Genetic Drift7
Evan ran. He jogged up and down the city's upper levels. Shoes clanging on the metal walkways high above the hallways. Away from the city's busier sections. Activity. He ran in a steady gait, stretching muscles, straining nerves as he tried to escape his wandering thoughts. The argument with Moira. His disbelief. Her adamant denials. His own confusion over what he felt, what he thought he felt, remembered.
He slowed, sore. Tired. Sweaty. Strolled at last to the lower levels and heard himself being paged on the comm. Sighed. He decided not to stop and shower, change. Instead went directly to the infirmary. Passed a few nurses who smiled at him. Approached Carson as he was examining a vial of blood. "Sorry, doc. I was running. What's up?"
Carson frowned at the vial, set it aside. "In here." He led Evan into a private room. Shut the door. Folded his arms across his chest, looking rather threatening in his white lab coat.
"Um...is there something wrong, doc?" Evan asked, puzzled. A little alarmed.
"Yes. No, nothing like that," he reassured. "Sit down. We need to have a wee chat."
"A wee chat?" Evan asked, raising a brow, perplexed. He sat on the bed, frowned. "About?"
"You really don't know? This morning?" Carson prompted. At Evan's silence he continued. "Moira?" He saw sudden realization, memory. Annoyance. "She asked me to speak to you. She is concerned."
"Frankly, doc, it's none of your business. It's between Moira and myself."
"True," the doctor agreed, "but she came to me. She doesn't want to lose your friendship. Look, Evan...I have gleaned what you two endured. And it is perfectly understandable for you to have, um, shall we say, an emotional or even a physical attachment to–"
"I don't want to talk about this!" Evan snapped, moving to his feet.
"Neither do I. Neither did she, but she was upset enough to get drunk to summon up the nerve to talk to me about it!" Carson replied, losing patience.
"What? Moira's never drunk!" Evan rejected.
"Exactly. You really upset her, Evan. I'm sure you didn't mean to upset her. You are very upset yourself. Naturally you are having reactions to what you two endured. The mind can mix up memories with fantasies very easily. Especially when both have been tampered with by–"
"She got drunk?" Evan said, still not believing. Still startled. Angered that she had even discussed it with someone else.
"Yes. And if she blurts anything out...even just a few words here and there, inadvertently..."
"Colonel Sheppard," Evan realized glumly. Sat back down on the bed. "Oh shit."
"Exactly," Carson agreed. "Even if she doesn't say anything but your name he'll know something's not right. He's a smart man. He'll put the pieces together, but more than likely he'll jump to the wrong conclusion."
Evan sighed, cursed silently. "And after what he saw before...shit. He will shoot me for sure. Why the hell did Moira have to tell you any of this in the first place? I haven't done anything! I would never hurt Moira! I...I just...I don't believe what she says. I know what I remember!"
"You do? Or is it just a mix of memory and fantasy? Of forced manipulations and hormonal urges? You have feelings for her," Carson stated, "and that is mixed with these false memories and natural hormonal reactions."
"No! I mean I don't have feelings for her! At least I didn't...not until...look, I'm not even sure those memories are false, doc!" He met the doctor's gaze uneasily. "Did she tell you everything?"
"No. She told me enough. Yes, she was that upset. It's not completely your fault, Evan, but you do need to believe her. And to respect her."
"I do! Respect her, I mean. I just can't quite believe her when it's so fucking vivid."
"Carson!" John's voice bellowed across the infirmary.
Carson sighed. "Oh great, that's just bloody great! Stay here." Carson shook his head, exited closing the door behind him. "Why am I all of a sudden the bloody counselor?" he muttered.
"Colonel Sheppard, what is it now?" he asked as John was heading straight for him.
John reached him. Glared. "You tell me. Exactly. I know. About Moira."
"Do you now? That's a good bluff, colonel. But if you knew exactly you wouldn't be asking me, would you?"
"Crap," John muttered. "What happened to her this morning? Something made her get drunk enough to tell you but she won't tell me. At least not clearly. Have you ever tried to understand a rambling, drunken paleozoologist? It's not easy, believe me! Where the hell is Lorne?"
"John, calm down. There's no need–"
"Calm down? Do I need to calm down, Carson? What upset her? I've never seen her like this! She was fine yesterday, fine last night. Fine earlier this morning until she went to the bio lab! Lorne did something, I know it! Said something? I swear if he hurt her I'll–"
"He wouldn't hurt her, John!" Carson stated. "Calm down! What they endured has repercussions, that is all! More so for Evan than for Moira, because she has you. All right?"
"I don't understand. What does that have to do with this? What did he do? What did he say? Look, she, she told me nothing happened on that planet and I believe her. So something happened now. Today. Here."
"Yes," Carson relented, "something happened today. A conversation only," he held up his hand, forestalling John. "That's all. If it had been anything else I would tell you. Moira would have told you. You need to just leave it be, John. It will straighten itself out."
"Leave it be?" John shook his head. "Hell, no. You told me that before, remember? To leave her be. Well, guess what, doc, that was the wrong call. She needed me. She came to me. To my room. To my bed. To my arms. So I can't leave this now. I won't." He considered her rambling words. "I don't know what he said, but it upset her. So much she won't tell me because of how I'll react when I hear what he..." Anger flashed in his eyes. He looked at the closed door, suddenly realizing. Pushed past Carson. "Lorne!" he shouted.
"No! John, it's not like that! Bloody hell!" Carson swore.
The door opened. Evan stepped out of the room, faced his superior officer. "Sir?"
John restrained himself. Every instinct told him to rush the man, to punch, to hit, to fight. Moira's disjointed words clicking into place. "What the hell did you say to her?"
"I wouldn't hurt her, colonel," Evan replied calmly.
"Tell me! What did you say to her?" John ordered. His hand slid down but he had no holster. No gun.
"John, I told you, nothing happened! Why do you think Moira wouldn't tell you? She doesn't want this!" Carson tried to intervene, but both men ignored him.
"What do you want with her anyway?" John demanded.
"I want to fuck her!" Evan informed her angrily. "Happy now! I want to sleep with her but instead she went to your bed, your arms, called out your name over and over! Guess I'll have to wait now for you to dump her and move onto the next."
"You son of a–"
"No!" Carson restrained John as Evan passed him. The two men glared at each other. "Colonel, he doesn't mean it! It's all in his head, a sensory illusion created by the Wraith."
"Let go." John's voice was low, dangerous.
"No. It's not Evan's fault. It's a reaction to the painful indoctrination of the–"
"Let go. Now," John repeated. "I won't do anything."
Carson released him. "Don't, John. It's an after effect of what they endured, were forced to endure. What the Wraith tried to force them to do but they resisted. Resisted at quite a cost. The subsonic pulse was primed to force urges, hormonal urges to force them to mate, to escape the pain. But they resisted. Both of them. Moira's fine because she loves you, John. Only wants you. Evan's subconscious is still rattled by the urges and dreams. That is all."
John tried to listen past his anger, his fury. Jealousy and surprise tangled. He forced himself to listen, to think. "Is that so?"
"Yes. Your reaction will only make things worse, John. Give it time. They can work it out."
"They? I'm not letting him near her, Carson! He won't have a chance to even touch her, much less try to convince her of–"
"He won't. He won't hurt her. Do you think I would have kept silent if I thought he might? Give it time. Don't do anything stupid, John." He grabbed the other man's arm, forced him to meet his gaze. "Nothing is going to happen. He won't hurt her. And she loves you. End of story."
"Some story, doc," he muttered. He ran a hand through his hair, sighed. "Now what?"
"Go cool down. Check on Moira."
"She's out cold in her room. One beer and she was–"
Carson nodded. "Aye, I know. Empty stomach, stress, plus she's not used to alcohol. Promise me you won't do anything stupid, John."
"I won't. All right? I'll go check on Moira."
"Good man. Take her these." Carson turned, handed him some aspirin. "She'll need it."
"So will I," he muttered, shaking his head.
**********************************************************************
Moira groaned, rolled over on the bed. She tasted cotton. Realized it was her dry mouth. She winced. A dull ache filled her head. She opened her eyes, squinted at the light. Memory flooded back in a rush. "Shit!" She sat up, moaned, touched her head. The swift motion made her dizzy. She looked around the room. Swallowed. "John."
He was watching her, sitting at the table. "Here." He stood, moved to the bed. Handed her the aspirin, a glass of water "One beer..." he mused, shaking his head as she grimaced, took the pills. Drank the water. "Remind me to never take you to a bar."
"I don't want to do that ever again." She folded her legs up beneath her. "Oh shit. What did I...oh no!"
He smiled. "You said quite a lot."
"I'm sorry."
"No. Some of it was nice." He sat near her. "Very nice, very flattering. Some of it...not so much."
"Sorry," she repeated, trying to remember.
"Just for the record, Moira, there haven't been lots of women. Some, certainly, but not lots," he corrected.
"I'm sorry, John!" She touched his thigh. "I didn't know exactly what I was saying, but, but...oh no, you didn't shoot Evan, did you?" At his silence she said, "John? You, you didn't hit him, did you? It's not his fault, really! It's not...it's a, a hormonal–"
"I know. Carson explained."
"Carson? He...you..." she stammered, embarrassed.
"I can see why you wouldn't want to tell me, Moira, because, believe me, I would have taken care of it in my own way. All that scientific subsonic pulse reasoning is bullshit."
"What? What? John...it's not!" She sighed. "This is why I didn't want to tell you. I'd knew you would go all alpha male and attack Evan for something that is not entirely his fault!"
"Alpha?" he questioned, smiled. "I like that. No, you listen for a change, Moira." He halted her protest. "I know you are not okay with this."
"Of course I am not okay with this but I–"
"That you had to get drunk in order to even speak to Carson about it."
"I didn't intend to get drunk...well, not that drunk. I just needed some–"
"Dutch courage, I remember, and between trying to avoid me and coming on to me you blurted out–"
"All kinds of things, yes, but you can't take it all seriously!"
"No? But I do, Moira. As did you, or you wouldn't have gone to Carson in the first place. I'm sorry, I was the catalyst for this whole thing."
She stared. "What? I don't understand. You?"
"Yes. When I told him you were in my bed. No, not in those exact words, not those words at all but we understood each other. He led with that, didn't he? Ah...I thought so," he surmised, seeing the confirmation in her surprised expression. "And more than likely progressed to a point which became too uncomfortably graphic for you to hear."
She kept staring at him, headache forgotten. "How...how did you know? Did I tell you?"
"No. I guessed. Alpha, remember? I know how men think. How they really react to hormonal this and urges that." He raised a brow. "So?"
"I...I don't understand what you..."
He caught her hand on his thigh. "You've been caressing me without even realizing it."
"Sorry! I–"
"No, please, continue," he moved her hand farther along his thigh towards his crotch. "It was very, very nice, Moira." He kissed her, reached round to pull the ponytail holder from her mussed hair. Kissed her again, moving her back against the bed. "Moira, you should have told me. I didn't need to hear this from Carson or from Lorne."
"What?" She pushed him back. "You spoke to Evan? You–"
"He was there with Carson. Told me exactly what he wanted to do to you. With you. Shall I tell you, Moira? Did he tell you the way he told me?"
She shifted beneath him, stretching out her legs. She ran her hand through his hair, along his cheek, jaw. "No, John. You don't–"
"Oh, but I do, Moira. I know he wouldn't have phrased it that way to you, but the raw truth is what he told me. He wants to fuck you, Moira. Simple as that." He spoke low into her ear, hands moving over her shifting body. "There's a difference, you know, between that and this." She murmured as his hands wandered, wandered intimately, teasingly. "Between this and that. Isn't that true?"
Moira kissed him, pulling him closer, on top of her. Legs spreading, body straining to meet his. "John," she breathed out his name, as his mouth wandered down her throat. Fingers racing up to unbutton her shirt, to yank the violet bra down. To caress. To kiss.
"Ah, Moira, you see? It's nothing to do with your scientific hodgepodge explanations," he reasoned, moving against her to make her gasp, squirm. He met her gaze. "Right now, right now I want nothing more than to have you, to possess you as mine. There's no subsonic pulse in me, is there? Can you rationalize that?"
Moira stared, losing herself in his intense green eyes, the motions of his body on hers. "I...I can't rationalize anything when you are doing that, John," she admitted as his fingers probed, slid, unzipped her pants. Tugging them down, down.
He smiled. "I need you to do this for me, Moira. You know how we alphas are." He lifted to pull her pants off one leg, fingers running up her bare thigh to the violet panties. Smiled. "Ah...you are going to come now, aren't you?"
"John, please," she whispered, body aroused, allured.
He kissed her, moving her lips open to probe, to tease, to taste as the desire grew. Grew insistent. Intense.
Moira could feel his erection probing as well, pushing. His body was warm. His kisses consuming. She felt she was drowning, swimming in a sexual maelstrom so sudden, so abrupt. "John," she whispered.
"Moira," he breathed into her ear, feeling her wetness, her eagerness. "I need you to say it."
"Say, say what?" she asked, as he unzipped his pants. The sound was enticing, arousing. Her grasp tightened on his bare arm.
"I need you to say it, Moira. Say the words to me. Say the words to make me come," he whispered against her skin, voice hoarse with need. Desire.
"I...I..." She cast about in her mind for what he needed, wanted. "I...I want you, John? I want you inside me,"she guessed, finding it difficult to concentrate with the rising sexual heat between them.
He kissed her, yanked off her panties, freed one leg and pushed her thighs apart. "Close, but you know what I need to hear, now. I need to hear those words from your mouth," he insisted, entering her suddenly. A soft moan of pleasure escaped his lips. "Last night was one thing, this is another. Remember? What do I need, Moira, for you to say to me that he wouldn't say to you?" he persisted stubbornly, moving in a slow, strained rhythm.
Moira lost her breath, arching as his body joined with hers but held back, held back. "I don't know, I don't...oh...you, you want me to say that?" Surprise halted her exhalations of mounting pleasure. "John?"
"I need to hear you say it to me, Moira. I can't explain how or why. Just do it," he insisted, kissing her throat. Driving her slowly, oh so slowly towards physical satisfaction.
Moira rocked with him, coloring at his request, his attentions, the vivid sensations. At this reduced speed she could feel everything. Every motion was intensified. "I...I want you, John." She pulled him down to her, whispered hotly into his ear, "I want you to, to...I want you to fuck me, John, I want–" The rest was lost in a gasping exhalation as he plunged faster, faster, as if her words had unleashed the tension he had been holding.
Her nails dug, scratched into his bare skin as he roughly, rapidly brought her to a shuddering orgasm. Her body rocked under his. Her breathless whimpering repeating his name over and over in a rushed exclamation. He moaned, coming fast, hard, messily as he said her name slowly, drawing out the syllables in a growl of possessive satisfaction.
Moira lost her breath, fell back against the bed as he collapsed on top of her. He breathed heavily, deeply, smiled and kissed her. "Moira," he intoned quietly. He moaned, released her, rolled onto his back. "Ah fuck," he said pleasantly. "Are you all right?"
She caught her breath, relaxed her muscles, unbent her knees. "All right? I'm sprawled half-naked on my bed, after having one of the most singly intense orgasms of my life and you ask if I'm all right?" She rolled onto her side to gaze upon him. "What do you think? Good God, John, what the hell was that? I didn't think you could top our first night together but you did."
He grinned, eyed her, turning his head. "Alpha. Remember?"
She frowned, touched his arm. "Damn, did I do that? I've never..." She fingered the scratches on his arm. One bled a little, a tiny crimson line on his skin. "I'm sorry! Oh John–"
"Ow. Geez, one beer and you like it rough, huh? I can't wait to explain this to Carson."
"Hilarious, John!" she scolded. "Damn..." She shifted, moved over him, kissed him. "Feel better now?"
"Yes, thank you. Do you understand now?"
She sat, pulled down her bra. Buttoned her shirt. "The difference? Yes. Oh yes." She pulled off the pants, the panties. Eyed them. "Damn. At this rate I'll need to carry spare underwear with me."
He laughed. "Then don't bother to wear any at all," he suggested.
"Ha ha. Wait. Was that the answer?" She met his gaze but he had closed his eyes. Had zipped up his pants. Flung one arm over his face. "John?"
"God, I'm tired," he grumbled, but happily.
"John!" she complained. Nudged him.
"What was the question?" he asked. A pleasant, erotic, sated drowsiness was making his limbs heavy, his eyes heavy. Sleep beckoned.
"John!" she repeated. Sighed. Puzzled. She moved over him, straddled him. Ran her hand up his chest under his shirt. "Do you want me to ride you, John?" she teased. "Ride you hard?" She leaned down to kiss him.
He smiled. "Go ahead. Give me five...no, ten minutes first."
"I thought you were an alpha, colonel," she teased, but pulled away from him. She moved off the bed, pulled on a clean pair of panties. Pulled on the gray jeans. "Well, as long as you're feeling better then I guess..." She turned. He was beginning to snore, falling asleep swiftly. She shook her head, amused. "Men," she grumbled. She kissed his brow before she left.
***************************************************************************
It was raining. Moira could hear the water clattering against the windows. See it streaming down the glass panes. Wished she could smell the fresh, clean scent on the wind. There were not many people in the cafeteria as she downed her food.
"Do you mind?"
She looked up from her plate, smiled to see the Satedan towering over her. "Ronon. Please." She drank some lemonade, began eating again.
Ronon smiled, eyed the pile of food that was rapidly disappearing. "Hungry?"
"Starving," she said round a mouthful of potatoes. "I feel like I haven't eaten in days." They ate in companionable silence. Sated she sat back, sipped her lemonade. Wiped her mouth. "Is there something wrong?"
Ronon shook his head, finishing his own meal. "No."
Her gaze shot up as a few people entered. A few more left. Relaxing she met his gaze. "Are you sure there's not something wrong? I mean, don't get me wrong, I like your company and all but usually you sit with Teyla, or Rodney, or, or John." She felt her face warm and she drank her lemonade, chasing off the erotic memories.
Ronon smiled. "True. They're not here. You are."
"Okay. I guess." Her gaze darted again to scan the new arrivals. She looked back as Ronon watched her. "Okay, what is it? Did, did John..." she paused, trying not to stumble over his name each time she said it, "did he tell you to watch me?"
Ronon smirked with amusement. "No. I haven't seen him for several hours."
"Oh." Puzzled she ran her fork around her nearly empty plate. "Well, I'm finished. Thanks for the company." She stood, took her tray to the bin to empty it, stack it.
"Where are you going now?"
She whirled, looked up, up to meet Ronon's face, his calm but bemused expression. "I need to do some work in the lab."
"I wouldn't."
"Okay, look, what is going on?" She headed for the corridor. He followed. "John..." she paused, cursing to herself, "the colonel must have put you up to this. Did he tell you to, to guard me? I'm perfectly safe and I don't need–"
"Why would he tell me to guard you?"
"Did he tell you over the comm unit or before? I'm fine, Ronon, really, I don't need a–"
"I told you, Moira, I haven't seen nor heard from Sheppard in hours. Should I have?"
"No. Then why–"
"Call it a feeling. After this morning. I thought I should keep an eye on you since Sheppard isn't here with you."
She turned to face him, hands on hips. "Why?"
"Honestly? I don't know. I know something happened but I don't know what."
She smiled, touched his arm. "Ronon, everything is fine now. There was a little, um, tension, earlier. But it's been resolved. Honestly."
"Really?" he asked, not believing her.
"Really. Honestly. Go back and enjoy your dinner. I have to catch up on paperwork."
"And where is Sheppard?"
"Asleep," she blurted, colored. "I mean, I mean...oh never mind!" She snapped at his grin.
*********************************************************************
John rolled over on the bed, comfortable. His hand ran across the messy blankets. Found a silky garment. He grasped it, felt its sodden material. Opened his eyes to see Moira's violet panties in his fingers. He smiled. He sat up reluctantly, yawned. "Moira?" He yawned again, looking round the empty room. The fading light from the rain-streaked windows cast the surroundings into shades of gray. He could almost feel the chill of the air as the storm raged.
He considered, wondering where she would have gone. A knock at the door made him stare. Startled, almost embarrassed at being caught in her room, in her bed. Like a teenager again and he smirked at the feeling. He moved to his feet in a swift, silent motion. He headed for the door. Paused. Opened it. Stared.
Evan stared back. He looked past John, saw the messy bed, the blankets all askew, the pillows scrunched to one side. Gaze moving back to John. His disheveled appearance. The scratches on his upper arm. Shirt sloppily tucked half in, half out of his jeans. The belt undone. The top button undone but zipped up. The violet garment still clenched in his fingers.
John met his gaze. Merely smiled.