nothing...I...nothing happened...Moira wasn't..." He sighed, laid back as a wave of soreness hit.

The doctor laughed. "I know, John. I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself. Don't worry. Doctor patient privilege. Get some rest."

************************************************************************

Moira limped into the infirmary. Ventured towards the bed where John rested. Hesitated, veered back but Carson stood, blocking her. "Um...how is he?"

"Fine. Don't worry. He's clear. Let's look at that foot, shall we, love?"

"What?" She glanced down, as if forgetting about it. "It is only sore."

"Take off your shoe and sit there."

Moira sighed, sat on the bed next to John's. She watched him as she removed her shoe. He appeared asleep, handsome face in peaceful lines. Long lashes sweeping along his cheekbones. Slight cuts marred his skin. A bruise purpled one jaw. She removed her sock, met Carson's gaze. "It's fine. Just sore."

"I can imagine, love."

"Ow!"

"Sorry, Moira. Hold still," Carson chided, examining the foot.

John stirred at the voices. He opened his eyes. Turned to see Moira on the next bed, Carson bent over her foot. He stared at the long, vivid scars running up from her toes, crisscrossing to her ankle. Wide gashes were healing but still red, scabby. He let his gaze wander up her leg, up her bent knee, thigh. Up to her face as she winced with pain.

"Another cramp," she complained, "but otherwise it's fine. I can wiggle my toes and everything, Carson."

John smiled. Carson smiled. "Good to know, Moira. All right. It's still healing. You need to rest it. I mean really rest it. Stay on your back awhile."

Hearing a snort she looked at John who was grinning, trying not to laugh. She glared, hastily pulled on her sock, her shoe. "Thank you, Carson." Ignoring John she continued, "Have you given any thought to the flowers? The moss? What would feed on the flowers?"

"Insects would..." Realization. "Oh. Aye. Did you see any?"

"No. There was hardly any life there at all, apart from the vegetation."

"Any what?" John croaked, curious. He sat up, stubbornly ignored his headache.

"Your favorite thing, John," she replied with a smile, moving to her feet.

"Strawberries?" he teased quietly, unable to resist. Suddenly he glanced at Carson but the doctor had discreetly moved to a data screen. Seemed to be absorbed by whatever was blinking on the screen.

"No," she scolded, moving to the side of his bed. "The Iratus bug."

"Oh." He made a face. "Never mind."

Moira laughed. "You'll want to hear this. It's all about the Iratus bug and their genesis into the forms we–"

Carson shook his head. "All right, Moira, there's no need to antagonize the colonel. Did you save his life just to torture him?"

"She's very good at that, doc," John agreed, catching her hand before she could leave. "At times I was in agony..." he paused, lingering on the word, "with all of that scientific, biological rambling and lecturing."

"Which just saved your life, colonel," Carson chided, amused at their teasing flirtation.

"Is that so?" John asked.

She smiled. Her fingers entwined with his. "Yes. Don't forget, fly boy, you still owe me a very large drink, with all that I had to endure."

He laughed. "Endure? As I recall you quite enjoyed it. Besides," he added before she could protest, "I think we've gone way beyond a mere drink, haven't we?"

"Oh? A dinner, then?" she asked in amazement, ignoring his knowing look. He laughed. "Darn, I don't have anything fancy to wear, I'm afraid."

"As long as you have something...lavender, oh right, you do," he countered. "Ow!" he complained as she hit his arm. "Injured man, here."

"Then don't talk." She stepped closer, whispered, "Keep it in your pants, Sheppard. We're not on M1K436 any more," she teased.

He smiled, quietly responded, "That's all I have been doing, O'Meara, thanks to you."

She laughed, suddenly sobered, looking over at Carson who was assiduously studying the data screen. Back to them. Blithely ignoring them, or so she hoped. She squeezed his hand. "I better go. I have work to do."

"Tell me about it," he countered, detaining her.

"I can't, as it does involve the Iratus bug and its possible genesis deriving from the plants and their enzyme." She smiled. "Maybe later. Get some rest." She hesitated, uncertain. She freed his hand, limped out of the infirmary.

John smiled, watching her leave. He settled back, trying to get comfortable. His gaze drifted to Carson, and he frowned, concerned over what the doctor might have overheard. Might have noticed. Might have guessed. He debated, whether or not to say anything, but kept silent.

*************************************************************************

"Busy?"

Moira looked up from her data screen, fingers frozen on the keyboard. "Evan." She watched him stroll into the biology lab, stared at the bright bruise on his jaw. "How are you?"

"Sore. Let me tell you, Colonel Sheppard packs a wallop," he ruefully commented, sitting next to her. "What the hell was that about? Pleistocene Park? Am I missing something?"

She smiled. "No. Colonel Sheppard wasn't in his right mind. The enzyme was affecting him. Making him behave...oddly."

"Back on the planet too?"

She nodded, eyed her screen, trying not to smirk. "Yes."

"I'm worried, Moira." He touched her hand, bringing her attention back to him.

"Why? Carson said the colonel is one hundred percent free of the enzyme now. And we are studying it here under the most stringent–"

"No, no, I'm worried about you," he clarified. Hazel eyes sincere.

"Me?" Dread. "Why?"

He sighed, shrugged. "The way the colonel was acting. On M1K436. I don't think he likes you, Moira, and I can't understand why."

"Oh." She hid her smile, stared at the data screen.

"Oh? Did something happen between you two?"

Moira silently cursed as her fingers slipped on the keyboard, creating a stream of incomprehensible letters. She deleted it, shrugged. "No. I mean, we argued. I mean, he is not very patient with scientists," she tried to divert.

"True, but one minute he's acceding to your request to visit M1K436 and the next he's letting you wander around getting samples all alone without any protection. And bites off my head for even suggesting I should keep an eye on you."

"The enzyme, Evan," she repeated. "It clouded his mind, that is all," she assured. "He wasnt' thinking clearly. And the whole business with Ford...you know. There's a lot of history there. A lot of conflict."

"Yes. I suppose," Evan relented, not entirely convinced.. Rubbed his chin. "Still...what the hell was Pleistocene Park about?"

She sighed. "I know. He doesn't know his prehistoric epochs very well, does he?" They laughed.

************************************************************************

"Strawberries?"

John smiled, but then frowned. The voice wasn't female. Wasn't Moira. Wasn't even Carson mocking him. He opened his eyes, sat up. Saw Rodney's quizzical look. "What?"

"Strawberries?" Rodney repeated. "That was the last thing you said before you lost your comm unit, and your mind evidently. What happened to you?"

John shrugged. "The enzyme. I need you to take a look at my ship. The drive pods are functional but only barely. The equilibrium is off and the shielding–"

"Yes, yes, I already fixed that," Rodney waved away the concern. "What was the–"

"What happened to your throat?" John asked, staring at the ring of bruises encircling the scientist's neck. "Did you piss off Zelenka again?"

"What? No! I...I had a, a slight altercation..." Rodney mumbled, looking at the floor.

"He fell for a Wraith worshiper and she didn't like his attentions," joked Ronon , joining them.

He eyed his friend. "What happened to you? Run into a wall, or piss off Weir?"

John smiled, but grew somber. "Ford. So...a Wraith worshiper? Here?"

"Inadvertently rescued by Lorne. And in my defense she was hot. I mean really hot...petite and blond and all curves."

"What is it with you and hot Wraith women?" John quipped. Ronon laughed heartily, nearly doubling over with mirth.

Rodney fumed. "She was not a Wraith! And that other one didn't even look like a Wraith but a really hot...oh, never mind!" he exclaimed as John joined in the laughter.

"So...Wraith worshiper?" John asked.

Ronon shrugged. "She was also a runner."

"Like you?"

"Nothing like me," he said tersely. "When Beckett removed the tracking device she went wild. She deliberately brought the Wraith to planets and helped them cull the populations."

"Where is she now?" John has sobered in light of Ronon's gravity and words.

"Dead." Carson joined them, clearly unhappy. "Ronon had to shoot her. But he did not have to kill her," he chastised, glancing at the larger man.

"I did what I had to do, doc. Besides, you got all of the samples you could possible need, didn't you?" He turned to John who had noticed the slight tension between the two men. "There was no other way. She was a clear threat to the city, to everyone in the galaxy. An enemy. Rest up."

John watched him leave, turned to Carson. "Samples?"

"That's it? You're not going to say anything else? I'm sure Elizabeth would–"

"I'm sure Elizabeth will, but if Ronon believed she was a clear threat to this city then I condone his actions. Samples?" he repeated.

Carson sighed. "Oh, aye. She had the same protein as Ronon. The same naturally produced protein that prevents the Wraith from feeding. That effectively blocks the enzyme. The enzyme that apparently occurs in this moss, these flowers. I'll have to consult with Moira on this. The progression of the possibilities is fascinating."

"Sounds it," John remarked with a sigh.

*************************************************************************

John stood staring at the closed door. He ran a hand through his hair. Licked his lips. Glanced up and down the deserted hallway. Smirked at his sudden nervousness, uncertainty, when things had been so very certain on M1K436. Not to mention the tool room. He knocked briskly on the door, knuckles loud.

Moira was startled by the sudden noise. She stared at the door, hunched on her bed amid a mess of papers, data pads, pens. She willed the intruder to go away, frowning. She set the lap top on the bed, moving it off her lap, waiting.

"Moira?" John asked to the door. He listened, heard the sounds of rustling. Hoping it was clothing. Had an image of her opening the door in nothing but a sheer black negligee that had a plunging neckline and was so short it barely covered her rear. "Moira," he repeated, "I know it is rather late but I–"

Moira stared, hearing John's voice. Her pulse raced, heart leapt to her throat. Vivid memories swarmed to her mind but she pushed them all back, shoved them all down. She stood, moved to the door. Opened it. Fully clothed she eyed him. "John? What are you–"

"Pink." He held out a glass full of pink lemonade. "Lots of ice," he added, gaze wandering over her ponytail, the clean lavender shirt, the khaki pants.

She smiled, took the glass and gestured for him to enter. She closed the door, sipped the drink as she perused his clean black zippered shirt, gray pants. Caught a scent of either aftershave or cologne as he had passed her. He was clean-shaven, hair combed but still disordered. "Thank you. It's about time, colonel," she chided, causing him to smile. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

He turned to her. "Yes." Held her gaze a long moment, then continued. "Carson said I was fine. I can't sleep in those medical cots," he complained, turning to take in the room. The messy bed, strewn with books, papers, a blinking lap top. The rows of books on shelves. A plush tiny mammoth. A collection of quartz geodes. A Darth Vader figure made him smile.

"I take it you had your beer?" she asked, setting the now half-empty glass on a table.

"Several. What are you doing?" He eyed the messy bed again. Noticed it was bigger than his. Wider. Possibly even longer.

"Working on a theory. Look at this, John," she invited, gestured as she sat on the bed. She placed the lap top on her thighs. "You remember the flowers?"

Instead of taking the proffered chair he shoved papers aside, sat next to her on the bed. So close his thigh touched hers. "Yes. I do remember, Moira. In fact I remember every little detail."

She cut off his warm tone, teasing words. "Look at this, John. Look at these sequences. The flowers had the most potent form of the enzyme. More so than the moss itself. Think about it. What preys on flowers? Insects. Iratus bugs at their most primitive evolutionary level. Fueled by the enzyme's increasingly addictive potency the adrenal glands go wild. The bugs get bigger. Develop a greater appetite. Somehow migrate to other planets. Planets with animal life. Even hominids. Humans. The bugs evolve yet again, forced to feed on a new nectar, producing their own enzyme to facilitate the–"

"Wraith," John finally interrupted. He closed the lap top, put is aside and looked at her. "It all leads eventually to the Wraith. And whatever lived on M1K436 and ate the plants would accelerate the same hormonal triggers. Ultimately killing each other in the process. Only the plants thrived."

"Yes," she agreed. "That's why there was hardly any life there. It had destroyed itself. All caused by a simple plant." She appeared depressed.

"Not so simple. But what about those creatures?"

She sighed. "I don't know. I couldn't really observe them closely. They don't fit the theory."

"Maybe they do," he mused, frowned. He flexed his hand, eyed the raw knuckles.

"What do you mean?"

He met her gaze. "Perhaps those creatures are the only inhabitants left on that planet. They were semi-sentient, right?"

She nodded. "It stopped me from going over the edge when you and Ford fell..." She shook the memory aside, touched his sore hand.

"Bi-pedal?"

"Yes." Realization shone in her brown eyes. Horror.

He nodded. "I think they were once human. Or semi-human, but I'm no zoologist," he remarked wryly. "The ones who survived the bugs, but not the plants. The ones who survived each other, but not the toxic affects of the enzyme."

"Oh my God...." she whispered. Her hand closed over his. "John...if you...if you..."

He took her hand, held it to his stomach. "I could feel it, in here. Once those incredible energy surges, that irrational fury, the overwhelming...desire," he amended, although it had been closer to lust, "had subsided, I could feel it eating away at me. Literally changing me, Moira. From the inside out. You truly did save my life. In the most pleasant way possible. Well, not the most pleasant by far, but still..."

"John, this is serious!" she scolded. "What if–"

"I know. Very serious," he agreed, leaning close. Closer. Gazing warmly into her eyes, capturing her complete attention. He brushed his lips against hers, tasting lemonade. "Say those words to me again, Moira," he intoned against her ear. "Say real, unclothed sex. Say you want me. Say you want me inside you," he whispered against her skin, lips trailing down her throat. His hand ran up her thigh, between her thighs.

Moira lost her breath, her reactions so vivid she flushed. "John, John, you–"

"I can't think of anything else, Moira," he wooed, kissing her again. Deeper this time, his mouth moving over hers, with hers. He shoved papers, books aside, moved her onto her back. Followed. "Carson said you should stay on your back," he reminded.

She laughed, pulling him closer, on top of her. "True. And now it is just me. Just you. No enzymes. No simulations." She kissed him, catching his mouth with hers, savoring his full lips, his generous motions. "All I wanted was a drink, John," she teased, unzipping his shirt. Her fingers played along the chest hairs peeking out. She pushed him back suddenly, sat up as he did. She fingered his shirt, brown eyes sparkling. Slid her fingers under it, lifted it up, off him. Obligingly he raised his arms, lowered them as she tossed the shirt aside, gaze wandering over his lean chest, waist. She gently touched the bruises. "John–"

"I'm fine," he assured, smiled. "And I have to know, Moira. I have to know."

"Know what, John?" she asked, thrown by his serious voice. Although his brilliant green eyes were intense, sparkling.

"I have to know if this lavender lace theme continues," he said playfully. "If the bra matches those lovely, lovely panties."

She smiled, considered. She freed her hair from the ponytail, set it swirling around her. She lifted her shirt slowly, slowly under his avid gaze. Removed it to reveal the matching bra. She tilted her head, licked her lips. "Satisfied?" she teased.

John smiled. He met her gaze. "Not yet. Not even close, Moira O'Meara," he argued, moving her onto her back again with a deep, deep kiss.

**************************************************************************

Moira arched her back, unable, unwilling to stop as John once more brought her to the brink, the brink, the edge and over into a blissful release. Again she drowned in physical pleasure, climaxing repeatedly as he thrust deeper, deeper. Faster, faster. Nearly rocking the bed as he reached his own release and groaned in replete satisfaction. She fell back against the mattress, breathing deeply, entangled as he sprawled heavily across her, spent.

John breathed deeply, smiled smugly. Felt the sweat dripping down his bare back. Felt her moist, soft body beneath his, their hot skin pressing, pressing. He raised his head from her breasts to view her flushed face, tousled hair. Rosy, slightly swollen lips. "Moira, did I take too long that time?" he lazily teased, kissing her lips, her throat. "What was that? Three? Four? I've lost count," he boasted.

"You wish," she chided, fingers stroking his disordered hair, his bruised jaw. "I...John...you..." Words failed her. She had never been with a man like this, so in control, so intent, so able to bring her to the brink and just hold her there. Several times before the sudden rush into repeated orgasms. Only to do it again. And again. She worried if it was a remnant of the enzyme, fueling his libido to incredible heights.

"Rendered speechless?" he teased proudly. "About time." He laughed as she smacked his arm. He caught her hand, kissed her fingers, ran his tongue up her wrist, tasting skin, sweat. He released her, rolled onto his back. Sighed happily. He touched his sore jaw.

"Sorry I had to hit you," she said, noticing his motion. She rolled onto him, gently kissed his jaw, his lips, his throat. "John..." She hesitated, plunged ahead. "Are you always like this?"

He grinned, meeting her gaze. Her ran his fingers through his disheveled hair. "Are you?"

"I'm serious."

"So am I." His gaze wandered as her body pressed against his, shifting, moving, the friction of skin against skin. "Or are you just this way with me?" He rolled them. She was beneath him again. Welcoming. He moved against her.

"John?" she asked, startled, as his body began to react to hers. She gasped, squirming but he caught her hands, pressed them back against the bed, as his body taunted, teased hers. "John," she tried to form coherent words, sentences as he entered her easily, slowly, began a slow but steady rhythm. "Are you...do you...always have this...this much stamina?"

He kissed her. "Are you always lush as a waterfall?" he rejoined, running his tongue down to her breasts until she audibly whimpered with pleasure. He could feel her muscles tightening around him. Friction building, building. Holding back was an effort. Especially as he could tell it had been a while since she had enjoyed such attentions.

"Are you...always...like this...so much...so much...oh John, John, John!" Her question escalated into a crescendo of his name as they crested the pleasure once more, sped into frantic, exquisite fulfillment. He softly swore, groaning in relief, releasing her hands as he released all the pent-up frustration, seduction, lust, desire, need. He eased himself on top of her, rested, then rolled onto his back again. Wiped his brow.

"Moira, what did you expect? We've been dancing around this for nearly two days now. Two days of almost sex and repeated arousal. If we didn't have actual sex I thought I was going to explode. I know you felt the same way. You're a biologist, aren't you? You should understand urges. Needs. I've had a hard-on for nearly two days. Can you imagine how I had to explain that to Carson?"

"John!" She breathed deeply, shifting her body. Trickles of sweat teased her skin. The room felt warm, close. Echoes of pleasure rippled along her body. "I...I only asked in case, in case it was the enzyme," she explained, trying to catch her breath. "As you said, I am a biologist. Well, a zoologist, actually. So I know–"

She started as he moved over her again. He kissed her, lazily caressed a breast. "No. This is me. All me. One hundred percent John Sheppard. I trust this is one hundred percent Moira O'Meara?"

She smiled. "Yes."

He kissed her again, rolled onto his side, pulling her into his arms. "All right, then, doctor. No more analysis. If you require further evidence give me five minutes. Maybe ten." She laughed. He grinned. He closed his eyes. Exhausted but satisfied. "Get some sleep. It's almost dawn."

She smiled, snuggling against him. "I know," she purred, kissing him slowly. "Why do you think I was so concerned?"

He smiled, remained silent as sleep blissfully took him.

*************************************************************************

The cafeteria was a noisy, crowded maze of people, tables, food. Moira made her way to an open table, set her tray down. Sat. She had awoken alone, tangled in sheets and a few errant papers. She had quickly showered, dressed, now ate hungrily. Mind caught in the passionate memories of last night. Lingering over details.

"They're looking for you in the lab," Evan stated, joining her. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, suddenly uncomfortable. "Starving," she said round a bite of pancake. "I overslept," she explained. Wished the blush on her face would go away.

"After the past two days no one will blame you. Any penetrating discoveries on M1K436 besides those plants?"

Moira almost choked on her orange juice. Recovered. Met his inquiring gaze. "Yes... I mean no! I mean yes...besides Ford, of course. Some curious cave creatures. I still have theories to work up and then I..." Her gaze swept past as John approached, carrying a tray loaded with food.

He paused, met her gaze. She stared back.

John looked at Evan. "Doctor O'Meara. Major."

"Sir," Evan greeted.

"Colonel Sheppard," Moira replied, just as neutrally as he had.

"Oh, major, sorry about the jaw," John added as an afterthought, barely glancing at Moira, barely acknowledging her.

"It's all right, sir. Moira said you were under the influence of the enzyme."

"Did she now?" he asked, glance skipping across her. "Yes. I was certainly under some influence," he agreed. He kept walking, joined another table.

Moira resisted the urge to turn, look after him. She wondered if last night wasn't just some amazing erotic dream, a fantasy. When she shifted she felt all too keenly it had been very real.

She wondered at his demeanor. Recalled the stories she had heard about him. The easy-going ladies' man. Moving like a bee from flower to flower. Frowned.

"Moira? Did you hear me?" Evan asked, staring at her introspective face.

"What?" She set down the half-eaten strawberry she hadn't even been aware of nibbling. "I'm sorry, Evan. I was miles away."

He smiled. "No doubt working on your theory," he assumed. "At least Colonel Sheppard seems back to being himself. He was civil, at least."

"Yes, at the very least." She stood. "In fact I should get down to the lab." She returned her tray, no longer hungry. Hastened out of the cafeteria.

John smiled. He had been watching Moira. Watching her flustered, distressed reaction. Her puzzlement over his demeanor. Her nibbling of the strawberry that brought the evening's erotic fulfillment rushing to his mind. Her passion matching his, motion for motion, moan for moan.

He idly considered what she would do. What she wouldn't do. What he could persuade her to do. What she might want him to do.

"Sheppard? Hello?" Rodney waved his hand in front of his friend's face, irritated.

"Sorry, Rodney," John apologized, watching Moira depart. Her fast stride causing her ponytail to swing, her hips to sway. Her rear snug in the pants, shapely as he recalled the feel of it. He looked at Rodney. "You were saying?"

Rodney huffed. "I was saying the tracking device was more sophisticated than Ronon's. It reacted to the ATA gene, like Teyla's necklace. The tiny transmission could run on indefinitely–"

"Like you?" John quipped.

"Ha, ha."

"Get to the point," John said. Impatient.

"Why? You have somewhere you need to be?" Rodney asked. "Some pressing matter of military hardware or some new penetrating weapon you want to test?"

"Yes." John stood, smiled. "That's it exactly, Rodney. Excuse me."

***********************************************************************

Moira sat back from the microscope. "This one, too," she said. "The stamen is even more extended. Fully extended with nectar. Awash with the enzyme. Is that how it is distributed plant to plant?"

"More than likely," Matthew Parrish confirmed. "And how the plant reproduces. Being a moss it would thrive in dark, damp places. But the flowers need sunlight to produce the nectar, the enzyme. This is a real enigma," he pondered. "Normally the insects would carry pollen from flower to flower, but this, this..."

"Engorged until release by insect or animal ingestion," she considered. A cough or a choked back laugh interrupted her.

"Plant sex?"

Moira stiffened at John's voice as he strolled into the lab. "What else do you scientists discuss in biology, apart from that?" he asked, merriment in his tone. He eyed Moira's tense posture.

"This plant is quite remarkable, colonel. Despite its adverse side affects," Matthew hastily noted. "It's as if two separate species joined together."

"Hm...two joining together, into one perfectly conjoined organism," John noted, smiling. He could only imagine Moira's expression. He strolled towards her, stood behind her. "May I see, Doctor O'Meara?"

She sat back from the microscope, unable to meet his gaze. Puzzled by his not so innocent yet completely innocuous words. "Of course, Colonel Sheppard," she agreed coldly. Felt an hot anger towards him.

Instead of stepping next to her he leaned over her shoulder, viewed the slide. His cheek grazed hers. He viewed the slide. "And what is this?"

She frowned, hearing the merriment in his voice. Feeling the slight stubble scratch her skin. Smelling the scent of cologne or aftershave. She explained flatly, "The flower. The extended stamen, straining to release its load of nectar. Engorged with the necessity of release. Growing hard, harder and sticky from the inability to find a receiving, hungry mouth to suck the nectar from it, to suck it dry. See?" she asked innocently.

John could not suppress a soft groan, as his body reacted to her words. He leaned back from her. "Remind me not to leave my earpiece on," he chided. "You see, I do know how to be discreet." He straightened, adopted a serious expression as he turned. "Doctor Parrish, do you hold with Doctor O'Meara's theory on the genesis of the Iratus bug?"

"It...it sounds reasonable to me, colonel," Matthew stammered, unused to the sudden attention. "But then again, I am no zoologist."

"How true," John agreed, "but as I recall the plant may also hold some analgesic properties, not to mention its potential as a weapon against the Wraith. Were you aware of Doctor Beckett's findings?"

"No, Colonel Sheppard, I–"

"I think you had better check with him before you proceed to dismiss this plant as an aberration or a deadly intoxicant," John insisted, walking towards the botanist. In effect herding him out of the lab.

"Of course, of course, you are right, colonel."

John smiled, turned to find Moira staring at him. Rolling her eyes. "What?"

"What? What? Do you always swagger into someone's lab only to chase them out of it?"she demanded as he strode towards her. "Do you always engage in erotic wordplay then give the cold shoulder as if nothing had ever happened between–"

He pulled her to her feet off the stool, cutting off her rising indignation with a lengthy kiss. "That mouth of yours, Moira, can make a man want to extend his own stamen to seek that sweet, sweet nectar of yours."

"John!" she scolded, laughed. Pushing him. "What are you doing? In the cafeteria–"

"I told you, I was being discreet," he explained, pulling her back to him. "There's no need to broadcast our relationship, is there? I prefer keeping my private life private. Agreed?"

She considered. "All right. The last thing we need is a round of cafeteria gossip," she acquiesced, still doubtful.

"Exactly." He kissed her again. "I want you. All to myself. Every word, every look, every motion," he intoned quietly. "Everything between us is only between us." He kissed her again. "Are you busy now?"

She pulled out of his arms. "I...yes, no, yes, but lunch...but you just said...damn it, John, what do you want from me?"

He smiled, brushed a strand of hair from her angry face. "This." He kissed her. Released her, stepping back as scientists filled the room. "And this," he added, suddenly no longer the lover but the colonel. "Moira, would you join for me lunch? You can tell me about your theories concerning the enzyme." He waited while she debated. Wondered if she had misunderstood, or had understood but rejected his suggestions. His need.

She decided, thoughts still conflicted, but not her emotions. "That would be nice, colonel," she agreed, lifting her lap top from the desk. She walked with him towards the doorway. Deciding again. "I will try not to be too technical, or too complicated so you can understand. Wouldn't want to confuse that pretty head of yours."

He smiled, relieved. Relaxed. "Yes, we wouldn't want that, so no scientific rambling or boring exposition," he warned with a smile. "And call me John." He winked at her. "Especially if you are going to ramble on as usual."

She shook her head. "Very nice. All right...John," she tested, as if unused to the name. "Let's talk about the enzyme's evolution from plants to Wraith."