Conditioned Association4
Moira woke. Sunlight was flooding the room, bathing everything in a shimmer of gold and orange. She sat, yawned. John was sprawled next to her. Snoring loudly. "John! John!" She shoved. He snorted, rolled onto his side. Still asleep. She sighed fondly. Ran her hand up his bare arm. Cuddled against his back. "Jo-hn," she teased into his ear. Licked down his throat. She slid her hand across his waist, his hip. Down to stroke his cock but he muttered. Rolled onto his stomach. Moira frowned, freed her hand. "Spoilsport." She kissed his cheek. Reluctantly got out of the bed.
She showered. Combed her long hair. Considered carefully what to wear. Studying her body in the mirror as she dressed. Pausing to touch her abdomen. The marks on her abdomen almost gone. She stared, feeling a chill at how close she had come to losing the baby. To death. At the hands of a Wraith queen. She frowned, fingering the bruise. The cut across her cheek, an ugly red scratch. She tried to conceal it, cover it with make-up but it still was visible. Glaring against her skin. A visible reminder of the attack.
She smoothed down the royal blue V-neck shirt she wore. Adjusted the bra under it. Smirked. Resolved to get the men's attention and have them do her bidding one way or another. She turned, checking the fit of the khaki pants. Knew John would certainly notice that if no one else did.
She entered the physics lab. Walked over to Rodney. He was bent over another device, carefully setting tiny crystals into an alignment. Tiny beeps sounded. He pulled them out, tried again, muttering under his breath. "Rodney, I need you to–"
"What, what? Whatever it is it can wait! I can't be in five places at once!" he snapped, frustrated. "I just managed to figure out the calibration for this complicated son of a...oh! Moira!" He saw her. Chastened he swallowed. Unsettled. "Sorry! I was..." His gaze darted up and down her. Back to her face again.
"I can see you are busy, Rodney, but I need your help. How about in one hour?" she suggested, tone mild. Glancing down at the device, then back to him.
"Uh, sure. Of course, Moira, I, um, er, I am sorry!" he stammered, trying not to stare at the gash on her cheek. The bruise on her lip. The swells of her breasts peeking out of the shirt. "It was my fault. I should have realized that Wraith queen was here in the city! The second she came through the 'Gate! Well, at least when the Impulse Detector went off like a Christmas tree! I was going to–"
"No, Rodney, it wasn't your fault. You call it the Impulse Detector?"
"Yes. John wanted to call it a Wraith Detector, but that's not what it does at all! It blocks any subversive or subsonic energy pulses affecting the visual centers of the frontal lobe."
"That's brilliant, Rodney! If not for that device you reassembled we would never had seen through the Wraith's deception! Actually, that's what I wanted your help on...the subsonic frequency ranges of the Wraith. But not here. Someplace quiet. What about that disused room on the northwest pier?"
"Oh. The Ambassadorial Suite? It's got chairs and a table. It was supposed to be for visiting allies and for brokering treaties. Apart from our main hub, so to speak."
"It sounds perfect. Will you meet me there in an hour?" she asked sweetly.
"Um..um..okay. Moira. One hour," he fumbled, staring down at the device suddenly. Aware his gaze had been locked upon her breasts again.
She smiled. "Thank you, Rodney."
Moira found Carson in the med lab. He was hunched over a computer, going over the scans of the Wraith queen. Serious expression on his face. "Carson, I need your help."
He turned, smiled. "Of course, Moira. Anything. How do you feel?" He neared, eying the bruise, the cut on her cheek. Frowning at the injuries. Assessing.
"I'm fine, Carson. No need to fuss."
He became somber. Catching her hand in his. "I feel like such a prat, love! No, worse than that! I swear I thought that it was dead! There were no life signs, none, not even in the hibernation zones we added to the scanners! I never should have discounted your observations, your valid concerns! It's my fault, what happened to you! What could have happened to you! Och, Moira, if anything had happened to you or to wee Sheppard I could never live with myself and I–"
"No, Carson, it's not your fault!" she insisted, heading off his emotional outburst. "We never knew the full extent of a queen's powers. What we've gathered now could be, no, will be invaluable in the future. I need your help with the genetic codes. The Iratus bug DNA and the Wraith. The disparity between the sexes. But not here. A quieter place. What about the Ambassadorial Suite?" He stared blankly. "It's the disused room by the northwest pier," she clarified.
"Oh! You mean the VIP Lounge. At least that's what we called it. To receive guests of a dubious nature until we knew more about them, and they knew less about us. When?"
"An hour, please. Is that all right?"
"Yes, love. I'll be there. Are you sure you feel okay? Does that cut bother you?" He was staring at it again. At the bruise on her mouth. Concerned. Guilty.
"I'm fine, Carson, really. Thank you. An hour," she smiled, squeezed his hand reassuringly.
Moira found Ronon sparring with a group of marines. She stood, watching him defeat them all. Moving swift, sure. Body strong, in motion, but not as graceful as John moved. More brute force than calculated cunning. She waited until they had finished. "Ronon?"
The Satedan turned, smiled. Moved to her. "Moira, I...I'm sorry..." His smile faded as his gaze encompassed her. The bruise. The cut. The curves of her body in the clinging fabric of her clothes. "I failed you. I left you in harm's way. I'm so sorry...I...you could have been...the baby...you...it's my fault you are hurt now." He was staring at the floor. Miserable.
"No, Ronon." She touched his arm, luring his gaze back to hers. "It is not your fault and I am fine. So is the baby," she whispered. "You risked your life to save me. You bought me time to get to safety. How can I thank you for that? For risking your life like that? I need your help, actually," she continued, before he could answer, protest. "I have some questions about Wraith queens and only you can answer them. But not here. A quieter place. In an hour. The Ambassadorial Suite."
Ronon stared blankly. "Where?"
"The VIP Lounge?" He was silent. "The room off the northwest pier," she clarified.
"Oh. You mean the Meet and Greet. At least that's what we called it. For off-world dignitaries who would be scrutinized without realizing it. Yes. I will meet you there. One hour."
"Thank you."
Moira found Evan in the armory. Firing a P90 at a target already riddled with holes. She waited as he emptied bullets into it, venting his anger, his guilt, his sorrow. She walked over as he replaced the clip, expression stern. "Evan? I need to talk to you. Do you have a moment?"
He turned, set the gun down as he stared at her. Gaze darting from her cut, her bruise, up and down her body. Back to her face. "Moira, of course! Oh Moira, God, I am so sorry! It's my fault you were in danger! I should have realized it wasn't Aaron who came through the 'Gate with us! I brought the damn thing right to you, Moira! Can you ever forgive me?"
"Of course! Evan, it's not your fault!" She hugged him. "I am so sorry about Aaron! But you mustn't blame yourself!" She freed him.
"But you...it was with you the whole...if you had been..." he stammered, gaze locked on the cut marring her cheek. Then glancing down at her abdomen.
"I'm fine, Evan. It's not your fault. Your quick thinking saved me. You remembered the back way to the lab to circumvent the lock down. You found the quickest way to me. Thank you. I need to talk to you about Aaron, and about those back ways in the city. Can you meet me in an hour? But not here, obviously. A quiet place. The Ambassadorial Suite."
Evan met her gaze. "Where?"
"The VIP Lounge."
"Where?" he repeated.
"The Meet and Greet?" She sighed at his puzzled mien. "The room off the northwest pier."
"Oh! You mean the Hold 'Em Fold 'Em room. Got it. At least that's what we called it. For detaining allies of an indeterminate nature. To decide whether to accept or deny them. Hold them or fold them," he explained. "An hour. I'll be there, Moira. I am so sorry, I never–"
"No." She smiled. Kissed his cheek. "It wasn't your fault. I am so sorry about Aaron. Thank you for meeting me. An hour." She left.
Moira hesitated outside the conference room. She pulled down her shirt for a more generous view of her chest. She wondered how to approach her husband. How to distract him from guessing her intentions. Knew he would be inquisitive, difficult. She stared. He sat at the table, clean-shaven. Chin in his hand as he stared a computer screen. Tousled hair. A red sweatshirt and black jeans adorned him. She wondered at the absence of the usual BDUs. She entered the room. Moved to him. "John?"
He looked up at her, smiled. Gazed upon her loose hair. The royal blue V-neck shirt. The khaki pants. The shirt dipping low. The swells of her breasts filling the fabric, spilling out of it. "Moy?"
She sat on the table, scooting his computer aside. Wiggled her rear and leaned forward slightly. "Out of uniform, colonel?"
"Yeah. Figured I needed a day off. I don't deserve it but I'm taking it anyway." His gaze rested on her face. On the bruise. The cut. "How do you feel?"
"Fine. John, don't you talk like that," she admonished, touching his hand.
His gaze lowered to the teasing view of her breasts. "I...I'm trying to word this report. About this whole damn debacle. About how I almost got you and John junior killed."
"No, John. About how you got back here in time. How you followed your own protocols to the letter. How you saved me and John junior." She leaned over to kiss him. Sat back. "John, I need your help, when you are done here."
"You can have my help now, Moira. What do you need?"
"In an hour. I need a temporary lab since the Wraith lab isn't up to specs yet. I was thinking of that disused room. The Ambassadorial Suite."
"The what?"
"The VIP Lounge."
"Never heard of it."
"The Meet and Greet."
"Still cold."
"The Hold 'Em and Fold 'Em room?"
"We have a gambling hall now?"
"No!" She sighed. "The room off the northwest pier!"
"Oh! The Dumping Ground. Why didn't you say so, Moira? At least that's why I called it. Where we stash persons of interest, of questionable background until I get intel. There? Okay. I'll go now to–"
"No, not now. I need to check what equipment I will need. Then I will need your help to move it to the–"
"Equipment? I'll get some marines to get whatever you want, Moira. I'll go now to–"
"No. I'm not sure there's a proper power source. Will you meet me there in an hour?"
"We can go now, I can set the–" he offered.
"No! I need to check what I need first, okay? Geez! Can't you just meet me there in an hour, colonel?" She stood. Folded her arms under her breasts, pushing and lifting them up, together. "Besides, major, you owe me."
He was staring at her chest. It took a moment for her words to register. "Major?"
"Yes. After leaving me unsatisfied last night it's the least you can do." She turned, headed for the door. Deliberately swaying her hips, swinging her rear. "Meet me there in one hour, major."
"Whoa, whoa, there, baby!" John jumped out of his chair, broken from the distraction of her rear. He rushed ahead of her to block her exit. "What do you mean, unsatisfied? Moira? As I recall," he drawled with a smile, "we were both very, very satisfied last night."
"True," she admitted, touching his chest.
"John Sheppard has never, never left a woman unsatisfied. Never."
"Well, sweetie, this woman was. Is." She sighed. Fingers playing along his chest. "It was so quick, John. We came too quickly," she explained coyly, tilting her head.
"Well, Moy, I was rather tired, you know. I–"
"Yes, I know, sweetie, from saving my pert little ass," she agreed, causing him to smile. She stepped closer. "And you slept like a log. This morning you nearly snored the roof onto our heads! When I tried to awaken you you just rolled over like a bear. I couldn't even rouse your ordnance, John." She pouted.
He slid his arms around her. Drew her against him. Kissed her. "I find that hard to believe, baby. You could get a dead guy's cock to–"
"It wasn't hard at all, sweetie," she teased, emphasizing the word, "not hard at all. Not even close to becoming hard."
"Hmm...I see. Why don't we meet now, in the sex room. I think you need a triple, baby, or at least a generous helping of Sheppard's delight."
She smiled. "No, sweetie. Not the love nest. Not frequency or multiples. Duration."
"Ah. Duration. I see, baby." He licked his lips. "I'm fully rested now so that shouldn't be a problem. Ah...I see your game plan, baby. There's a nice long table in that room. It's secluded too. Perfect for us to have exuberant sex."
"No, John. I want to set the lab equipment there," she refuted. Realizing she had distracted him too much in the opposite direction.
"Oh, you will be setting equipment, baby, don't you worry." He kissed her. "Let's go now, sweetheart. I want you. I want you satisfied."
She pushed free. "No, John! I'm serious. Meet me there in one hour, to set the lab."
"Okay, sweetheart. Don't you worry. I'll be setting that lab so long, so hard, so deep you will be your own power source. In an hour. Repeatedly." He winked.
She laughed. "John! I'm serious! No sex! Not yet! You–"
He pulled her into his arms, kissed her. "My Moira will be always, always be satisfied." He kissed down her throat, moving the shirt off her shoulder. Paused. Saw the red bra strap. "Wow. I haven't seen this, baby...is that red satin?"
She stepped back, pulling the shirt back onto her shoulder. "Yes, but you won't see it unless you help me. One hour, John. To set the lab. Not for sex." She kissed him. "Finish your report." She quickly left to prepare. Considered her next moves, her next words.