Conditioned Association2
John keyed in the last code. Tapped the enter button. He sighed, looked over as Rodney McKay entered his. The system re-booted. Scrolling data appeared. Rivers of colors, of figures, of numbers. A schematic of the entire city appeared. Grid by grid. Flashing green to indicate the re-set of each section. Secure. John tapped his earpiece. "Citywide, lieutenant." He swallowed. "This is Colonel Sheppard. Attention all Atlantis personnel. Lock down is over. I repeat, lock down is over. The city is secure. All threats eliminated. All SOP and regulation protocols resume. Sheppard out." He tapped the earpiece. "Reynolds, report."
"Sir. Disposing of the last bits now, sir," Jason Reynolds said, grimacing as he watched his men collecting the messy, scattered remains of the Wraith. "I will need your access codes to re-secure the Wraith lab."
"Copy. On my way. Sheppard out." He tapped the sequence again. Sighed. Stared at nothing. Mind sharply focused on his wife, his child. "Lorne," he said suddenly. "Lorne should be back shortly with Lieutenant Josephes' body. Alert Carson when he gets here. Then get some rest, Rodney."
Rodney clasped his hand on John's shoulder. "You too, John. We're secure now. All we need to do is to insert Elizabeth's codes when she gets back. You, you are certain that Moira and the kid are okay?"
"Yeah. They're both okay."
"Thank God! I...I should have realized sooner, when the Impulse Blocker went off like a Christmas tree, the totality of the disruption wave I could have increased it sooner and then we–"
John eyed him. "You mean the Wraith Detector?"
"No. It's called the Impulse Blocker, or IB for short. It doesn't so much as detect Wraith as much as it detects, er, blocks subsonic, low level sequences that can create illusions or block visual perceptions in the frontal lobe to–"
"Like a Wraith. Only a Wraith can emit them. So it's a Wraith Detector, or WD, for short. You're not allowed to name anything, remember? Get some rest." He headed out of the control room.
"You too, John!" Rodney called. Staring after his friend. "Impulse Blocker," he muttered.
John strode to the Wraith lab, viewed the last of the carnage being cleared away. The body parts were being destroyed, incinerated in the main lab. He grimaced, stepped round a grisly pool of gore and blood. Pieces of brain sticking to the wall. Drops of Moira's blood still shining on the floor, leading to the inner Wraith lab. The lab that had saved her life. Their son's life.
"Sir? This is the last of it," Jason assured.
"Good. Good work, major." John moved to the inner lab. He set the numeric code. Pressed his hand to the panel. It turned from green to red. Chimed. The door closed. He entered his code again. Heard the door securely lock. "Finish here and then stand down. Dismissed for twenty-four."
"Thank you, sir. Um, sir, is Doctor Sheppard all right?"
It took John a moment t realize he was asking after Moira. He nodded. "Yes. She's fine. Thank you." John left, wearily trod to the infirmary. He stared, seeing the empty bed. Quelled a surge of panic. "Carson?" He walked over as Carson hastily covered a body on another bed.
"Lieutenant Josephes, poor lad," he quickly informed. "Moira's safe in your rooms. I took her there myself, before she could see this. I don't want you to see this either, John."
"You need to get some rest, doc," he noted.
"Aye, after this. Go to Moira, John. She's fine. Eating heartily. There's a sandwich for you but I think you may miss out on it if you don't hurry."
John smiled briefly. "That's a good sign, then?"
"Yes. She's fine. Both of them are fine. She's alert. Awake. Hungry. Go."
"Let me see." He indicated the body.
"No. You don't need to see–"
"Moira doesn't need to see this. I do. It's my responsibility."
Carson sighed. Drew back the sheet. John stared grimly at the young man. His head lolling at an odd angle. Face still full of fright, frozen forever in terror. Blue eyes staring wide, filming over as death claimed him. "It was quick. He didn't feel a thing. The neck was broken instantly," Carson informed.
"No...just sheer terror before the end," John noted.
Carson covered the body. "Go to Moira," he insisted. "There's nothing more you can do here."
"Get some rest, doc."
John trudged to his quarters. Saw Ronon Dex standing guard. Stoic. Bruise marks of a deep bluish black ringing his throat like a gruesome necklace.
"Sheppard," Ronon croaked, voice still raw. He straightened. "I failed you. I tried but–"
"You did good, buddy," John said, ignoring the flare of resentment, anger. The failure to defend Moira. What could have happened to her if not for her own quick thinking.
"No. I failed. I couldn't kill it. I didn't realize it was with us until it was too late. Moira...Moira stayed to help me. She should have run but she stayed...I couldn't kill it. I barely slowed it down, I..." The Satedan's voice was emotional, guilt-ridden.
"Moira's stubborn. You did a number on that thing. Softened it, weakened it enough so I could kill it. More importantly you bought Moira time. Time to get to the safety of the Wraith lab and lock herself in. You did good."
"Not good enough, John. I'm sorry."
John held the other man's gaze for a moment. "Get some rest. I'm here now." Ronon nodded, limped down the hallway. John watched him go. Frowned. Entered his room. Crossed to theirs. He walked slowly. Moira was seated at the table, instead of on the bed where the blankets were folded down invitingly. She was finishing her sandwich, staring at nothing.
Moira swallowed. Sipped some water. Turned suddenly. "John." She smiled. Pulled out a chair. "Please. You need to eat. Are your hands clean?"
He stared, uncomprehending. The normalcy of the scene startling after so much horror, fear, death. He looked down at his himself. "Oh." He was covered in blood and gore. Shirt and arms splattered with it. Pants nearly drenched. Stained darkly. "No wonder people were giving me strange looks," he muttered.
She smiled. "Yes, you do look a fright. Right out of a B-grade horror movie."
He eyed his hands. Turning them over to view his palms. They were relatively clean. He remembered scrubbing them before touching Moira in the infirmary.
"Good enough. Come here, sweetie."
He plopped down onto the empty chair.
She shoved a plate towards him. A sandwich. Fries. "Meleagris gallapavo mutatis mutandis. Turkey, with the necessary changes. Just how you like it."
"I'm not that hungry, Moy, I–" But his stomach growled, refuting his words. His lips quirked. "Okay, maybe I can eat a little."
"And I know you need this." She set a bottle of beer in front of him. Smirked as his eyes lit up.
He smiled. Met her gaze. "God, yes! Moira, I love you!" She laughed as he opened it, took a gulping swallow. Adam's apple bobbing as he tilted his head back. Scruff lining his jaw, his throat. Lips pursed on the bottle's upturned neck. Strong hand clutching it securely. Long fingers wrapped around it. He freed it, smacked his lips in pure satisfaction. Ran his tongue over them. Sighed happily. He lifted the sandwich. Took a big bite. Lettuce crunched. Ranch dressing squirted. He hummed his enjoyment. Food had never tasted so good. He chewed, chewed. Swallowed. Took another long sip of beer. Caught her staring at him. Met her gaze. "What?" Saw her admiring expression. Love. Desire.
Moira leaned close. Closer. Lightly brushed his lips with hers. Licked the corner of his mouth where a blob of Ranch dressing rested. Her tongue darting in and out, captivating him. She sat back. "Messy." She ate a French fry.
He smiled. Downed the last of the beer. Pouted. "Only one?"
She rolled her eyes, but produced another bottle from behind some flowers. "There. But you need to finish your sandwich."
"No problem, sweetheart. I'm ravenous."
She smiled coyly. Touched his thigh for a moment. "Really?"
He caught her innuendo, flirtation. Gave her an admonishing look. Attacked the sandwich with gusto now. Grabbed a handful of fries from her plate.
"Hey, flyboy!" she protested.
He grinned. "All's fair, baby," he retorted. "Stop staring at me! I am not on the menu." He considered. "At least not yet."
She pouted. "But I love watching you eat. I love watching you, sweetie. Especially when you are ravenous."
He gave her a stern look, but smiled. Gaze now wandering over her. The clean gray t-shirt hugging her breasts. Her waist. Her hips encased in gray slacks. Her ponytail trapping her clean hair. Her breasts again, outlined deliciously in the fabric. He met her gaze. She sipped some water. Licked her lips. He finished eating, trying to suppress a rush of desire. He ate the last of the fries. Drank some beer, sipping now. Savoring. He sat back finally, raised a brow. "So? I know that look, Moy. What?"
Moira opened her laptop. "First you need to get cleaned up, colonel. Head to toes. Then we need to see the flash drive."
"Now? The fourth message," he realized sourly. "Don't want to."
"We may as well get it over with, John," she retorted.
He sighed. "All I want to do is to crawl into that bed with you, Moira. But I'll get cleaned up first. You need to rest. Not work. Sleep." He leaned close, kissed her. Stood. Eyed her. Smiled suddenly. "Care to join me?"
"When you are clean. Now scoot!"
He sighed. Entered his room. He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. Felt a revulsion that had nothing to do with his gore-encrusted clothing. His bloody skin. He quickly stripped, dumping his clothes in a heap over his boots. Stepped into the hot water. Let it pour over him, pound him. Every muscle suddenly ached and he was so tired. He scrubbed every inch of his skin, washed his hair. Tried not to think of anything. But his thoughts flitted all over. To Moira. Their baby. The Wraith who had invaded Atlantis. To Moira's desirous look. He almost wished she was with him. Chided himself for having sexual ideas now. He lingered, hoping she would fall asleep. He did not want to look at the flash drive. At yet another message from his dark side, alternate self.
Moira heard the water running, running. Still running. She smiled. Knew he was evading her. She was very tempted to join him but refrained. She waited, thoughts scattering. Emotions threatening. The startling news about the baby she carried. Having not one ATA gene but two. She had no idea what it could mean, nor had Carson. She pondered, pondered, but worry was taking over and she shunted the information aside. Focused on John. Clung to him. Picturing him in the shower. Recalled him eating. Drinking. The way he had killed that Wraith. She rose, moved to change her clothes.
John stepped out of the shower at last. He dried off, using two towels. Combed his hair. Fussed with it. Stroked his chin, his jaw. The stubbly scruff. Smiled rakishly. Knew that Moira liked him that way sometimes. Her rough and ready soldier. Making her wild, vividly arousing her. He swore, trying to block the sexual desires again. He pulled off his wedding ring. Saw a spot of blood on the gold band. He scrubbed it clean. Meticulously.
Moira heard the sink now, the water. Hoped he wasn't shaving. Wanted him all scruffy and wild. Rough to the touch. The sensations turned her on, his masculine smell. The feel of his roughness on her naked skin. She shifted, trying to quell her desire. Waited for him.
John dried off his wedding ring. Slipped it back onto his finger. Still lingering. Curious why she hadn't yet bothered him or interrupted. Realized she knew he needed some privacy. He smiled. He fussed with his hair again. Rubbed his chin. Emerged to pull on a faded red t-shirt, blue and red checkered pajama bottoms. He padded out on bare feet to their room. Glanced longingly at the bed. But Moira was still sitting at the table. Her hair was loose, beckoning his fingers. She was clad in her sabertooth cat pajamas. Fuzzy blue socks on her feet.
Moira looked over, smiled at him. "John."
He neared, pouting. Petulant. "Moira," he whined, "can't we just go to bed?"
"No, sweetie. Flash drive first. Please, John. Let's get this done, shall we?"
He sighed. Stood unmoving. She just stared at him expectantly. He sighed heavily. "Fine." He trudged back to his room.