Genetic Drift6
John stirred, awakening. Pleasantly relaxed, rested. He opened his eyes to find himself on his back, blankets twisted around him. Around Moira as she slept on top of him. He smiled. Kissed her brow and gently disentangled himself from her, from the sheets. She muttered, rolled over and cuddled in the bed, still asleep.
He slipped out of the bed, grabbing clothes on the way and quickly showered. Trying to be as quiet as possible lest he disturb her. When he emerged from the bathroom she was still curled in his bed. He watched her a moment, then left. He strolled down the hallways, absently headed for her room. Spotted Evan knocking on her door, calling her name. A smirk formed but he schooled his expression to a more neutral one.
Evan sighed, turned suddenly hearing the unmistakable boots approaching. "Colonel? Do you know where Moira is?"
John replied evenly, "She's asleep." The two gazes held, held. Until John continued down the hallway, unperturbed.
Moira woke. She rolled over, reaching, snuggling into the bed, into where John's warmth still lingered. She opened her eyes, stared at the empty room. His room. His bed. She sat up, pulling her t-shirt down, looked at the clock. "Oh shit," she remarked, seeing the late hour. She awkwardly scrambled out of the bed, found her pants, pulled them on and zipped them. Searched the sheets, blankets for her panties. Looked around the floor. Ended up on her hands and knees leaning down under the bed.
John entered his room. He smiled, closing the door. Set a plate and glass on the table. Watched her move further under the bed, enjoying the angle. "Can I help you find something, Moira?"
"Ow!" she protested as she banged her head, startled by his voice. She scooted out, stood, sheepishly smiled. "I've got a problem, John. I can't find my panties."
His smile became a grin. "I don't think that's a problem, Moira." He laughed at her scowl.
"Ah!" She circled the bed. "Why didn't you wake me? It's late! I still have to shower, change into clean clothes, get to the bio lab...oh, the report! What am I going to put in my report?" She snatched her panties off the floor, wondered how they had traveled so far, shoved them into her pocket.
"Don't worry about the report. Here, I've brought you breakfast. I thought you could sleep in."
She turned, moved to the table. Drank the juice. "Thank you. Where are my socks? My shoes? Damn...I didn't wear shoes." She sat on the bed, abruptly self-conscious as she covered her scarred foot with the other. Practically curling them under the bed. "I should have thought of that. I'll have to move quickly."
John stepped to the dresser, pulled out a pair of socks. He moved to her, knelt on the floor at her feet. "Wear these. They'll be a little big but will suffice for now."
"John–" she protested, but he gently pulled her feet to him. Slipped a sock onto one foot. She tensed, bit her lip as he drew out the other foot. Gently ran his fingers over the myriad scars marring the skin up to her ankle. He slipped the sock over her foot, met her gaze.
"It's all right, Moira. Did you really think a few scars would change how I feel?"
"I...there's more than a few. And you've never seen my foot so openly like that..." she faltered.
He smiled. "True. I was too busy looking at other areas of interest." His gaze wandered.
She smiled as he stood, pulled her to her feet. Kissed her. "I'd better go. It's late, and I'll try not to be seen," she assured him. She moved to the door. Moved back to kiss him. "Thank you, John." She grabbed the danish on the plate, took a bite. Eyed him again. His white woven shirt, black jeans. "Why are you dressed like that?" she asked round a mouthful of food.
"We're off-duty, Moira. I even get a few days of downtime." His green eyes glinted with unspoken, suddenly sensual ideas.
She frowned, as if guessing his thoughts. "Oh. Of course." She opened the door, cautiously peered up and down the hall. Stepped out of his room and jogged back to hers.
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Clad in a violet shirt and gray jeans Moira sat in the biology lab. A laptop blinked, streaming data as she was hunched over a microscope. But instead of peering through the lens she was staring at nothing, lost in memories. Some bad like the Wraith queen's horrifying revelations. Carson's confirmations. Moira recalled how she shot the queen over and over. Pushed her mind to more pleasant memories. John's warm tenderness. His understanding, his mostly gentle lovemaking last night.
"Here you are. I need to talk to you."
Startled she nearly upended the microscope. She righted it, flustered at her erotic musings. She turned in the chair to see Evan walking towards her. A serious expression on his face. "Evan?"
"You weren't in your room last night." A calm accusation.
"Wasn't I?"
"No. And you weren't this morning either. It's all right, Moira. I know where you were. Sheppard told me as much."
"What?" It was her turn to stare.
"Not in so many words, but we both knew what he meant. You went to his bed last night."
Moira swallowed, glad they were alone. "Um...yes." She frowned.
Evan sighed. "I'm sorry, Moira." He came closer, ran a hand through his hair. "I just...I'm having some trouble. I couldn't sleep a wink last night."
"Neither could I," she agreed, "until I went to..." she cut herself before the words John's bed spilled out of her mouth. Said instead, "But that is understandable, given what we endured."
"True. But when I did sleep, Moira, I did dream. I remembered. More of the memories are coming back to me now. But I still can't tell the difference and I have to know."
"Know what? Evan?" she asked, tensing.
He stood closer, his hand resting on the table. "I think we were together, Moira. I think we did have sex to save–"
"No." She stared. "We didn't. I told you–"
"Yes, but then why do I keep remembering it? I mean every little detail?" he insisted, gaze wandering over her before returning to her face.
Moira swallowed again, embarrassed. Especially after last night. With John. "You are dreaming, Evan, that's all." She turned back to the microscope. But he caught her hand on the table, stopping her.
"No. It's too vivid. I don't want to hurt you, Moira, but I don't want to lie, either. I've been thinking it was the only way to relieve that awful pain. It was killing us, don't you remember?"
"Yes, but we–"
"We could have had sex safely, Moira. Since you are seeing...since you are seeing the colonel no doubt you are on birth control, right? So if we did have sex you wouldn't have gotten pregnant anyway. We wouldn't have furthered the Wraith's experiments and saved ourselves all that pain! You knew this but you still refused to–"
"Yes, yes, but I wasn't thinking clearly, Evan! Maybe I forgot! I don't know."
"You could have saved us all of that pain if you only–"
"I'm sorry, Evan, but no! It didn't matter. I still wouldn't have betrayed him, all right?" Anger.
"You would rather we had died than–"
"No! Yes! No! What do you want from me?" she snapped, yanking her hand away from his.
"The truth! Because after all those refusals I remember the pain. The Wraith manipulating us. No, the Wraith manipulating you! Your mind!"
"We were stronger. We denied–"
"I don't think so! Why else do I have such vivid memories? The feel of your mouth on mine."
"You kissed me to stop the pain, remember?"
"The feel of your body beneath mine."
"You were on top of me to stop the pain for a moment! That's all!"
"It's too vivid, Moira," he insisted, voice serious, low. Gaze intense now, boring into her. "I clearly can see your naked body beneath mine, writhing beneath me. I took you. You were moaning, sometimes John's name, sometimes mine, and I knew I should stop. I knew I should stop but I couldn't. I just couldn't stop myself from entering your–"
"No!" Moira shoved the microscope away from her, met his gaze but it was wondering over her body in a most salacious manner. "Evan!" He raised his eyes to hers. She stood, moved away from him, turned her back to him. Hugged herself. "It's just a, a hormonal response to what we endured! What she, they wanted us to force us to do! Their manipulations of our, our senses, our pain and pleasure centers! A dream. A fantasy. I can prove it!"
"How?" He was behind her now, staring at the long fall of her ponytail. Following its downward direction towards the small of her back, towards her rear.
She turned to him, angry, flushed. "In this...so-called memory of yours, did I have any scars?"
"Scars? You have scars?" His gaze wandered again.
"Yes! And if you don't remember them then it proves you never–"
He smiled. "Maybe I was too busy to see them. And the room was very dark."
"These you would see. And no, not just my foot. An obvious guess but you've never see how ugly it is." She recalled John's gaze, his gentle caresses, his loan of his socks. His unperturbed appraisal. She held onto that memory, seeking strength. Solace.
"That is hardly proof, Moira. I don't remember a detailed examination of your body, just the impulsive rush of entering–"
"No! It's just a fantasy! Nothing more! If what I'm saying isn't proof enough I have the medical proof as well, all right? Because it was a very in depth examination! Happy now? Why are you insisting on all of this now? We're here! We're safe! Nothing–"
"Because it's all I can think about," he admitted sheepishly. Embarrassed.
She shook her head. "Then think of something else! Get over it!"
"How?" he demanded, her anger fueling his.
"I don't know! Take a cold shower!" She crossed to the table. Shut off the laptop.
He laughed, but it sounded harsh. "That won't even–"
"Get it out of your system, Evan! I don't want to lose you as a friend," she earnestly stated. "Take a cold shower. Find another woman and have sex with her. That shouldn't be too difficult for you." She cursed silently at his smile. Strode out of the lab.
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John was sitting across from Ronon in the cafeteria. "Do you think we will run into any other enclaves of Wraith worshipers?"
Ronon chewed, swallowed. Nodded. "Maybe. It would not surprise me. At least we know what to do when to find them."
John shook his head. "No. I only gave the shoot to kill order because they would not have let us go. Only as a last defense."
"Right."
"I'm serious, Ronon," John corrected, annoyed at the Satedan's flippancy. "Each situation is different. I won't give that order unless absolutely necessary."
"Right," Ronon repeated. "We both know what it's really like out there, Sheppard. It's kill or be killed. There's no reason to pretend otherwise."
"Damn it, Ronon, I won't have you shooting everyone in sight just because you think they might worship the–"
"May I join you?" Moira asked, interrupting.
"Of course." John scooted over to make room but Moira remained standing, eying his food, his drink. Wordlessly she lifted the beer to his lips, drank. Grimaced.
"Yuck," she commented, causing the men to smile. She drank more. More. Downing the entire bottle. Wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Set the bottle down on the table. "How do you drink that stuff?" she complained. Drank from a water bottle she had taken from the counter to cleanse her mouth.
John had been staring, open-mouth as she had guzzled his beer. "Well, I usually don't chug it all at once unless I've had a really bad day. Moira?"
"Dutch courage," she explained. Snatched a French-fry from his plate, turned to see Ronon watching, still grinning at her. "Hey, Ronon."
"Hey," he replied, nonplused.
Moira ate the French-fry, grabbed another. Touched John's shoulder. Strolled out of the cafeteria without another word.
"Huh. Is she okay?" Ronon asked.
"I...I don't know," John rejoined, staring after her in amazed amusement.
"Is that normal?"
"For her? No."
"Why did she–"
"I don't know," John repeated, bewildered. "But I had better find out."
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Moira imbibed the stolen French-fry, entered the infirmary. She passed people, stood near Carson as he was briskly entering data on a computer. She waited. Waited. Coughed.
Carson glanced at her. "Moira. Can I help you?"
"I need to talk to you. Privately."
"Privately? Are you feeling–"
"Fine. No, it's not me. I'm fine."
"All right." Carson finished his notes. "This way." Puzzled he led her towards the storage units, pulled two chairs and sat in one. "Here." He patted the chair. "What's wrong, love?"
Moira took the other chair, shifted on its hard surface. "Something's wrong with, with Evan."
"What makes you say that?"
"He...um...he isn't acting like himself."
"How so? Has he tried to harm you or–" Carson's gaze darkened.
"No! Nothing like that!"
"I didn't think so. If he had threatened you in any way you would tell John, wouldn't you?"
"Yes." She studied her hands. "He's having trouble. Trouble recovering. I mean, I'm fine now. I mean, I'm still shaken up and all, but I'm fine. I don't feel the need for any more emotional meltdowns, thank goodness! But he...there are some things he can't or won't let go. He's convinced we...did something which we did not. And he won't believe me! He thinks it's true because he claims to remember it. But it is only a dream. A fantasy...nothing! Nothing like that happened, I know for an absolute fact."
"I see," Carson encouraged, guessing the import of her words without her actually saying it.
"Why isn't he all right, Carson? I'm all right. And I had it worse than he did! He, he says he keeps thinking of me...in a certain...um...not professional way. Which has never happened before this whole thing...so...and nothing happened between us. I know for certain. The medical exam was quite clear on...anyway, I don't have the same trouble."
Carson smiled. "So you're telling me that Evan has developed a crush on you, Moira?"
Her gaze shot up to him. "Carson! It's not funny! I wish it was that simple! I wish...I don't know what to do! Why isn't he fine like I am?"
"John," Carson answered simply.
"What?" Moira whirled in the chair, but he was nowhere in sight.
"No. He's not here. He's the reason, Moira."
She looked back at him. "What?" she repeated.
Carson smiled, but sniffed. "Have you been drinking?"
"What? Oh...yes. I needed to summon the courage to talk to you about, about this."
"Did you eat any–"
"A little. Explain, please," she insisted.
Carson smiled. "I can't blame you, Moira. Me, I would have been under the table hours ago. After what you endured."
"John?" she prompted.
"Oh, yes. Simply put, you're fine because you have John. Because you have someone in your life, in your mind to hold onto when you need that. During the worst of it. During the rest. Now that you are back here...Evan...doesn't. He isn't seeing anyone, is he?"
"No. I don't think so." She sighed. "So he's fixated on me because he thinks we...but I'm not fixated on him."
"John," the doctor repeated. "And in some ways it may have been worse for Evan. Not to belittle what you endured, love, but for the male of the species–"
"The hormonal urges would be...um...worse?" she guessed. Winced at the thought.
"Aye. Stronger. While you had John to cling to in your mind, he only had you."
Moira sighed again. "Damn it. How do we get past this, Carson? I don't want to lose him as a friend, as my team leader. Carson," she leaned close, touched his arm. "Would you talk to him?"
"Me? I wouldn't know how to broach the subject."
"Please, Carson! I don't know what to do! He won't listen to me. And no, we can't go to Heightmeyer about this. It's too...um...embarrassing. And I...I feel more comfortable talking to you. I'm sorry, but I trust you. And Evan would probably prefer discussing this particular, um, problem with a man. A doctor. Not a woman." She burped. "Oh! Excuse me!" She sat back, laughed suddenly. "Sorry! I'm not used to–"
"All right," he acquiesced. "Go and get something to eat. Then go lay down before you fall down, Moira. I'll see what I can do about Evan." Carson shook his head.
"Really?" She stood as he did. "Thank you, Carson!" She hugged him, startling him. Kissed his cheek. "You are the best, Carson!" She wobbled. Touched the chair as she stepped back. "Wow...this stuff is...potent."
"You're not used to it, love, and you need to eat something," Carson said, amused.
Her eyes widened. She covered her mouth, gasped. Lowered her hand. "Am I drunk? What if I blurt something out? Carson, what if I blurt it out? To John! To John Sheppard!" she clarified needlessly. "I'm seeing him, you know. He'll not be too happy about, about this."
"To say the least," Carson agreed. "Go get something to eat, then sleep this off, Moira. You'll be fine, trust me."
"Okay, okay, Doctor Beckett. I can do this," she agreed as he took her arm, steered her towards the doorway. "I just have to avoid John. John Sheppard. That's all. Easy. Easy peasy, right?" She laughed. "That is so cute, Carson...so Scottish and cute and...oh my, sorry! Avoid John. Avoid John, okay, sir, that's my mission."
Carson shook his head, trying not to laugh. "Go on, then, Doctor O'Meara." He tapped his earpiece. "Could you locate Major Lorne for me, son? I need to see him."
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Moira walked down the hallway, swaying once or twice. Seeing John she froze, quickly went the other way. He had seen her, moved to follow. Moira quickly rounded the corner, stumbled into a transporter and ignored him as he called her name. She traveled quickly, got lost. Found her way to the cafeteria. She selected a sandwich, a bottle of water, made her way to a table. Stumbled into another table, muttered her apologies. Slid into a chair, drank. Ate a few bites, scanning the room for Evan.
"Moira? What the hell is going on?" John demanded, sitting across from her. Finally tracking her erratic movements to find her.
"John. Nothing, John. Just...lunch." She indicated the food. Blinked. Smiled. His steady gaze made her add, "I'm just a little woozy, that's all." She pushed the plate aside, coiled a strand of her hair in her fingers. Rested her elbows on the table, leaning towards him. "Do you know, John? Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard?"
"Know what?" he asked, not knowing whether to be amused or concerned.
She smiled at him. "Do you know," she said seriously, "that you are so gorgeous that sometimes I forget to breath when I look at you?"
"Only sometimes?" he teased, as her foot brushed his ankle under the table. "How many beers have you had, Moira?"
She laughed. "Only the one."
"Wow," he commented, smiling.
"No wonder you've had so many women. Half of Atlantis must be chasing after you, hmm? Or wait, is it only off-world women? I was only told it was lots. Lots of women."
"What?" he asked, startled. "Who–"
"Who hasn't? Oh everyone, John. John Sheppard. Ford, Evan, it's a lot of people who told me about your lots of women," she informed him. Pointed at him. "But I have you now, right?"
"Yes," he replied, bewildered. "What else did Evan say?"
She sat back, licked her lips. "Oh shit. I can't talk about Evan. Ah, John...you were so very, very wonderful last night," she purred.
"Moira," he cautioned, "what did–"
"No, it's true!" she exclaimed, attracting momentary attention. "You really did know the difference between making love and just sex. But it's not surprising since you've had so many lots of women," she slightly slurred. "Oh," she touched his hand, "you were so kind about my foot! The gross one. So very kind about it...you gave me your socks, John..." She felt tears, as if overcome by the gift, "you're the only one who knows about the scars. All of them. Except for Carson. Carson Beckett. He's a doctor, you know."
"I know," he agreed. Stood. "Come on. I think you need to sleep this off, Moira."
"Sleep what off? The socks? Oh John Sheppard," she purred, voice slowing over his name, "are you asking me to bed?" She smiled, gaze wandering over his body, back to his bemused expression. "Oops, that wasn't discreet, was it?" She stood, glancing at the people in the cafeteria. "Sorry, sorry, John. Oops, sorry, colonel. Colonel Sheppard."
"Maybe you should eat some more of that sandwich," John suggested, trying not to laugh.
"I'm not hungry. I'll go. Go." She stumbled away from the table backwards. "I can't talk to you, John. Oh! Oh, that's right!" she exclaimed. "I have to avoid you, yes, I remember now!"
"Avoid me? Why?" He started to follow her.
"No, no, no time to avoid I have to tell you...no...that's not right..." She stumbled backwards, thinking. "I have to kiss those luscious, luscious lips of yours to...no..." She giggled. "I just want to do that...no. I have to avoid those lovely, lovely lips of yours to...wow. This is really strong stuff that you drink, colonel."
John grinned, following as she turned and made her way out of the cafeteria. She ran her hand along the wall to support herself. Until John slid his arm around her waist, guided her himself.
"Come on, you lush. You need to–"
"Tempus fugit, John! Did you know if those cows had been real they would have been the subspecies of Pelorovis oldowayensis? A possibly remnant population or an example of genetic drift? Imagine that!" She laughed. "But if they had been true cattle, a true artiodactyl with moon-shaped cusps on their teeth they would have been more recent. True bovids are much later than the earlier extinct forms."
John sighed, guided her into her room. "I can honestly say a drunk paleozoologist is not what I expected this afternoon."
She turned to him as he closed the door, flung herself against him. Kissed him sloppily. "Hmm, John...weren't you going to bed me put?"
He smiled. "Don't tempt me, Moira."
"Oh! Damn!" She freed herself, stepped backwards and hit the bed. Sat. "I can't avoid you. I mean I can't talk to you. Go away!"
He studied her. "Why? Why do you need to avoid me? Why can't you talk to me?"
"Wow! This is weird. I wonder if it would suppress the hormonal urges in males. John, you're a male. Do you find when you drink this stuff your hormonal urges are eradicated, or at least suppressed, maybe even modified and could dampen the erotic or even pseudo-erotic fixations you may or may not create?" His puzzled stare made her shrug. "Or not. It wouldn't enhance them, would it? What makes the male hormonal urges go into overdrive or into at least an erotic fixation based on imaginary events or not? What? Come here," she held out her hand. "Let's see if you are impaired by the alcoholic excesses of a...no, no that's ridiculous! I'm the female, you're the hold onto guy. He had no one Carson said. It was John. I had to hold onto John to fight the rest but he didn't have any oh damn I knew this wasn't a good idea I can't talk to you avoid you go away."
John tried to follow her convoluted words, seeking answers. He sat next to her. "What? I know there's something in there I should know. Talk slower, Moira."
"Screw talking, just mate me, John Colonel!" She kissed him, drew him down on top of her as she fell back against the bed.
"So much for avoidance," he laughed, returning her kisses. He sat up. "Moira? What can't you tell me?"
"Hmm?" She smiled, touched his leg, closing her eyes. "Hmm...Carson said to lay down and he was right wow the room is spinning. Why do all these men want me to lay down?"
"What men?" John asked, suspicious. Suspecting. "Moira, what men?" He gently nudged her.
She opened her eyes, smiled. "What men? Where?"
"What men, what man wants you to lay down?" he asked, amusement fleeing.
"Lay down? What man wants me to lay down? Oh! I see! You want me to lay down. I see. Oh John, you were so very, very wonderful last night in your bed to lay down..." she babbled.
"Moira, focus," he urged, leaning down to her. "What other man? Besides me?"
"Other man? Oh John, there is no other man besides you!" she gushed, words slipping out of her in an emotional rush now, heedless. "Oh John, oh John there is no other man but you, you! I love you, John, I love you! There is no there other man like you, never has been, never will be! Oh! You mean the other man who wants lay down me but those damn hormonal urges not really his fault since it was a pulse, no, subsonic, no, a vibration to–"
"Moira!" John snapped, startled by her abrupt declaration, not surprised but startled all the same. "Who?" He gently nudged her again. "Moira? Moira, was it Lorne?" He kissed her. She responded, pulling him closer. "Who? I know it was Lorne but I have to know exactly what he said, what he did. Moira?"
"Nothing happened," she said softly, sleepily. "I wouldn't allow it to hurt you, John. I shot the queen to save you. To keep you from that torture."
"Not then, Moira, now. Now. Did something happen now?" he persisted.
"Now? You want something happen now? I want something happen now too John...you can even move faster harder now to me," she slurred, eyes closing. "Didn't enter. Did not enter, no way, no fucking way. No scars. Only John sees my scars."
He bent closer as her voice became softer, softer still. "What? Moira? I have to know."
She rolled onto her side, scooting up to the pillows. "Don't tell, don't tell John because he won't know. Didn't enter. No enter. Never. Never hurt John. I only want John but I tell John I love John but he has lots of women lots of women my bed I went to his bed I want hold onto John."
"Moira?" He shook her shoulder. She snorted, was out cold. He sighed, caressed her shoulder, mulling her words. Uncertain. Suspicious. Confident she hadn't been harmed but knew something had happened to upset her. Enough for her to down his beer all in one go. Enough for her to try to avoid him. Not tell him. Instead other things had spilled out of her. But she had talked to Carson. He stood. Left after a few moments.