1. Chapter 1

Defensive Cooperation

Purple.

The color was vivid. A soft glow nearly swallowed the surrounding darkness. Moira O'Meara blinked, eyes bleary, mind still half-asleep as she tried to see. But John Sheppard's bare shoulder was in the way, blocking her. She wondered what had awoken her. She shifted, felt a tingling in her scarred foot. She turned it but the weird sensation persisted. She winced as the muscles along the old injury began to ache, the prelude to a cramp.

Moira tried to move. Couldn't. John was sprawled on top of her. His naked body pressed to hers. Warm. His weight effectively pinning her to the bed. She nudged him. "John? John!" She pushed. Pushed harder. But he was immovable. "John!"

John mumbled, but shifted his weight half off her. Settled comfortably again. Face buried in her messy hair as it spread across the pillows. Arm slung across her waist.

Moira pulled, hauled her naked body out from under his. She scooted out of the sheets. Sat on the edge of the bed, lifted her foot to examine it. To carefully rub against the raised, permanent scarring from a sub-Wraith attack. The scars began to tingle. To ache.

Moira stood, began to walk. Trying to work out the coming cramp before it immobilized her. She grabbed an olive green tank top, pulled it on. Paused to pull on a pair of pale green panties, grabbed a pair of jeans in case she had to go to the infirmary. She sat on the bed as the cramp attacked her despite her efforts. She pressed her lips together to muffle the groan.

It was then she noticed the purple light again. On the table. Blinking. Almost in a code as she stared. Realized with a start it was John's earpiece. She touched John's arm. "John! John, wake up! John!" She shook him.

John instantly woke, hearing her tone. He rolled onto his back, eyes open. Alert. He sat, eyed her clothed body. Her hand on her scarred foot. "What's wrong?"

"Sorry. Your earpiece. Look!"

It took a moment as the vestiges of sleep cleared. He looked over to see the little purple light. He watched it a moment. Reached past her and snatched it off the table. "Are you all right?"

"My foot's cramping, all of a sudden," she explained tersely as another wave of pain erupted. "It hasn't done that for months."

John placed the comm unit over his ear. Clicked it on. "That alarm must be ringing like crazy in my room," he muttered. "This is Sheppard. Report." He gestured. She turned, gingerly slid her leg on the bed. Her scarred foot towards him.

"Colonel, we've had a security breach in the biology lab. Code one. No hostiles detected." John leaned towards Moira so she could hear. At the same time he touched her scarred foot. She gasped, but he began to stroke it, to massage the tense muscles gently. "A security breach in biology, sir. An alarm went off but so far nothing. It could be a glitch. We need the security codes to enter, sir."

"Copy that. Hold your twenty. I'm on my way." He clicked the earpiece, sighed. "Anything in the lab I should know about?"

Moira shrugged, relaxing as both of his hands plied her foot gently, yet firmly. "No. There's nothing alive down there. Everything is locked. Sealed." She caught his hands, freed her foot. Smiled. "Thank you, John. You do have the touch." She kissed him.

He smiled. "That I do. Damn I hate to leave this bed," he complained. He jumped out of the sheets, quickly dressed. Moira felt a disappointment as the black t-shirt and gray pants covered him once more. "It's probably just a false alarm. Some quirk in the circuits. Rodney was updating the alarm codes. Again." He turned to see she had pulled on a pair of jeans. Socks. Shoes. "Moira? You don't have to go with me."

"I may as well, John. You might need me."

"No. How will I explain things if we show up together at two in the morning?" he inquired. Ran a hand through his wildly disordered hair.

She frowned. "Oh please, John! Not that again! You can say you stopped by to get me. Because I work in the bio lab. Honestly, John, what the hell does it matter? Why are–"

"All right," he acquiesced, if only to avoid another argument. The same argument. He sat on the bed, pulled on his socks, his boots. Stood. "I need to stop by my room first to disable the alarm. Then we can go."

"Are you sure, colonel? I mean, what if someone sees me lingering outside your door?" she taunted as they exited her room.

"Enough, Moira," he cautioned, becoming irritated even as he strode ahead of her with quick steps.

Moira hastened to keep up with him, ignoring the ache in her foot. "I'm serious, John! Oh, I could always say that I was looking for John Anderson. Oh John Anderson," she moaned.

"Hilarious, Moira!" he snapped. Entered his room. She waited in the hallway, looking round at the dark, empty area. Touched her face. The scratches were nearly healed. She recalled being pushed headfirst into a glass cabinet by Matthew Parrish. The botanist had been dangerously addicted to the enzyme. Nearly mad with the desire to obtain it by any means. Moira hugged herself. Remembering the attack. Remembering John's reaction. His killing of Matthew.

John emerged, closed his door. Saw her uneasy stance. Her gaze turned inward. "Moira?"

She blinked. Eyed him, freeing herself. "A gun?"

"Only a 9mm. Wish it was a P90. Let's go." He led her quickly to the bio lab.

"Sir!"

John stepped past the four marines, deactivated the alarm. The light stopped flashing above the door. He entered the code. The door whisked open. John gestured. "Moira, wait out here." He followed the men into the lab. With a touch light flooded the room. The marines flanked him, moving in four directions to cover the area.

Moira stepped to the threshold. Peered into the room. Waited until John lowered his gun. Beckoned her. The marines lowered their weapons. Looked round in puzzlement.

"Anything out of place, doctor?" John asked.

Moira looked round. She checked tables. Consoles. She leaned against a table, winced as the weird tingle erupted along her foot. She straightened, shook her head. "No. Oh." She moved to a desk near the far wall. Straightened a group of folders that had cascaded across the surface. She leaned over the table to grab one that had fallen behind the books nearly to the floor.

John watched her, smirking, but suddenly glanced at his men. Three were still looking round dutifully, shining their lights into dark corners. Investigating the shadows. The fourth was staring at Moira. At the fall of her brown hair spilling all around her, tickling her bare arms. AT her shapely rear hugged snugly by the jeans as she leaned and leaned. As the tank top rode up to give a glimpse of bare skin, of pale green lace. John made a throat-clearing sound. The marine looked at him, quailed under the cold, cold glare. The marine gulped, looked elsewhere.

Moira straightened, oblivious to what was happening behind her. "Only this. Maybe when the folders fell the alarm went off...although that doesn't make any sense." She turned to see John staring at her. "What?" She turned to place the file on the table.

A thump against the wall made her nearly jump backwards. Startled.

John was at her side instantly. "What was that?"

She met his gaze. "I don't know."

Another thump. John scanned the wall. Listening. "Pinpoint," he ordered.

"It's louder here, sir," a marine called.

John and Moira moved to the far wall. Moira limped, leaned on a table. John glanced at her, at her foot. Eyed the wall. Another thump. Another. "What's back there?" he asked.

"The, the Wraith specimens."

John glanced at his men, met her gaze. "And you're sure there's nothing alive in there?"

"Positive. They're all dead. Specimens," she repeated.

John moved to the lab door. Another thump. Louder this time. Moira limped after him. "Okay. Tell me exactly what is in there," he instructed.

"They're all dead, colonel. Specimens. Arms. Empty enzyme sacs. Hands with suckers. The, the bodies of the ones you named Steve, and Bob. Pieces of the Super wraith. The arm of the sub-wraith." She winced, leaned over as her foot ached again.

Another thump. Then an eruption of thumps, sounds. Like something was trying to hammer down the door. To get out. Scratches screaming on the door. Banging. The marines tensed, guns pointed at the metal door. John did the same as he stepped in front of Moira.

Silence. They waited, holding their breath. Released the tension as the silence continued.

"Crap." He glanced at Moira. "Why is it always a horror movie with you?" he muttered, causing her to briefly smile. "I'm going to open the door. When I do move into position to–"

"You can't," Moira informed him.

"What?" He looked at her. Moira was staring at the door. "Moira?"

She met his gaze. "There's no code. It's locked with a DNA identification scan."

"Let me guess. You?"

"One of three."

"Crap," he commented. "The minute the door opens you stand clear."

She nodded. Limped to the door. She pressed her thumb against the screen. John stood behind her, so close she could feel his breath on her bare shoulder. The screen went from red to green. Chimed. The door opened silently. John deftly moved her aside, held his gun ready. The marines tensed behind him. Moira stumbled back, hearing the safety's on all of the guns click off at once.

John took a step. With his free hand he felt the wall near the open door. Fingers snaking their way to the panel. Lights flooded the room. He crossed the threshold. Scanned the area. Slowly lowered his gun. "Stand down," he ordered. "Moira."

Moira glanced at the marines. Limped to John. Stared. The room appeared untouched. Undisturbed. Except for a specimen box on the floor. Open. Empty. "That...that's impossible!"

"What was in there?" John asked, walking round the room. Inspecting every corner.

"I don't..." She knelt, eyed the box's label. "It was the sub-wraith...John!" she cried as the sub-wraith arm skittered across the floor towards her. Long claws scratching the surface. She scrambled out of the way as John whirled, shot it. Shot it again. Again as the marines poured into the room only to nearly fall into each other, weapons firing.

"Hold your fire!" John ordered, raised his hand. The arm was a mangled heap of flesh and bone. One claw still protruding. John kept his gun aimed at it. "Moira!"

Moira had managed to scramble to her feet. Now limped towards the appendage. Fascinated. Horrified. "That, that is impossible!" she repeated.

"Apparently not. So what is this now? Zombie Wraith?" John quipped. "Another of your grade B horror–"

A crescendo of banging interrupted. John whirled towards the rows of drawers. Cases were rocking. Thumping and banging as if several things were trying to escape.

"Back out, now!" John ordered. The marines fell back, exiting the room.

Moira limped forward, heart pounding. "This can't be happening!"

"Moira!" John caught her arm, pulled her backwards. Silence. They froze.

One drawer slowly, slowly opened. It squeaked on its rollers as it slid along. Clicked. Stopped.

Moira began to walk towards it but John stopped her, hand clasping her bare arm. "No."

"I have to see. John, this can't be happening!" she insisted.

The silence stretched. Stretched.

"Fine. Don't get too close." He moved with her round the shattered arm on the floor.

Moira's heart was pounding. Her throat was dry. She steadied herself, John's hand still grasping her arm. They neared the drawer. Moira stepped closer. Saw the dead body of a Wraith. Its slashed face frozen in a death grimace. Long teeth bared in a parody of a smile. Wide eyes open. Unseeing. "It's um, Steve," she identified in a whisper. Gasped as the corpse abruptly sat up with a big smile. Arm lifting. Hand outstretched. Sucker visible and gaping open.

"Shit!" John swore, pulled Moira behind him. Fired his gun. Again. Again. "Fire now!" he ordered, grabbing Moira and crashing to the floor with her. Gunfire erupted loudly as the marines unloaded their arsenal. John looked up to see the corpse bounce with all of the bullets hitting it. But it did not go down.

The drawers began to thump wildly all at once. Moira looked past John's shoulder to see Steve lifting one leg out of the drawer. Preparing to emerge. To stand. Alive. "No!"

"Shit. Go! Go!" John pulled her to her feet, shoved her in front of him. Whirled to fire repeatedly as the marines halted, shocked. Steve stepped out of the box, still smiling. Alive, but not breathing.

Moira stumbled out of the lab as the marines created room for her to exit. She whirled as John backed out rapidly. She hit the lock imprint. The door sealed shut. The panel went from green to red. A chime sounded. John pulled her away from the door, slammed his palm on the emergency alarms. Lights and noise flooded. "Back! Back now!" They retreated to the middle of the main lab.

"I don't believe it! How is that possible?" Moira wondered. "The Wraith's regenerative powers don't extend past death! Not past dismemberment! How–"

"We need to contain this! How secure is that door?" John asked, gaze locked there. Expecting Steve to burst through at any moment.

"Very secure. The only lock is out here," she replied. "There's no other way in or out," she explained, raising her voice over the pandemonium of sounds.

"Are there any consoles in there? Computers?" John had to shout to be heard. The door shook as something large slammed into it.

"No! Everything is out here!" She lowered her voice as silence fell. Only the alarm kept ringing. A noisy claxon. A troop of marines ran into the lab, guns at the ready. Red lights flashed off their weaponry. John halted them with a lifted hand. Tapped his earpiece.

"Beckett! I need you down here now! Bio lab!" He turned to the men. "Samuels, go alert Doctor Weir. I want this section locked down immediately!"

"Yes, sir!"

"What could possibly be causing this? Think fast, Moira!" John urged.

She considered. "I...I don't know. The, the Wraith have exceptional healing abilities but they can't come back from the dead. We know they weren't hibernating. These specimens were dead! And the body parts...there's no enzyme in there to, to re-invigorate them. The link. The telepathic link could be that strong. The strong psychic connection...a pulse...a subsonic pulse increasing the..." she rambled, thoughts flying. Fascination and terror colliding. Only John's warm, firm grip on her arm keeping her focused. Secure.

"An outside force, then?" he digested from her words. "An outside influence?" He tapped his earpiece. "Sargent, get McKay and Zelenka. Check for any Wraith in the area. Life signs, scans of orbital ships. Scan the mainland!"

Moira moved cautiously, but John halted her.

"Where–"

"There is a security screen. We can access it to see." As he freed her arm she moved to the console. Fingers flying over the keyboard. The screen came to life. Passwords flew by as running asterisks. An image of the Wraith lab crystalized.

John bent over her shoulder to see the lab. The pulverized arm on the floor. The open drawer. "Where the hell is he? Can you get a better angle of the lab?"

"No. There's only one camera and it's stationary," she explained. "The only–" She yelped, sat back as Steve's face filled the screen. Then was gone.

John touched her shoulder. "Damn! That sucker's still moving!" He studied the picture carefully.

"How can that be? He's dead, John! They're all dead! Have been for months, years!" she insisted. Shook her head in disbelief.

"What's there?" He touched the screen. The edge of the picture where it faded into darkness.

"Um, past the drawers and storage. Cold storage for tissue samples and biochemical research," Moira answered, picturing the lab layout in her head.

"Could any of that be responsible for this?"

"No. I don't think so." John's fingers unconsciously caressed her bare shoulder. Her hair tickled his cheek as he leaned closer.

"And here?" His finger slid to the other side of the screen. "Beyond what we can see?"

"Microscopes, scalpels. All the tools of the trade. A, a sink. Gloves. Masks. Scrubs." She turned her head to look at him. Stared at his intent, calculating gaze. "John, every precaution is taken. Every bio-hazard rule is strictly enforced."

He met her gaze. The hard, scrutinizing intensity softened. Warmed. "I believe you, Moira. I just have to know the exact layout of that room."

She stared. "You...you're not going in there again!"

"I have to. We have to make sure that thing is dead. And if it isn't we have to kill it."

"It's contained!"

"For now. But it is alive. Or undead. Whatever." He shrugged, straightened. "Keep an eye on the monitor." He tapped his earpiece. "Beckett!"

"Aye, colonel. What is happening? If you would let me in I can–"

"Can't do that, doc. We're in lock down. What could bring your dead Wraith to life?"

"Excuse me? That's simply not–"

"I've heard," John noted, cutting off the doctor's disbelief. "Moira thinks it's an outside influence. A psychic or subsonic energy pulse. Is there anything in the lab that could be responsible?"

"Are you saying those dead Wraith are alive? That's impossible, colonel!" Carson Beckett exclaimed, staring at the door. Glanced at the marines surrounding him.

"Specimens and all, doc," John answered. "I need you to focus here." John circled the room.

"Carson?"

"Yes, John, I'm thinking. Moira's there with you?"

"Focus, Carson!" John ordered.

"John..." Moira said slowly, staring at the screen.

He crossed to stand behind her. The drawer was closing slowly. They watched it as it rolled back into place on the wall. "Was Steve in there?"

"No."

Carson's voice broke the tension. "There's nothing in the lab that could do this. Not to my knowledge. Not even the enzyme can restore life to something long dead."

"What if Steve wasn't dead?" John theorized. "What if he was hibernating all that time? Some sort of self-defense against us to repair himself."

"For over two years, John? I don't think so. Besides, we've taken tissue samples since then, and nothing has ever happened."

"Well, something's happened now," John grimly commented. He turned to the waiting marines. "We're going to take this thing down. On my mark." He looked at Moira. "I need you to open the door. Then get as far away as possible. Stay down."

"Okay, John." She stood. John reloaded the 9mm. Gave it to her wordlessly. He took an offered P90. Nodded.

"Go," he said tersely. Stepped with Moira to the door. Gestured. The men followed him.

Moira swallowed nervously. She pressed her thumb to the panel. It changed from red to green. Chimed pleasantly. She swiftly sidestepped out of the way, moved back to the monitor. "Nothing," she said, as the door opened.

John waited. Cautiously he advanced. A step. A step. The lab was well-lit. Silent. Drawers all closed. The sub wraith arm still on the floor. Pulverized.

"John, what is–" came the annoyed voice of Rodney.

John shut off the earpiece. The last thing he needed now was a distraction. He gestured. Stepped into the room. The marines followed.

Moira watched the screen. Saw the men advance, flank John. P90 lights shone into the darkest corners. Shone where the camera could not. She tensed, watching. Feeling like she was witnessing a horror film, except this was real. John walked round the shattered arm specimen. Approached the drawer. Grasp the handle. Open it.

John pulled the drawer open, gun at the ready. It was empty. He released the breath he had been holding. "Where the hell is–"

All at once the drawers began rattling and bumping in unison.

"Sir!" screamed a marine, firing as a shadow moved with terrifying speed. A blur that knocked down two men. Bullets sprayed the walls, the ceiling.

John whirled , P90 spewing ammunition. "The door!" he shouted, barely making out a blur of motion heading for freedom. Escape.

Moira whirled at the gunfire. She stumbled backwards, into the far wall. Held the gun awkwardly. A blurring motion was crossing the threshold. A Wraith moving at an impossible speed. Straight towards her. She lifted the gun but ducked suddenly as John raced after it. Repeatedly firing. Bullets flew, pinged off walls. Consoles. Seeming to go straight through the Wraith. As if it wasn't even there.

Then the lights went out.


	2. Chapter 2

Defensive Cooperation2

"Hold fire!" John bellowed. He scanned the room as it was plunged into near total darkness. Even the emergency lights were out. The alarm lights pulsed, pulsed, then faded to a murky red glare. Then nothing. John flashed the light on his P90 around. A lump in his throat, imaging all kinds of horrors the illumination might reveal. "Moira!" Silence. Stillness. His heart hammering in his chest. Breath becoming ragged. "Moira!" he repeated. Mouth dry. Fingers tight on his weapon.

The Wraith slowed. Stepped in front of Moira.. Shook its head. Bent down. Held its palm towards her chest. She stared, fingers slipping on the gun. About to fire but the lights went out, throwing her into total darkness. She tried to scream but her throat strangled. Then a cramp hit her foot and she fell onto her side. Felt the fingers of the Wraith just brush past her. Felt the sucker only inches from her chest. Smelled the decay, the death of the body. Felt a hand on her scarred foot. Then nothing.

John shone the light. Illumination bounced all over the lab as the marines flanked him in a tight circle. Bouncing, nervous, terrified lights lacking any direction. Finally John's light hit a desk. Hit Moira curled under it, gun in one hand. The other at her chest. "Moira."

Something large hit the wall. Guns fired. An explosion of sound. John ducked, dived. Slid across the floor towards Moira. He rolled, keeping her behind him. Firing at something flying past him. "Don't shoot," he said over his shoulder. "Moira! Are you–"

"It didn't feed," she gasped, hand sliding down to her foot. "It couldn't!"

"Later, sweetheart. Don't move," he cautioned quietly. "Positions! Report!" he yelled.

"Emerson, left flank!"

"Peterson, right flank!"

"Reynolds, lab door!"

Silence. "Shit. Edwards! Edwards?" John bit back several curses. "Form up center. Cover the six. Train lights nine o'clock." He shone his light in the center.

Moira released her foot, gingerly touched John's shoulder. "It couldn't feed because it's still dead, or undead."

"Okay, Moira. But it can still kill," he retorted, watched the three marines form back to back to back. Shining their lights in a concerted search. "Where the hell is it?"

"How could it move so fast? What could be animating it?"

"How do we kill something that's already dead?" John wondered. He had more practical concerns.

"Nothing, sir."

John tapped his earpiece. "We need lights in here now! Where the hell is the emergency backup back up? Rodney!"

"I don't see Edwards, sir," one of the marines reported. His voice a nervous stutter.

"Hold position. Moira, we're going to get up. Slowly. First me. Then you. Stay right behind me. I need you to check the monitor. It has infra-red, right?"

"Yes. Okay, John," she agreed.

John slowly moved to his feet. Eyes alert. Gun ready. Felt her moving next to him. Standing.

"Okay. With me. Take hold of my belt so I know exactly where you are."

"Okay." She touched his waist. Slid her fingers around his belt. Stepped sideways with him. Their backs to the wall. The desks. "Okay, here."

"Turn to look but don't let go unless I'm shooting." His voice became tense. "Damn it, Rodney! Where are the lights?"

"Working on it!" came the terse reply. "The whole section is out!"

"Wonderful," John sourly noted.

Moira turned to view the monitor. Switched the camera feed to infra-red. The lab was bathed in a reddish glow. A man was sprawled on the floor. Shirt ripped open. The Wraith was upon him. Trying to feed.

Moira's sharp intake of breath alerted John. "What?"

"Edwards. In the lab. It's...it's trying to feed,"she stammered.

John turned to view the screen. Steve was pressing his palm onto Edwards. Pulled back from the man's chest. Tried again. But as John looked closer he could see the angle of the man's neck. Head lolling to one side. "He's dead. We need to lock it back in there."

Moira freed his belt. "I–"

"No. With me. Hold position," he instructed quietly. He drew Moira along the wall. "Peterson, eyes on the monitor."

"Yes, sir." The marine moved to watch. "Still feeding..." He gulped. "Trying to feed."

"Lights to the left at seven o'clock." The lights illuminated the panel next to the open door. "Quickly now." John led her towards the panel.

"Sir, it's standing," Peterson informed.

"Almost there," John said quietly. The threshold was darkness next to the river of light along the floor, up the wall to the panel.

"Sir, it's turning! It's coming!"

Moira lunged forward, pressing her thumb onto the panel. It turned from green to red when a hand grabbed her wrist. "John!" she cried.

John fired at the darkness, as did the marines. Moira yanked her arm back as the door closed. Was pulled forward as the Wraith's arm was still extended. Hand still snarled around her wrist.

She tried to yank free. "Cease fire!" John grabbed the arm holding her, pried it loose as the door was trying to close once more. Suddenly free the momentum propelled Moira backwards, into John who fell with her. The door shut. The chime pleasantly sounded.

Something smashed against the door. Again. Again. A shriek of pure rage erupted. Moira covered her ears at the painful decibels. The marines fell to their knees, cringing. John rolled to place Moira under him, trying to shield her. But he couldn't against the agonizing noise. The violent thumping on the walls. Things smashing against the door. Alarms blared. Voices shouted in his earpiece, adding to the cacophony.

Gunfire spewed. John covered Moira, hefted his gun. "Cease fire! Cease fire!" he shouted. Stared as the security lock sparked. Fizzed. Stared as the panel went from red to green. The chime pleasantly sounded. More sparks. The door slid open.

The screaming started.

John shone his light to the far corner. A table. "There! Go!" He flicked off the light. Shoved her towards it. Bullets flew. Screams.

Moira staggered on hands and knees, crawling towards the spot. A burning pain singed her arm and she fell but kept moving. Struggling. Biting back sobs, cries. Pain. Terror. Concentrated on keeping momentum, forward. Forward. She could feel John right behind her. She reached the corner, then the table. Scooted under it and turned. John scooted in front of her, gun poised.

John steeled himself hearing the screams of his men. The ricochets of gunfire. Pinging off walls, causing consoles to shower sparks. His grip tightened on his gun, knowing there was nothing he could do. He could Moira behind him. Her ragged breathing, trying to keep in the scream, the moans of pain. The panic. "Keep absolutely still," he said, reaching back to her. His fingers ran up her knee. To the 9mm which he took from her slick hands.

Abrupt silence. Total darkness. Even the P90 lights were gone.

Moira pressed her lips together tightly. She touched her stinging arm. Felt wet, sticky liquid trailing down her skin. Knew it was blood. Her foot cramped. She tried to calm her rapid, ragged breathing. She lifted her hand but she couldn't see it in front of her face it was so dark. She couldn't even see John but knew he was there. A solid, warm presence in front of her.

John bit his lip, calming himself. Pushing aside his guilt over his men. His worry over Moira. He could hear she was in pain. He slowed his breathing. Concentrated. Found focus. Relaxed his grip on the two guns. Strained to see. But the lab was cast in total darkness. Strained to listen. A shuffling sound. A grunt.

Then the scariest thing of all. A drawer in the Wraith lab squeaking. As it opened. Another drawer. Squeaking on its rollers. Then a click as it has reached its full extension.

John swallowed. He knew they had a chance against one. But not two. His gaze darted to werhe he thought the lab doorway was. But it was just as dark. Just as impenetrable. Silent.

Moira closed her eyes. She'd heard the drawer. Could only imagine the worst. Knew they were dead. She opened her eyes. Wondered about her bleeding arm. Wondered if even the undead could smell it. She ran her hand slowly on the floor. Touched the table leg. Went forward. Touched John. There was no room to get around him, to give him a chance. She was afraid to speak. Debated.

John debated. Wanted to shine his light but couldn't risk giving away their position. Wondered how well even the undead could see in the dark. What they could hear. Could smell. Wanted to ask Moira but held his tongue. More shuffling sounds. He recalled the basic layout of the lab in his head. Considered where to move. If to move. Pondered what was the best chance for Moira. For the both of them.

Another crash. Moira nearly jumped in fright. Trepidation. Her fingers found John's back. Lightly touched him.

More shuffling. Silence. A weird squeaking sound.

John tried to identify it. It wasn't one of the drawers. A slight scratching on the floor. Squeak. Squeak. Wheels. Gears. A chair, he realized. A chair on wheels.

Something massive crashed in front of them. Glass went flying. John scooted backwards, shoving Moira into the wall. He pressed against her as glass sprayed against his upraised hand, his face. There was something in front of them. Some piece of equipment. Glass crinkled under the undead feet.

Silence.

Moira was pressed awkwardly against the wall. Against John. She tried to move but her head brushed the table above them. She pushed a little at his back. He scooted a bit away from her. Enough so she could breathe again.

The lights flooded on.

John squinted, momentarily blinded. He stared the huge computer console in front of him. The entire unit was on its side. Glass shards everywhere. Wires exposed. Crystals smashed. John gingerly touched it. Pushed. Pushed harder. Harder. Couldn't budge it.

"What do you see?" Moira whispered, leaning close. A soft voice tickling his ear.

"Nothing. Damn console is in the way and it weighs a ton," he quietly replied. He tapped his earpiece. "At least it will protect us. Rodney? Copy?"

"Trying to get the door open!" Rodney snapped, just outside of the lab. He had a panel open on the wall and was tearing at wires, at crystals. "Damn lock down won't override! Are you all right?"

"Yeah, we're fine, for now. We're trapped under a...oh oh." John tightened his grip on the guns as the console began moving. Scratching horrendously against the floor.

"John? Are you moving the–" Moira asked.

"No. Whatever happens, Moira, stay here. Do you hear me? Don't move from this spot!"

"John–" she protested, hearing the finality in his voice. A tone she had heard only once before, long ago. From someone else she had loved.

He chanced a quick glance over his shoulder at her. Saw the blood streaking her bare arm. Met her gaze. "Stay here."

"No, I–"

He looked back as the console moved away from them. Was violently pushed to the right. Steve stood there. A bullet-ridden yet bloodless mess. The Wraith bent down. Peering at them. John waited until he saw the ugly, grinning face. Fired both weapons point blank into it. The head exploded as it fell backwards. John kept firing, scooting out from under the desk. Moving to his knees, then his feet. Kept his gaze locked on the thing that was writhing on the ground. Still moving even without a head.

Catching motion out of the corner of his eye he pivoted, still firing. But the second Wraith bore down on him. Flung hin across the room. John hit the wall hard. Slid down onto a pile of debris on the floor. Both guns flying from his hands, nearly ripping off his fingers. The Wraith advanced towards his prone body as he struggled to move.

Moira scooted out from under the table. Froze seeing the destruction. The debris. The carnage of the three marines. An arm lying separate from one man. Saw the headless Wraith on the floor, body now still. Inert. Saw the other stalking towards John's prone form. Leaning down. Arm extended. "No! No! Over here!" she shouted, crunching past the debris.

Her voice caught its attention. It straightened. Turned. Smiled.

"That's right! Come on! Over here!" She stepped round towards the Wraith lab. Luring it away from John.

John groaned, trying to move to his side. To his feet as the Wraith that had been towering over him walked towards Moira. "No! Moira, damn it! No!" he called hoarsely.

"Come on! This way," she lured, backing towards the lab. "Not him! Me! Me!" she shouted, as it glanced back upon hearing John's voice. "It's me you want!"

"No! Moira!" John moved to his knees. Regaining his breath, his strength. Muscles screamed in protest. He cast about wildly for his guns, for any gun. Any weapon.

"Stay there, John!" she shouted. "Come on, back to the lab! Come one!" The Wraith reached out for her but she quickened her limping gait. Entered the inner lab. Tripped over the arm and fell to the floor.

"No! Damn it!" John scrambled to the fallen marines, noted that two were breathing, still alive. He grabbed the first weapon he saw. A knife.

Moira scrambled backwards, backwards. The Wraith followed. Lunged on top of her.

"NO!" John rushed into the lab. Threw himself onto the Wraith. Jammed the knife into its neck. But no blood spurted. Nevertheless he hauled it off Moira. Rolled with it.

Moira scrambled to her feet as the Wraith wrenched the knife from its throat. Tossed it aside with almost contemptuous ease. It whirled. Caught John in the back. Claws tore through his shirt. Through flesh. He groaned, staggered. Blood poured.

"NO! Damn it, John!"

"You're yelling at me?" he managed to croak, twisting to fall free.

"I know how to kill it! Here! Hey!" She whacked the Wraith's arm, reminding John of how to discipline a dog with a rolled-up newspaper. He would have laughed if the situation wasn't so dire. The pain so raw on his back.

"How?" he rasped, groaned. Rolled to grab the knife again. Pushing past the pain.

Moira moved. Luring the Wraith towards her, away from John. "Come on! Come on. Bob, that's what you're called, isn't it? Come on, Bob!" The Wraith smiled. Extended his arm. Moira inched backwards, grabbed a bone saw from the table. "We need to cut off the head!" She turned to grip the surgical instrument in both hands. As the Wraith touched her bleeding arm she whirled. The bone saw in her hands. Swung it into the Wraith's neck with all of her might. The sharp blade went halfway through. Got stuck on the larynx. The Wraith fell. Taking Moira with it. It struggled, hands grabbing at her. Nearly throwing her.

"John! John!" she cried, unable to budge the blade. To pull it out or to push it in.

John scrambled beside her. Swung the knife downwards. It sliced next to her incision. Deeper. Fluids trickled, but no blood. "Shit. Hold it down, Moira!" He began to saw. Savagely cutting through bone and gristle. Flesh parting at last. Finally he hit the floor with a scratching thunk. He shoved the head away from the body. The corpse twitched. Twitched. Then was still.

John caught his breath, straightened. Grimaced as pain lacerated his back. He stared at the headless body. Moira pushed herself off it. She released the surgical blade. Flexed her fingers that had been locked around it. She met his gaze. "Vampires now? Good move, Buffy."

She smiled. A noise made them stand, whirl. John held out the gory knife.

"Sheppard! Shep...oh! Thank God! What the..." Rodney froze, staring at them. Stared at the headless Wraith on the floor. Stared back at the gory knife John was still holding.

"What the hell took you so long, McKay?" John snapped.

"There was an overload. It blocked the lock down reversal sequences and the–" Rodney tried to explain.

John grabbed Moira's hand. Pulled her out of the lab. "Carson!" he shouted.

"This is impossible!" Carson exclaimed, shaking his head. He rose from the tangle of bodies on the floor. Stepped out of the circle of medics swarming. "Peterson and Reynolds are still alive, but I'm afraid Emerson didn't make it. Moira, you're bleeding!"

"It's nothing. John, John's been injured!" she exclaimed, seeing the torn shirt at his back. The rent flesh and rivers of blood. "Severely!"

"Not severely," John countered, but he groaned.

"You two, now, to the infirmary!" Carson ordered.

"Lorne!" John called as the major made his way to him. "I want this lab guarded. Two squads. Just in case these things aren't quite dead again...still...whatever..."

"Yes, sir," Evan Lorne replied. Glanced at Moira in alarm. "You're bleeding!"

"It's nothing. Come on, John!" She led him past the medics and marines.

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

John groaned loudly. He laid on his stomach in the infirmary. Shirt removed as Carson tended to his injury. Four long, deep scratches on his bare back.

"You were lucky, John. No major tissue damage. The claws didn't penetrate deep enough to threaten your organs. Just deep cuts. You won't need stitches but I'll need to dress this bandage every day. You do seem to have several less serious scratches on your back, colonel. Would you care to explain?"

John turned his head. Moira was on the bed next to him. Her arm had a bandage on it over the wound caused by a bullet's grazing her skin. She was watching him worriedly. "I told you we needed a safe word," he teased. "No, Carson. That's classified intel."

Moira met his gaze, smiled. "Good answer, colonel."

"Okay, doc, tell me how the dead came back to life," John suggested. He sat and pulled on his tattered shirt. Winced as he shifted his torso. Felt the tight bandage, the tight skin.

"I can hardly believe it, John! It's impossible! All of those specimens were dead! All–"

"I had this conversation with Moira already. Can we skip ahead to the causes? Moira suggested an outside influence."

"Yes. As incredible as it sounds that could be it," Carson mused. "There was nothing in the lab that could have caused this! So an outside influence...that would be a very, very powerful Wraith indeed."

"A queen, more than likely," Moira suggested. Stood. "If that is the case there will be no trace evidence. I'll check the blood and tissues to be certain."

"Whoa, whoa, you're not going back there!" John refused. "Not until I am convinced the lab is one hundred percent secure. Carson, how are my men?" He glanced along the beds. Saw two occupied by the injured marines.

"Reynolds has a concussion and some minor cuts. Peterson has a nasty gash on his chest but otherwise he's fine. They're both sedated, resting. As you should be, John."

John ignored the last comment. Tapped his earpiece. "Rodney? Anything on the scans?"

"No. No ships in orbit. Nothing on the mainland. But detecting a Wraith is like looking for a needle in a haystack," the scientist complained.

"Don't care. Find it, Rodney! What about the city?"

"The city? There are no Wraith in the city!" Rodney asserted. Glanced around the control room and exchanged nervous glances with the others.

"If this queen has such powerful psychic abilities she would not register on any scans," Carson suggested.

"Except as brain waves," Moira realized. "Carson, you could test the brain wave patterns on the Wraith. John obliterated the one head but the other is intact."

"Good thinking, Moira! I can transmit an electronic charge to stimulate the synopsis–"

"Unless there was a subsonic pulse instead. Like the one we encountered."

"Didn't Rodney's scans eliminate that?"

"I don't know. The EMF might have been too low, but Rodney could calibrate the...John, could he?"

John had been looking from one to the other as bounced theories off each other. "Uh...sure. He could. I guess. Do what, exactly?"

Carson smiled. Tapped his earpiece. "Rodney, could you calibrate your scans to trace for a subsonic pulse?"

"Of course I can! Oh, you mean like the one we encountered on...I'll have it scanning in twenty minutes," Rodney replied, fingers flying on the keyboard.

"Good man. All right, Moira, help me with the tissue samples. We'll need to get–"

John moved to his feet. "No. I'll send a marine up with the head. And whatever else you need." He met Moira's gaze. "Stay here."

"John, you really need to rest," Carson chided.

"Can't. I have to make sure the city is secure." He moved, grimaced with each step. But stroke out of the infirmary.

Moira sighed. "He's so stubborn! We need a specimen count, in case any are missing. I'll go."

Carson nodded. "Very well. We'll just need the head for my tests. I've got to supervise the deposition of the bodies. Edwards and Emerson," he grimly remarked, gestured towards the back where a makeshift morgue contained the two men.

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

John entered the control room, moving stiffly. Every step jarred his back. Triggered anew the stinging pain but he ignored it. "Rodney?"

"Still working," Rodney called over his shoulder, using two computers at once.

"What the hell happened, John?" Elizabeth Weir stared at him. Pressing buttons on yet another console. "The city's codes are back in place."

John shrugged, regretted it as another stinging pain lacerated his back. "You tell me. All of the Wraith specimens came to life. They're trying to work out how now."

"It doesn't make any sense!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "How did–"

"Let the scientists work on that one. I'm going to keep the city secure."

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

"Moira?" Evan moved to her. "I just sent Johnson up with the head."

"We need an inventory of the specimens, Evan. Will you help me?"

"Of course." He followed her into the lab. Began to open drawers and look under tables as she grabbed a clipboard from a desk. Checked off the pieces he had found. Ticked off each sample. Each body part. Each body one by one.

Moira sighed, looking round nervously. "There's a, a piece missing," she finally noted, checking the list once more.

"A piece?" Evan asked, closing the last drawer. He stepped carefully around the pulverized arm to stand by her side. "What, exactly?"

"An arm. The arm of the Super wraith."

"Are you suggesting it crawled off?" Evan asked. Looked round. Despite the absurdity of the question he didn't feel like laughing.

"I don't know. It must be here! Help me look!"

"We'll all look. Maybe it's out there! Josephes, look around the floor!" He stepped out to help. Searching under tables, desks. Shining lights into every dark corner.

"Major! I found something!" Aaron Josephes called as he was crammed under a table.

"Good! What is it? Moira!"

Moira emerged from the inner lab, moved with Evan to the younger man as he scooted out from under a table. "Aaron?"

"An arm, sir."

"An arm. Good, the missing piece," Evan assumed.

"No, sir. A human arm." Grimacing Aaron stood, held up a man's severed arm.

Moira stared, looked at Evan. He tapped his earpiece. "Doc? We've got a problem here. We just found a human arm."

"A what?" Carson asked, standing near the two dead bodies.

"Carson!" Moira exclaimed. "The Super wraith arm! It's attached itself to one of the men!" She ran out of the lab as a scream erupted over the earpiece.


	3. Chapter 3

Defensive Cooperation3

Screams. High-pitched sounds, full of sheer terror filled the air. Sounds that Carson had never heard before, despite the horrors he had witnessed firsthand on battlefields, in surgeries. He whirled. Saw one of his medics dead on the floor, face a mask of horror.

One of the dead marines was sitting. Staring round. "Emergency! I need security to the med lab now!" he shouted. "Get out! Get out!" he cried, ushering the frozen staff towards the door. He ran with them, but it had locked automatically. Sirens blared.

The marine who had been Emerson stood. A Wraith arm was attached to his formerly empty socket. The fingers ending in long claws. Moving. As if scratching the air. Testing.

"Override the system! Open the bloody door!" Carson shouted, slamming his hand on the access panel but getting nowhere. "Rodney! Override the infirmary lock down!"

"What? I'm trying to–" Rodney began, glancing at Elizabeth as she ran to another keyboard.

"For the love of God, man, get us out of here now!" Carson shouted. "There!" He ushered the medical staff towards another corner. "Grab something! A weapon!" He snatched a surgical blade from a table. It looked impossibly small compared to the menace approaching them.

The dead soldier advanced. Face slack. Eyes unseeing. Vacant. Yet he moved towards the little group. Stepping over the dead man. Heavy, heavy steps.

Moira and Evan ran into the infirmary. "Carson! The arm...oh my God!" she exclaimed, reaching the back room. Pounded on the glass. "Evan!"

Evan ran to the door. Flipped the panel and punched numbers. "Lock down! It's not accepting my codes! Shit! Get down!" he shouted, swinging up his P90. But ducked with Moira instead.

The dead soldier had lifted the body of the murdered intern. Flung him towards the glass. The body smashed through. Glass flew everywhere. Crystal shards like a rainstorm spraying the air. The body smashed into a cart, slammed into a wall. Alarms screamed.

"Get back! What the hell..." John ran into the infirmary, a squad of marines on his heels. He halted abruptly. "Emerson?"

The dead marine stepped out of the morgue. Over the glass. The Wraith arm extended. Sucker gasping in the air.

"John! The attached arm is controlling him!" Moira warned, scrambling out of the way as Evan pushed her towards the safety of the exit.

"How? How can it do that without a brain to–" John asked, stunned for a moment.

"It's regenerating! Using the man's brain waves and activating them!" Moira answered.

"Emerson! Can you hear me? Emerson!" John ordered. Waved his men back as he tried to discern if any intelligence lurked in the marine.

"It's not Emerson any more, John! Emerson died in the lab!" Moira asserted. "John, you'll need to, to cut off the head," she advised, voice softening. "I'm sorry." She took the knife that Evan offered. Moved to John and held it to him.

John glanced at her, startled. Appalled. He took the weapon. "Down!" He had seen movement out of the corner of his eye. Shoved Moira to the floor as he whirled, fired.

Emerson rushed. The marines fired. The bullets had no effect. Emerson ran through them, knocking two down. And was gone.

"Shit! Come on!" John ran after the dead soldier. The marines on his heels. "In pursuit! Shoot on sight! Initiate lock down sequences 302! Go! Emerson!"

Alarms blared. Lights flashed. Doors began to shut, one by one. Once more locking sections of the city grid by grid. Cutting off residential areas. Scientific laboratories. Transporters became inoperative. Hallways were shunted, leading to nowhere. Herding the enemy towards the 'Gate room in a detailed sequence.

Emerson staggered into the 'Gate room. Bullet-ridden he finally fell. But still moved. His neck was turning a sickly blue. A scaly texture that John recognized all too well. He repressed a shudder and halted the men at his back. Neared slowly. Lowered his gun. Glanced up to see Rodney and Elizabeth staring in shock. Disbelief.

John hoisted the knife. Reluctant, but steeling himself. "Turn him onto his back and hold him down," he ordered gruffly.

"Sir! That's Emerson!" a marine protested.

"Not any more, lieutenant. Look at him. Look at him!"

"I...I can't do it, sir!" another objected. "What does that, that cryptozoologist know? Maybe we can save him! Take off the arm and–"

"No! Look at him! He was already dead. This thing is not Emerson. It's turning into a fucking Wraith! Now hold him down!"

The men quickly grabbed Emerson. Turned him onto his back. The dead man jerked. Mouth moving but no words came. Eyes were slitting into a reptilian appearance. The marines held him down, one on each limb. Emerson struggled.

Then spoke.

"Sir? Colonel Sheppard? What...what's going on? Sir...sir..."

John steeled himself. "Hold him down," he repeated. Knelt. Hefted the knife.

"Sir? Colonel Sheppard, help me! Please, you must help me! I don't remember, I...what is this? Oh God, what is this?" he stammered, seeing the Wraith arm attached to him. "Help me!" he cried, even as the Wraith arm convulsed and struck one of the marines. Trying to feed.

John was silent. He hefted the knife with both hands. Swung it downwards with all of his might. The blade bit deeply into the man's neck, cutting off his pleading voice. Blood sluggishly spurted along with other fluids. The blade jammed. John felt his gut twist but proceeded to saw back and forth, back and forth. Sawing off the head, through flesh, muscle, bone. He separated the head from the body. The body twitched. Twitched. Grew still. One marine spun away and vomited on the floor. Several blanched. Freed the body.

John grit his teeth, fighting down his own bile. Revulsion. He glanced up to see Rodney staring. Eyes wide. Elizabeth had turned away, her hand to her mouth. John dropped the knife to the floor. Stood. "Take it back to the infirmary," he rasped.

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

Moira sat. Stared at the microscope. Shrugged as Carson joined her. "I couldn't eat. Just a few bites. Your turn. To eat. You need a break. Anything?"

"No." Carson sighed. He stretched his arms, standing. "Nothing! Faint brain activity but that proves nothing. We're missing something here." He sighed again. "They brought in poor Emerson. The arm has completely regenerated. Parts of his body were beginning to evolve into a hybrid. John had to cut off the head to stop him. Stop it."

Moira shivered. "My God. What can be causing this, Carson? We've looked at every possibility!" she exclaimed wearily. They had been working for over an hour.

"I know, love." He patted her shoulder. "And four good men are dead because of it. Keep at it. I'm not hungry either but I should eat something. And I need a drink. I'll be back shortly."

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

When John reached for his third beer Rodney knew he had better intervene. He caught his friend's wrist. "Haven't you had enough?"

"No." John's voice was low. Sullen.

"John, I think you've had more than–"

"Let go!" he growled.

Rodney released his friend's wrist. Watched John drink in long swallows. Rodney turned, gestured for Carson to join them. The cafeteria was mostly deserted. Quiet. Almost mournful in its aspect.

John glowered at the physicist. "You haven't come up with anything yet?" His voice surly now.

"There's nothing to come up with, John. That is, there was no subsonic pulse. At least none that I can detect. No ships. No Wraith in the area. Nothing."

"Damn it!" John slammed his hand on the table. Plates shook. Glasses shivered. "There has to be something! I have to know why my men died! Why Emerson had to..." His glare hit Carson as the doctor joined them. "You! What the hell were you doing in that lab of horrors?"

"Nothing to cause this, John, I can assure you."

"Look, you've really had enough," Rodney stated as John drained the bottle. Reached for yet another. "Why don't you get some sleep or–"

"Touch my fucking beer again and I will break your fingers," John growled.

"Leave him be, Rodney," Carson advised. He stood, stepped a few feet from the table. Tapped his earpiece. "Moira."

Moira set down a tissue sample as Carson's Scottish voice tickled her ear. "Carson? I've got nothing yet."

"I need you to come to the cafeteria," Carson said quietly. Glanced to see John gesturing, vilifying Rodney again.

"What? Carson, finish your–"

"It's John. He's a little...inebriated. Becoming belligerent. I need you to put him to bed."

"What?" she asked, startled.

"Sorry, I should have worded that better. He needs to sleep it off. He will listen to you."

"Oh. All right. I'm on my way." Moira frowned, worried. She quickly made her way to the cafeteria.

"And why the hell can't you scientists figure this out?" John was spitting out the words. "That's what you're here for, isn't it? You always tell me science can explain everything! Then explain this!"

"I've been trying!" Rodney snapped, irritated, "but you're not listening! I'm an astrophysicist not a biologist! How should I know–"

"Why did we almost die in there?" John demanded, slamming his hand on the table again. "Moira could have died! I could have died! I had a fucking split second to decide what to do! A split second! My men were dying in that darkness! But I had to protect Moira!"

"So you blame her for–" Rodney attempted, bewildered.

"No! God damn it, no! I'd die for her! I'd die for any of you, that's my fucking job! To protect you! But I have to know how this happened! Why this happened!"

"John." Moira's voice was calm. Normal. She stood near the table.

His glare moved to her. Gaze softening, losing its hostility. "Moira."

"I need to talk to you, Colonel Sheppard. Will you come with me?" She glanced at Carson who subtly nodded.

He eyed her. Suspicious. "Doctor O'Meara. Can I bring my beer?"

"Yes."

He smiled smugly at Rodney. Stood. "Lead on, then, doctor." He followed her out of the cafeteria. "I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have reprimanded Edwards."

"What?" she asked, as they walked down the hallway. John was a few paces behind her, swinging his beer bottle at his side.

"I caught him. Staring. Staring at your pert little ass when you were leaning over the table. Hell, I was staring too. But I shouldn't have blamed him. When you lean over like that...fuck. That pert little ass is so fucking sweet."

She sighed. Glanced back at him. "John?"

His gaze was fixed there. "So fucking sweet. Pert little ass," he muttered.

"John!" she reprimanded. Paused until he was next to her. He met her gaze. She frowned. "Come on!" She took his arm, led him as he drank some of the beer.

"I want sex, Moira. Lots of sex," he informed her.

"Yes, John." She was stopped short when he paused.

"Why aren't we going to your room then?"

She turned to face him. "I would rather be in your room, John. All right?"

"Your bed is more comfortable than mine," he countered. Suspicious again.

"Yes, but I would feel safer in your room," she replied. "Please, John."

He considered. Relented with a nod. As she led him he laughed suddenly. It was a strange sound. Devoid of mirth. "I guess it doesn't matter anyway. Since I'll be on top of you."

"Yes, John," she agreed, only to humor him. "Here we are." He opened the door. Drew her inside and closed the door. Caught her rear and gently squeezed.

"So pert and tight," he muttered.

"John," she sighed. Whirled but he caught her again, set his beer clumsily aside onto the table. He grabbed her rear with both hands. Shoved her against him. He kissed her. A sloppy but demanding motion of his mouth on hers.

"Moira. You agreed. Lots of sex," he reminded. Kisses sloppily trailing down her throat. Hands groping, pulling at her pants.

"Yes, John. Get on the bed."

He laughed. "You first. My back."

"Oh. Right." She took his hand, led him there. "Lay on your stomach first. I want to check your bandage."

He eyed her, but she kissed him. Distracting him. He smiled. "All right." He reclined on the bed, cushioned his head on folded arms. Turned to eye her. She sat on the bed near him. "Lots of sex, Moira."

"Yes, sweetie, I heard."

"Are you wet?"

"Hush, sweetie. Here." She touched the shredded black t-shirt. Tore it open to reveal the bandage. A white square across his upper back. Careful of his injury she began to massage his shoulders. Felt the tension, the stress. "Close your eyes, John. You need to relax."

John shifted. The sound of ripping fabric had aroused him. But the horrific images played in his mind. He shoved them aside, concentrating on the feel of Moira's fingers. "You feel so good, Moira. Ah...how do you know how to do this?"

"Massage? From digs. From being hunched over for hours in the same cramped positions."

"Digs? You mean your paleontology stuff? With others? You massage other men? And they, they massage you?"

"Yes," she said, amused at his increasingly slurring speech.

"Other men? Other men massages?" He started to roll onto his side but she pushed him back into place.

"Yes, John. Other paleontologists. Outside the shirt, not within. To ease aching muscles and stiff joints, that's all."

"Stiff...these other men...your lovers?" he asked grumpily.

"No, John. Colleagues. Friends." The past threatened to invade her mind but she shut it down quickly. Would not go back to those particular memories, of one particular man.

"Friends," he noted. Beginning to relax under her ministrations. Her soft voice. "He. He spoke to me, Moira," he revealed. "Before I cut off his head. Spoke. Sounded like the Emerson I knew. Was terrified. Begged me to stop, to...but I had no choice. To kill him. To kill it."

Moira stared, fingers pausing for a moment. Then resuming. "I'm sorry, John. That must have been terrible for you!" She leaned close to kiss his cheek. "But you did the right thing. That creature was no longer Emerson. The Wraith regenerative tissues had invaded his brain. Like an electrical current, to activate him. He was no more than an automaton mimicking the Emerson we knew. You didn't kill Emerson, John. You killed a, a monster."

John considered, her explanations soothing. Logical. But he sighed. "I'm the monster, Moira. You should have seen how those men were looking at me. When I did it. Even before I did it. I am a monster, Moira, but nobody knows. Nobody knows what awful, awful things I..." He caught himself before more of his dark past spilled out. Wondered at his sudden effusion of words. Of trust towards her. "You feel so good, baby," he changed direction. "Sex?"

Moira had been startled by the sudden revelations, however vague. Wondered what he was talking about, what the past held for him. If it was as horrendous as her own. "Soon, sweetie," she soothed. Deciding not to ask. Not yet. "John, you must be tired. You need to rest."

"Tired...yes, so fucking tired, Moira," he agreed. "I meant what I said. I would die for you. For all of you. I'd rather not but I would to save you. To save you, sweetheart." Her fingers had frozen on him. He could feel the tension in her body. Even in her fingertips. He lifted his head to look over his shoulder at her. Saw her dismayed expression. Surprised. Most women would be giving him a dreamy look of surrender. Not Moira.

"Don't. Don't ever say that," she said stiffly, voice soft but strained.

"Huh? I'm sherious, serious, Moira. For you. To save you I would have died. If you had died back there, been killed by that thing I would have...I would have wanted to die...to...I would die for you, Moira, to save you from any–"

"Don't!" She looked away, forcing back the anger, the rush of tears. "Don't ever say that again to me, John Sheppard! Don't! You may think it's all heroic and noble but it isn't! You have no idea! No idea!" She calmed herself, looked back at him. Bit her lower lip in consternation.

John stared. Unsure. Unsure if the drunken buzz was coloring his perception of her reaction or not. He scowled. "Sorry." He rested his head on his arms again. Irritated for some reason he couldn't identify. "Next time I'll just let you die then, shall I? Like my men?"

Moira cursed to herself. Resumed her massage. "No. You didn't let them die, John, you–"

"Fuck it, I did! I let them die! Do you know why? To save you! You! I'm not blaming you for that! I'd make the same choice every time! I'm just saying don't throw all that back on me. Don't belittle what I did for you! I let them die to save you, Moira!" He groaned as her fingers tightened on his flesh.

She shook her head. "I'm not belittling you! Or what you did. Or what they did. If you feel that strongly then don't save me next time. In fact I would prefer it if you didn't put yourself or anyone else at risk for me!"

"I will. Every fucking time. So don't reject my–"

"I'm not! Damn it, John, don't you see? Don't you..." She caught herself. Stopping the flow of words, of revelations best kept in the dark.

John blinked. Her fingers gentling again on his skin. The beer buzzing pleasantly in his head. "No. You need to see. Moira. It was just the sex. At first," he admitted, changing topics yet again as his thoughts flitted. "Just sex. But now. I want you. I want all of you. I want us."

She relaxed. "So do I, John," she agreed. Almost surprised at his words. His feelings.

"You love me, Moira. All the rest never did. The some lots women wouldn't love me like you love me. Wouldn't die for me like you would . Wouldn't save me like you do. Not the same."

"Yes, John. I love you." She leaned close to kiss his cheek. His throat. It was easier saying it out loud to him like this. When he was unusually talkative. Drunk. Already drifting into a relaxed repose.

"The third thing. That was the third thing."

"What?"

"The third thing I noticed about you. Your pert little ass," he commented, thoughts drifting yet again to more salacious topics. "That pert little ass in those damn snug khakis. Outlining every curve, every dip. Every fold of your fucking panties."

She sighed, but smiled, amused. "I can only imagine what the first two are," she muttered. "Go to sleep, John." She slowly withdrew her hands. Straightened out the shreds of his shirt over the bandage.

"Sleep. Go...then we'll sex. Lots of sex, Moira," he slurred, already succumbing.

"Yes, John. Lots of sex." She leaned close, kissed him. "Now go to sleep, flyboy."

She gently ran her fingers through his dark hair. Waited. Waited. When he began to softly snore she quietly left him.

Carson smiled as Moira entered the infirmary. "So? How is the patient?"

She smiled. "Snoring the roof off Atlantis, or he soon will be." They laughed. Sobered. "It must have been horrible, Carson! I mean all of it was terrifying. But John...he had to cut off the head of one of his own men! And Emerson spoke to him first...as if he was still Emerson!"

"Good Lord! That...I cannot even imagine..." Carson shook his head. "How are you holding up?"

"I'll be fine. I don't want to go to bed just yet. I'd rather lose myself in the science. We have to figure this out, Carson!"

"Aye, that we do. If we can," the doctor ruefully agreed.


	4. Chapter 4

Defensive Cooperation4

John groaned. He rolled onto his back. Swore. He sat, blearily eyed his room. Mind in a fog from the heavy, dreamless sleep. He looked at the bed beneath him. "Moira? Moira!" he called, voice a rasping sound. There was an awful taste in his mouth and he grimaced. He stood, swaying slightly. Moved to the bathroom.

He downed some aspirin. Scowled at the taste. Gargled some water, spit. Spit again. Ran more water to cup in his hands. To splash over his face. He eyed himself in the mirror. "God you look like hell, John," he muttered. Ran a hand over his stubbly chin. Blinked his bloodshot eyes. He yanked off his torn shirt. Turned to try to view the bandage on his back. His muscles flared in pain at the motion.

He moved back to his room. Pulled an olive green t-shirt from a drawer. Winced as he lifted his arms to yank it over his head. Smoothed it over his torso, tugging it with a curse as it snagged on his bandage. He stood, lost for a moment. Still felt the buzz from the alcohol in his system. Smiled. Tapped his earpiece. "This is Colonel Sheppard. Put me through to the infirmary. On the intercom," he ordered, keeping the slur out of his voice with an effort.

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

Moira sighed. Rubbed her weary eyes. "I don't understand this, Carson. Katie. We've loooked at every sample. Even those..." She gestured towards the back room where the dead men were covered. The glass had been swept off the floor. Marines stood by the open area. A precaution.

"There's a trace, just a trace of the enzyme. A botanical organic residue. It's so small it couldn't be responsible for any of this," Katie Brown asserted. Frowned.

"What if the source isn't organic at all? What if the source wasn't without. But within," Carson posited. Stifled a yawn behind his hand.

"The moss? But Katie just said it wasn't any botanical–" Moira disagreed.

"Not the moss. Something else," Carson corrected.

"Doctor O'Meara," came John's terse voice over the intercom on the wall.

Carson glanced at her. Moved to intercept. Pressed the button. "Colonel Sheppard? Can I help you? You really should be resting, son. We're in the middle of our research. As soon as we find something, anything we will call you."

"Tell Moira O'Meara to get her pert little ass to my quarters," John said. Voice serious. Slurring a little as he stood in the center of his room.

Moira blushed. She glanced at the marines, at Katie, at Carson who was trying not to smile. She hastily moved to the intercom, shooed Carson aside. Was very aware of the marines eying her rear and she tried to turn but had to face the wall to talk into the machine. "John! What the–"

"Moira!" he exclaimed in delight. "You didn't follow through on your promise. Now get that pert, tight little piece of ass to my–"

"John! Do you know you're on the intercom!" she flared, embarrassed.

"Huh? Moira O'Meara, I need you to come here ah!" he sang. "Moira O'Meara, I need you to come here ah! Ooh, you make me har–"

"John Sheppard!" she scolded as laughter rippled behind her. "Son of a bitch!"

"And you're so sweet," he sang, laughed. "Moira," he stated in his best colonel voice, "get that pert, squeezable little ass to my quarters STAT!"

"John! All right! I'm on my way! Stand down!" she scolded, trying not to laugh.

"Moira O'Meara, that better not be any Irish blarney you're selling me 'cause I ain't buying!"

"Shut up, John! I'm on my way but stop talking!" She shut off the intercom. Turned as more laughter erupted. She laughed as well, shrugged. "I...um...he had a lot of beer so...I..."

"Go, please! If only to stop that singing!" Carson complained. More laughter.

"At least we have learned he is human like the rest of us," joked a marine. Laughter.

Amidst more merriment Moira hastened out of the medical bay. Amused and irritated. Intrigued. She reached his door. Hesitated. Knocked. "John?" His name was barely out of her mouth when the door opened. John smiled, pulled her into his arms, kissed her lengthily. Moira freed herself with an effort. Closed the door. Stepped deftly out of his reach, staring. "John, what the hell was that? Did you know you were on the intercom?" she demanded, hands on hips.

Her gaze devoured him. His rakish appearance. Dark hair wildly disheveled. Jaw shadowed by stubble. Rough. Clothes unkempt. The green t-shirt making his eyes look even greener. His intense gaze warm as it raked over her. His sensual lips as he licked them slowly. Deliberately. A smile formed as he saw through her anger to her desire.

"Sex. You promised lots," he said, voice low, husky. It sent a shiver down Moira's spine. Made her body tingle in erotic anticipation.

"You would remember that, and actually you said it," she primly corrected, causing his smile to broaden across his handsome face. "Come on!" She took his hand. Led him not to the bed but to the bathroom. "We have to get you sobered up."

"As I recall you agreed. In fact you said," he began, resisting her half-heartedly.

"Even so, I did not agree to drunken sex," she corrected. "Will you come on!" She pulled him towards the shower. "Strip to your boxers, flyboy. There's one surefire way to get you sober." She turned on the water. Adjusted the temperature. Cold, but not too cold.

John watched her. "You first," he stated.

"What?" She turned. He was standing near. Arms folded across his chest. Intractable.

"I'm not kidding, baby. I'm not going in there until you do." He smiled. "And I'm not stripping unless you do."

Exasperated she sighed. "John, I'm not drunk! You are." She caught his arm. "Now come on!" She tried to pull him but he didn't move. Didn't budge.

"No. You can't make me, baby. Unless you strip first. Then I will. Then you go in. Then I will. Repeatedly," he added with a suggestive leer.

She rolled her eyes. Turned to run her hand under the cold water. Felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature. She looked over her shoulder at him. He was waiting. Watching. Moira felt another rush of desire. "Fine, fine," she grumbled. She slipped off her shoes. After an awkward pause she pulled off her socks. Bare feet on the floor. She freed her hair from the ponytail. "The things I have to do for you, John Sheppard," she complained, turned away to hide her smile. She pulled off her t-shirt. Folded it neatly and set it on the counter. Undid her pants and wiggled out of them. Set them next to her shirt. "Well?"

He smiled. "Lavender lace...my favorite," he commented. He pulled off his t-shirt, wincing at the pain of sore, strained muscles. Removed his shoes and socks. Undid his pants and tossed them aside. "Okay. Go."

Moira hesitated. "You need to get in and sober up," she commented. "Your bandage should be fine. Carson will have to redress it anyway so there's no harm in getting it wet."

"Whatever. You first."

"John, I'm not the one who–" she protested, but his hand suddenly ran up her bare back. Giving her a gentle push.

"I won't if you won't, Moira. So go. Get that pert little ass in gear, will you?" He lightly slapped her rear. "I want that pert little ass sodden and–"

"Will you shut up about my ass!"she flared. But stepped into the water. Regretted it as the cold liquid chilled her skin. She shivered, hugged herself. "John!"

"Right on your pert little six, baby." He stepped in behind her. Nearly yelped. "Damn! That is too fucking cold!" He was about to step out of the shower.

She whirled. Caught his arm and pushed him under the spout. "Oh no you don't, colonel! Sober up, now!" She laughed at his expression. He stepped forward, angling the water off his upper back. Blocking most of it from hitting her although she was already soaked.

John smiled, wiping the water from his face. Gaze roving as her underwear became translucent. Revealing hard, rosy nipples. The dark triangle in the panties. Her wet straggling hair. Water trailing all over her body, her skin. "Moira...oh my Moira," he teased.

Moira kissed him. Ran her hands up his wet chest, fingers sliding through his hair. Catching on the dog tags before moving to his shoulders. "Now sober up, soldier! Are you sober now?" Her gaze traveled over his wet body. Water sluicing down his strong arms. His lean torso. The boxer shorts clinging to every inch of him. Every inch of his stirring arousal.

"Yes, ma'am," he teased.

"Good! Because I'm freezing!" She stepped past him, out of the shower. Grabbed a towel.

John laughed. He shut off the water. Stepped out. Snatched the towel from her. "No." He dropped the towel to the floor. Turned her wet body to his. "I'm so thirsty, Moira," he suggested. Staring at her. Wanting her with a rush of need, of lust. He fingered the straps of the bra.

"John..." Her voice quavered. From the cold or from desire she couldn't tell. Didn't care asa hot rush escalated intimately. "We need to towel off and get–"

"I know exactly what we need," he countered. "I want you exactly like this. I'm so thirsty," he stated. Kissed her as he pulled down the bra straps, the bra to uncover her breasts. He reached round, fingers sliding on her bare skin to unhook, then remove the garment. He dropped it to the floor.

Moira's body responded in a rush of desire. She pulled back to stare at him. Her gaze marveling over his handsome face. Wet hair. Water still trickling all over him. Sparkling in the light. Body hair matted down across his chest, arms, legs. "John..." she whispered. His fingers slid to her waist and he yanked down the wet panties, causing her to gasp. He kissed her again, letting his mouth persuade her as his fingers ran up her thigh. Between her legs.

Moira lost her breath, stepped out of the fallen panties as his tongue slithered in her mouth. His fingers probing every fold, every sensitive intimacy. She whimpered, catching his hand and shoving it away from her.

He smiled. Yanked down his boxers and stepped out of them. He caught her. Guided her down to the floor, onto her back. Onto the towel lying there. "Moira."

"John?" She stopped him. "Here? The bed–"

"The bed? We're soaking wet, baby, and I am so fucking thirsty I will drink you dry." He kissed her again. Then his mouth wandered over her skin. Across to her earlobe to nibble, to lick until she murmured. Body shifting under his. He slid downwards on her. Mouth wandering down her throat. Teasingly across her breasts. She arched in response, hands sliding on his shoulders, his arms. Up to tangle in his hair as he gently sucked. Moved down to the scar on her waist. Down to her hips.

"John...John...not..not again...John, John, you–" she babbled breathlessly. Lost in ecstatic anticipation, embarrassment, longing. Her body jerking, straining to meet his. To invite him. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders as his mouth ran teasingly up her thigh. As he shoved her legs father apart. Honing in on her arousal. Her need. His mouth skimmed along her. Moira's breath came out in a stuttering moan, shifting under him, so tight. Body reacting to him wildly.

John smiled. Hearing her soft whimpers, her exclamations of passion, need. Feeling his own hunger increasing, increasing. He slid up suddenly. Caught her mouth with his in a deep kiss. Sliding his hard cock between her legs. So close to her opening it was maddening. "Ah, my Moira, my Moira. Hot and cold. Wet and wetter," he teased in her ear. Easily entering her now. Groaning with pleasure. Starting a luscious rhythm. "Ow."

"Sorry," she said, gentled her hold on him. "Oh John, oh John," she moaned. The pleasure spiraling. Her body moving in tangent with his against the floor. Sliding on the towel. The water drying on them. The sensual friction building, building.

"Ah fuck," he breathed happily. He kissed her repeatedly, caressing her breasts as he prolonged the growing friction. The coming release of tension. "Almost, almost," he groaned. Began to move faster, faster. Harder. Ignoring his back pain as she squirmed under him. Clenching on each motion of his cock as it thrust deeper inside her. Her breath was quick, gasping. Mirroring his own as his body took over for him.

Moira was no longer cold. She was hot. So hot as their movements were wild, uninhibited. She forgot the feel of the damp towel under her. The feel of the hard floor beneath her even though John was all but pounding her into it now. He thrust deeply into her. She cried out, lost her breath as she climaxed into orgasm after orgasm. Flooding with pleasure. She couldn't stop saying his name, over and over.

John groaned, continued to thrust and thrust. A string of swear words erupted as he reached his own height of pleasure and felt the tension, the strain flood from him. Spasm after spasm shaking him as he jerked wildly inside her. At last he slowed. Stopped. Fell upon her.

Moira caught her breath. Stroked his hair. "John..." She paused. Her voice a soft sound. Nearly a purr. "Was that one of your kinky things?"

He laughed gently into her hair, her skin. "Hmm...was it? It was...I guess...not too kinky?"

"No! It was wonderful! So wonderful, John! You...oh John!" She showered him with kisses, capturing his mouth when he raised his head to eye her. She moved him onto his back but he groaned. "Oh! Sorry!" She pulled him onto his side as she faced him. "I'll have to be gentle with you, I guess."

He smiled. "Not too gentle," he corrected. He moved to kiss her when she suddenly sat, smacking her shoulder into his face. "Ouch!"

"Oh! Sorry, John!" she laughed. "Damn it!" She scrambled to her feet. Into her wet underwear and clothes. "I don't have time to roll around naked on the floor with you, John! I've got research to do! Oh..." She looked at him. "I forgot."

"Forgot what?" he asked, watching her. Amused and pleased.

"Forgot to add the name. Oh John Anderson. I'm sure no one overhead us but still...wait. Oh John Anderson! Oh John Anderson!" she moaned. Ignored his sudden scowl.

"Hilarious, Moira! Cut it out!"

"At least you didn't shout my name, so no one knows who you were fucking in here," she acerbically noted.

"Stop it, damn it! No, no one knows and that's the how I want it to be. So deal with it, baby!"

"Of course someone may suspect by the way you talked on the intercom. Don't make any more comments about my ass, damn it!"

"What? I did what?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Hilarious, John! As if you don't know! Have Carson take a look at your back! And put that thing away, colonel!" Smirking she left him.

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

John woke. He lifted his face from the towel. Squinted at the bright lights. Wondered why he was sprawled naked on the floor of his bathroom. Then memory enlightened him. He smiled. Recalling the erotic shower, the extreme pleasure of the sex. Her hasty exit. The teasing. Her ire over his insistence of discretion again. He sat. Grimaced and touched his back. Pain flared. He scowled. Moved awkwardly to his feet.

He pulled on his clothes, still scowling over her words. John Anderson. It gave him a distraction from recent events. He strode to the infirmary. Glanced at the marines. Glowered at their amused expressions. Which quickly disappeared. He wondered what he had said over the intercom. Couldn't quite remember. Was too distracted by the sexual memories now. "Carson? Anything?"

Carson turned in his chair. "Ah, colonel. I trust you are feeling better now?"

"No, I'm not. My back is bothering the hell out of me. My head feels like a brick hit it."

"Your head is your own fault. As for your back, let's take a look, shall we? I should change that bandage anyway. There."

John sat on the bed Carson indicated. Pulled off his green t-shirt with a groan. Gritted his teeth as Carson removed the soiled, wet bandage. Probed the wound. "Ouch!"

"You need to lay down."

John sighed. Reclined on his stomach. Booted feet dangling over the edge of the cot. Frowned as the doctor poked and prodded. Tended the vicious scratches. "Have you made any progress at all?"

"With the source of those things? No. They're all dormant now."

John turned his head to stare at the Wraith head on the table. Electrodes were attached to its skull. To a scanner. "Is this Frankenstein's lab now?"

"Very nearly, John. We were testing the brain waves. Trying to reproduce the synoptic charges. But to no avail."

"Moira was doing that?" he asked quietly. Wondered where she was.

"Yes. Before you interrupted on the intercom."

"Oh. I did? It's all a bit hazy. She said I made some, um, comments."

"Yes, you did. At the very least you owe her an apology, John. Almost done." Carson deftly applied a clean dressing to the wounds.

"I do? What did I say? I mean...apart from the, um, comments about her, um, her–"

"Pert little ass?" Carson helpfully supplied, making John cringe. "Wasn't that bad enough? And the rest, well...you really don't remember?"

John sighed. "Not clearly, no. She wasn't that angry with me, I mean she..." He stopped before revealing their sexual encounter.

"That may be, but you still owe her an apology. All of us, really," Carson jested. "All done."

John sat and pulled on his shirt. Ignoring the stiffness of his muscles. The pain. "What? What did I say?"

"Ask her yourself. Here." He placed a pair of pills in John's hand. "Take these for the pain. And no beer! On no account drink any beer."

"Okay. Because of the interaction with these?" He downed them. Took the cup of water Carson offered and drank it.

"Yes...but mainly because of what you might do next over the intercom." He smirked as John frowned, gaze narrowing in annoyance. "I do suggest you get something to eat. And Moira is probably famished as well. It would be nice if you had a meal with her."

"Okay, okay, I get the hint, doc. If you won't tell me what I said–"

"No. Now go. I have work to do." He watched John stand, awkwardly walk. Pause to glower at the marines. The men's smirks disappeared into dutiful, neutral expressions. "And my work does not include relationship counseling," he added with a shake of his head. Amused.


	5. Chapter 5

Defensive Cooperation5

Moira followed Evan down the shadowy corridor. The lower levels of the city were darker. Gloomier. Quieter. The sound of the surrounding ocean was louder. A gentle sound of waves sweeping back and forth, back and forth. She quickened her steps to catch up as Evan strode purposefully. "Is it that important? I mean I had work in the bio lab."

"Sorry. But yet. I just want to make certain it's not my imagination." Evan led her into a room. Where a holding cell transmitted a bluish glow. Indicating a force field. "Beckett had us move the three headless bodies here. Just in case. So far none have moved. Where were you?" He glanced at her.

Moira felt a blush. Recalling exactly where she had been. Entwined with John on the floor. Bodies wet and hot, joining, joining in a pure sensual rush. "Um...busy elsewhere. Sorry."

Evan reached the cell. Keyed the code. The force field shimmered. Disappeared. "This way. It's safe, Moira." Nevertheless he cradled his P90 in front of him.

Moira followed him, staring at the three white-draped bodies on three separate cots. "Is...one of them Emerson? What, what was Emerson?"

"Yes." Evan frowned. "That's the one I need you to look at. Here." He drew back the white sheet.

Moira steeled herself for the grisly sight. The headless corpse. The messy decapitation. She pulled on a pair of rubber gloves from the nearby rolling cart. Stepped round to where the Wraith arm was attached. She followed the ligaments, the encroaching bluish, scaly tinge along the man's shoulder. What was left of his neck. Along his exposed torso. Nearly half of the body was saturated. She met Evan's uneasy gaze. "It...it wasn't like this before! It's, it's increasing!"

He nodded. "I thought so, but I had to be sure. He wasn't covered on that side as much. And check the waist. There." He pointed with the P90.

Moira drew the sheet down. Stared at the scaly, alien skin enfolded the human anatomy. At the closed bullet wounds. "Oh my God...it's still regenerating! Healing him! How can that be?"

"You tell me. You're the biologist," Evan noted.

"Can you contact Carson?"

"Yes. Hold on." Evan tapped his earpiece. "Beckett? Copy? Moira." He handed the radio to her. Tuned it. "There."

She took it. Talked into it. "Carson?"

"Yes, love? Why aren't you getting a–"

"Carson, you need to see this! The holding cell! The arm is still regenerating! It's healing him!"

"What?" Carson nearly dropped the clipboard he was holding. "Impossible! Not without brain activity to stimulate the–"

"At a much slower rate but it is regenerating!" she exclaimed. "The tissues are completely attached to the shoulder now and are spreading. Wait." She touched the hand. Turned it to reveal the palm. "The sucker is more pronounced."

"Where has it spread?" Carson asked, already on his way. He hastened down the hallway. "John! With me!" he ordered, startling the colonel as he was heading in the other direction. "Moira, where?"

"To the torso and the waist. Possibly lower..." she lifted the sheet. "Not the legs. Not yet. Same side as the arm. It's still inert. Maybe the process has slowed because it is dead. Really dead, I mean, not undead." She exchanged a look with Evan.

"It shouldn't be happening at all! We're on our way. We need to monitor the–"

"Major Lorne, what the hell is going on?" John asked.

Evan nearly jumped at the colonel's stern voice in his ear. "Sir? Sir, we may have a situation here. We're just checking it now."

"Really? And when were you going to inform me, major? When the thing came to life and killed a few more people?"

"I would have informed you before that, sir," Evan noted, exchanging a glance with Moira. "Doctors Beckett and O'Meara will determine the level of threat and then–"

"No, I will. Sheppard out." John cursed. Strode next to Carson.

"Moira, move away from it now. I'll be there in a second. You need to get something to eat, love, all right?"

"No, Carson, I'm not imagining this, nor is Evan! You come see for yourself. Um...O'Meara out." She handed the radio to Evan who briefly smiled. "What?"

"Cute. So...he thinks we are hallucinating?"

"Sounded like it. I can't blame him, though." She covered the body. Followed Evan out of the holding cell.

"And Sheppard sounds pissed. Great, just great," he muttered. Stood with her outside of the cell as they waited. Watching the lifeless bodies. "You know, I'm beginning to miss our usual share of peril on our missions. This, this is just..."

"Weird," John supplied, entering with Carson.

"Sir." Evan turned.

"Major." John looked at Moira but she was following Carson as he entered the cell. John stepped next to Evan to watch the two doctors approach the body. Draw back the sheet. He frowned, unable to see past them. Only glimpses of bluish, scaly flesh encroaching on human skin. A sight he knew only too well. He scratched his arm absently.

"Extraordinary!" Carson mused, examining the body. "How is it still doing this?"

"You tell me. You're the doctor," Moira quipped, earning a brief smile.

"Aye, that I am. I'll need some samples to test in the lab. Hold the arm, just there." Carson pulled the rolling cart to him. Procured a few samples as his scalpel bit into the rougher flesh. "Look, Moira! Fluid. It was dry. Dessicate! But now...extraordinary!"

"Do you think it is the enzyme causing this? And look at the interaction between the Wraith and human cells...it almost resembles the retrovirus. Like John had."

"I know...that is strange in and of itself," Carson agreed.

John shifted his stance. The two doctors were hunched over the body. Voices dropping so low he couldn't hear them. Heard his name but that was all. "Docs? Anything I should know? Or are you going to withhold intel like the major here."

"Sorry, sir," Evan muttered.

"All done, John. And no." Carson covered the body, carefully carried his samples in a vial. "Until I test this we won't know anything just yet. But it is dead."

"Yeah, sure, that's what we thought earlier. Remember how that turned out."

"It's dead, colonel." Nevertheless Carson activated the force field. "I'll just nip upstairs and test these."

"I'll stay with Evan and monitor from here," Moira offered.

"I'll radio the results. Oh, colonel, come with me if you would."

"Why?" John asked, then sighed. "This doesn't involve needles, does it?"

Carson just smiled. Beckoned. John gave Moira a suffering look, causing her to smile. He followed the doctor back to the lab.

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

The aroma of food roused Evan from his musings. He moved to his feet, watched the empty doorway. Glanced at Moira. She was standing near the cell, engrossed in a handheld scanner she held out towards the subjects. "Sir?" He smiled as John entered, carton in tow. "Thank goodness, sir. I'm starving!"

"Too bad it's not for you, major. Get something to eat in the cafeteria. I'll take over from here."

"Yes, sir." He glanced at Moira who had turned, was watching John. He departed with a smirk.

"John?" Moira walked to him as he sat on the floor. Opened the carton and flipped up one side to create an impromptu table. He loaded it with plates and food. Cans of soda.

"Carson said you were famished, and I'll do anything to avoid a needle so I took the hint."

"So this is more for you than for me. Got it." She smiled, sat next to him, placed the screen aside. "I am. Famished, that is. How are you feeling?"

"Hungry. Better. Eat."

She shook her head. "As talkative as ever, then. Guess I'll have to get you drunk to have a real conversation," she teased. Bit into the cheeseburger. "Mmm...delicious."

He bit into his, smiled. Frowned. "What? Look, I know..." He chewed, swallowed. "I know this isn't the most romantic spot to have dinner. But the blue force field does shed an ambient glow, doesn't it? And it is private."

"And I know how much you cherish your privacy, colonel."

"Not that again," he grumbled. They ate in silence. Finished their burgers. John opened a small container. Smiled. "Strawberries, Moira."

She smiled. Watched him bite into one. Lean close to kiss her. She laughed, chewing as he fed her a piece of the fruit. "Delicious, John."

"Moira...um...Carson said I need to apologize. Do I? About the, the intercom thing?"

She considered. "You were very forthcoming, John. When you were drunk. Do you remember any of it?"

"Forth...no...pieces." He made a face. "Look, if I said or did anything to upset you I'm sorry."

"You didn't, John. I have to say, however, I did enjoy the singing."

"I sang?" he asked, horrified.

"Yes. Over the intercom." He groaned, rubbed his chin. She laughed at his expression. "Yes, you were quite, um, chatty, John. Thanks to you I can't wear my khaki pants and I need to find extra long shirts. All those comments about my pert little ass...I mean, really, John, you do need to apologize for that."

"I sang?" he repeated, cursing inwardly. "Crap. And no. I'm not apologizing for any comments about that pert little ass, Moira, because they're all true. Although," he added as she glared at him, "I probably shouldn't have said them out loud. On the intercom."

"You think?" He laughed. She sighed. "I've heard enough about that particular subject, John, so shut up. Everyone has. You told me it was the third thing."

"Third thing what?" he asked, mystified again.

"The third thing you noticed about me." She ate a strawberry. "What were the first two?"

"I did? Crap. I have got to stop drinking...well, getting drunk like that," he muttered. "Do you really want to know?"

"Yes," she insisted. "Tell me. The truth. And don't gloss over anything."

He sighed. Ran a hand through his hair. Rubbed his stubbly chin. "Crap. This is why I don't get drunk very often. Not like that, anyway. I really sang over the intercom?"

"Yes. Tell me, is that from the John Sheppard book of seduction?"

He smiled. "Page 3. But not over an intercom," he grumbled.

She laughed. "The first two," she prompted.

He sighed again. "The second were your breasts. That snug green t-shirt hugged every curve, every swell...practically thrust those beauties out into my–"

She frowned. "Okay, I got it! And the first? Dare I ask?"

He grinned at her expression. "Hey, you asked, baby. Ah...the first." He paused, savoring her suspense, her dread. "It would have been that pert little ass if I had seen that first, you know. If you had turned around or leaned over the table..."

"John..." she warned, exasperated.

He smiled. "I'm only saying, Moira...you did ask. The first. Hmm...it would have been your breasts, let me tell you. They were a close second."

"John..."

He smirked. Let his gaze rove over her. Pausing on her lap for a long moment.

"Oh no," she muttered. Causing him to laugh.

He met her gaze. "The first. Your...eyes. Your impossibly brown eyes. When you saw that prehistoric animal on the MALP transmission there was such wonder, such joy, such sheer exuberance. Such passion in your eyes I wanted it. I wanted have you direct that look at me. That passion."

She stared, startled. Transfixed. "Wow. You, you wanted me to look at you the way I looked at the _enteledont_?"

"No. Yes. You know what I mean," he scolded.

She laughed. Leaned to kiss him. "Hmm...when I saw that intensity in your eyes. Your impossibly green eyes. That single-minded focus I wondered if you were the same in bed."

He smiled. "And?"

"You are. Even more so." He laughed as she stood, moved to the cell. "I need to check the...stay there, John."

"Wait." He was at her side. "You're not going alone."

"No." She touched his arm. "You don't want to see this. I don't want you to see this. Please."

He glanced at the three bodies. Looked at her worried, tender gaze. "Emerson."

"Yes. You don't need to see this."

"I do. I wish you didn't...hell, I wish I didn't. But we do. No," he forestalled her objections, "You're not going in there alone. I won't let you." He released the force field.

Moira moved to the third bed, gingerly pulled back the sheet.

John stared at the former marine. The gross mutations of the Wraith's arm creeping along the man's body. Eroding the human flesh, changing it. As if devouring it. He stared at the brownish stump of the neck. Remembered sawing through the flesh and bone while the dead, yet undead man struggled.

"John? John?" Moira's gentle touch roused him.

"Any change?"

"No. Maybe it's over." She covered the body, led him out of the cell. He reactivated the field, moved to the wall. Sat, back carefully against it. He bent one knee, rested his arm there, absently scratched where the horrible scab had been when he had been infected with the retro-virus. He set his P90 aside, stared at the cell. Brooding.

Moira sat near. Caught his fingers before they clawed his flesh. "John. It's not the same. I mean it is similar, but it's not the same thing that happened to you." He met her gaze, fingers halted under hers. Calmed, as if she had sensed his underlying thoughts. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, John. For the loss of you men. For what you had to do. To Emerson. If, if I hadn't have been there...you could have saved..."

"No." He touched her rosy cheek. Saw the glint of tears. Of exhaustion. "Don't do this, Moira. It wasn't your fault. Even if you hadn't have been there I don't think I could have saved all of them, any of them...and Emerson...I..." He sighed.

"You, you wouldn't have had to..." Her words fell away. "If, if something had, had happened to you...I couldn't..."

He drew her against him, arm sliding round her waist. She snuggled. "Ssh," he soothed. Kissed her brow. "It doesn't matter now."

"John, I don't want...I don't want you to be hurt, or to be injured....don't. Don't protect me. I don't want you to risk your life protecting me. I couldn't live with myself if you...I can't," she whispered unhappily.

He stroked her arm as her hair tickled his face. "I'll always protect you, Moira. No matter what. No," he stilled her protest with a kiss. "Honestly, I'm too tired to argue right now. Okay?"

"Okay, John," she relented. "I'm sorry. I'm so tired but I don't want to sleep. I don't want to dream. I should be monitoring–" she tried to move away but he drew her back.

"No. Just close your eyes, Moira. Remember the shower. The floor," he suggested into her ear.

She smiled. "Delicious," she murmured against his chest. Settling. "Just five...maybe give me ten, John...I need to check on the regeneration...maybe eleven..." she yawned, closing her eyes.

He smiled. "Maybe twelve," he teased.

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

"I thought I'd better come check myself in case there was oh..." Carson's voice halted. His steps froze. John was sitting against the wall. Staring at the cell. At nothing. He looked at the doctor. Moira was snuggled against him, asleep. His arm cradling her close. He shifted, half ready to scold Carson to keep quiet, half ready to move, to rise, to deny the intimate moment.

As he shifted Moira stirred. Her hand clasped the fabric of his green t-shirt. "No, not yet, John...so wonderful..." she muttered.

Carson smiled. "Let her sleep, John."

"We, we were just waiting. Monitoring," he began lamely, moving again.

"Wonderful, John...not too kinky..." she said sleepily, hand caressing his chest.

"I'll just check on Emerson, shall I?" Carson tried not to laugh as he moved to the cell.

"Carson, we didn't do...we didn't...oh crap!" He gently shook her. "Moira? Moira!"

"What? I..." She eyed him. Smiled. "Oh John...you were so very, very..." She sat free of him. Blushed recalling her last words. Saw Carson. John smiled. "Damn it!" She hit his arm. Turned his wrist to see his watch. Hit him again. "Why didn't you wake me! I said ten!" She scrambled to her feet, brushed down her clothes with guilty haste. Hastened to the cell as Carson emerged. "I'm sorry, Carson! I'm sorry! I should have checked an hour ago but I fell–"

"Asleep? And you said eleven," John countered. Amused.

"It's all right, Moira. There's no change." Carson reset the force field. "Whatever process it is it appears to have stopped. You should go to bed. I should go to bed. The tissue samples yielded nothing."

"Nothing? How can that be? Let me take a look at them."

"No. You're exhausted, Moira, as am I. You'll be of no help to me when you can't concentrate properly. Go to bed, love. After a few hours of kip we'll be able to think more clearly."

"I don't want to sleep. I can't without..." She caught herself before saying his name, but her swift glance back at John spoke for her. She rubbed her eyes. "I'll go over the samples. Test again for the virus and the enzyme and any other anomalous–"

"No, you won't. Go to bed. Do I have to have the colonel put you there himself?"

"If I have to," John grumbled with a quick smile. Moving to his feet with a groan.

"You too, John," Carson admonished, moving past Moira. "You both need to go to bed."

"I can't. I've got to secure this area, keep it under guard, just in case. And the lab. And the infirmary in case. And the lab."

"You said that, yes. After all of that go to bed. That's an order, colonel. Any bed, I don't care which one."

"Carson!" Moira protested.

"You too, Moira. John, make sure she gets to bed. Gets to sleep. And nothing kinky, mind."

"Carson!" John protested now.

The doctor laughed at their mutual chagrin. "Och, don't pretend otherwise, the pair of you. Now go! I'll get rid of this." He deftly grabbed the container, carried it to the doorway.

"You see? That's why I prefer discretion," John remarked quietly as he walked next to her. "Get that pert little ass into your bed, Moira."

"John! You–"

"Yours. I'll be there in ten," he promised. "And no kinky." He laughed at her sigh. Fondly swatted her rear then quickly passed her before she could retaliate.

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

Moira paced in her room. Agitated. She couldn't relax. She paced, paced. Walking circles in the room. Up and down, around the bed. Back again. Fingers knitted together. Exhausted but unable to relax. She whirled when the door opened with no warning knock. "John."

He smiled. Entered and closed the door behind him. Viewed her loose hair. The green nightshirt that hung to her thighs. He glanced past her at the bed. The blankets invitingly folded back to reveal the sheets. The pillows. "Moira...why isn't that pert little ass of yours in bed?" He moved past her to set his 9mm and his earpiece on the table.

She frowned. "Will you shut up about that? You came armed to my bed again?" she teased, watching as he removed his belt. Sat to remove his shoes, socks.

"Yes. I told you we need a safe word," he retorted. He removed his pants. Left his t-shirt and boxers on. Slipped into the bed. "Ah...crap." He grimaced, turned onto his side. "Are you coming to bed, Moira, or were you planning to ogle me all night?" He lifted his wrist and fiddled with his watch.

"Setting the alarm again, colonel?" she asked. Sighed. Switched off the lights. She slipped into the bed next to him. Turned to him. "John, really, you don't have to sneak out of here like a thief in the night, do you? I mean, we won't be having sex. Oh John Anderson."

"Shut up, Moira," he scolded. "You still owe me lots of sex. Lots," he grumbled. "And if you say that fucking name again I swear I'll make you regret it."

"How? If you weren't so damn paranoid, John, I wouldn't have to say it." She kissed him. Cuddled close. "Oh John...oh John Anderson...ouch!"

He had swatted her rear. "I warned you, baby. Just you wait. Now go to sleep, damn it."

"All right, sweetie. Go to sleep, sweetie."

"Don't call me sweetie," he grumbled, but smiled.


	6. Chapter 6

Defensive Cooperation6

The tingling work her. Moira shifted, tensing. She was on her side. John was spooned against her back. Body pressing into hers. One arm slung over her waist. Fingers tangled in the fabric of the nightshirt. The tingling persisted. Pulsing into an ache. She moved her foot. Moved John's arm off her, prying her nightshirt out of his fingers. She scooted free, sat. Drew her bare, scarred foot to her.

She touched it. Looked at John. Looked at the table. No light blinked from his earpiece. No alarms sounded. She debated. Winced as the pain fluctuated. She rubbed the old injuries. Fingered the scars livid on her otherwise smooth flesh.

John's hand moved. Moved along the sheets. Bumped into her bare thigh. "Moira?" he murmured. Moved again. Grimaced as his back ached. A sudden pulsing along the scratches that was different from the original pain.

"John? John?" She gently shook his shoulder. "It's happening again. I think. I'm not sure."

"Huh?" The tension in her voice made him wake. He eyed her. "What?"

"Feel this." She took his hand, put in on her foot. On the scars. "Feel that? Just on the scars. Like a, a vibration."

His fingers moved slightly. He sat. Glanced over at the table. To the earpiece. He began to gently rub her foot. Leaned to grab the comm unit and moaned as pain rippled. "Fuck." He checked the clock. "Always at two in the morning?" he muttered. Tapped the earpiece. "Reynolds, copy."

"All secure, sir."

"Why don't you get up off your ass and take a stroll to the holding cell?" John suggested laconically, but there was an edge in his voice.

"Sir? How did you...oh, yes sir!" A moment later. "Nothing, sir. Nothing's moved. Nothing has changed as far as I can see."

"Keep sharp. We may have round two. Sheppard out. Samuels, status?"

"All quiet, sir. Labs are secured. Locked. No motion. No sounds."

"Good." He tapped the earpiece. "I can feel it too...the vibrations."

"Your back?" She moved behind him. Ran her hand up under his shirt. Gently touched the bandage. He groaned softly. "Sorry! It's vibrating, like my scars. Like our wounds are receiving a transmission! But how can that be? All the heads are separated from the bodies. Secure. Nothing is alive, or undead...whatever. All of the tissues are inert." She slipped hand out of his shirt. "John?"

He was thinking, staring at her foot. "That's it. You solved it, Moira."

"Huh?"

He smiled. Kissed her. Got out of the bed. "Get dressed. We have to end this transmissions now."

"What transmissions? What?"

He was swiftly dressing. Tapped his earpiece. "Get Beckett and McKay to the physics lab. Now. Hell, McKay's probably already there."

"Physics?" Moira wondered, swiftly moving to her feet. She pulled on socks, shoes. Grabbed a pair of pants and skimmed them over her white satin panties. Yanked off the nightshirt and put on a white satin bra. A dark green t-shirt. "John, why the physics lab? John?" She turned, catching her hair in a pony tail.

He smiled. "White? How boring is that, baby? I expected green at the very least. Or nothing at all. In fact I'd prefer nothing at all."

She scowled at him as he holstered his gun. "Oh! Do I need to leave five minutes behind you, colonel? Go the other way? Pretend to run into you in the hallway by pure chance? Oh, sorry, Colonel Sheppard, I was just on my way to John Anderson when I–"

"Shut up, Moira! Come on!" He grabbed her hand, pulled her out of the room. "No one is around anyway." He slowed his pace. "Sorry, sweetheart." He had noticed her limp returning, even as the pulsing pain clawed at his back. Outside the physics laboratory John had to pause. He braced himself, a hand on the wall as the pain intensified. Like the Wraith was clawing him all over again. Slowly. He gritted his teeth, looked at Moira beside him. She was favoring one foot over the over, shifting her weight accordingly. "Wait here."

"Stay there," she countered. Limped past him and into the lab. She nearly fell as pain erupted along her foot. She caught herself. "What is it?"

John strode halfway into the room and had to lean over a table. Groaned. "The transmitter. Fro the Runner. Wraith tech." Each word was a struggle past mounting pain, tension.

"John? What the–" Rodney ran into the room, stared at the pair who were nearly cringing with pain although nothing was touching them. Nothing that Rodney could see.

"Rodney! We need to disable the transmitter! From the Runner chick!"

"What? It is disabled! Always has been!"

"Rodney! Do it!" John ordered harshly.

Rodney ran to a cabinet full of drawers. Quickly he unlocked it, entered his password. He pulled out a small electronic device. It was blinking. A tiny amber light. Inconsequential except for the affect it was having on John and Moira.

John groaned, swore, fell to his knees. Moira stumbled, leaned heavily on a table. Lifted her foot to take all of her weight off it.

"Good God! What the–" Carson exclaimed, running into the room.

The amber light faded. Died. John slumped over his knees, as the vibrating pain abruptly stopped. Leaving a dull ache. Moira straightened, set her foot onto the floor. Tested it. "Thank you, Rodney," she said. Moved to John and helped him to his feet. "How did you know?"

"I guessed," he admitted. "When you said transmission. That's what the vibration felt like. Since all organic sources were eliminated that left inorganic ones."

"The subsonic pulse," Carson surmised. "Of course! But that thing's been inactive. Rodney?"

"It had been!" the scientist insisted. Turned the small device over in his hand. "These pulses are so low my scans couldn't detect them. What could have activated it in the first place?"

They stared at each other. Silent. Thinking.

Finally Moira spoke. "Where's the body?" All eyed her.

"The body? You think–" Rodney began.

"It must have a neural transponder in the brain," Carson explained. "Anything could have set it off. If it became dislodged, or an insect buried into it."

"We have to cut off the head," John stated grimly. "Where is the body?"

"Buried. On the mainland. I don't know the exact location but I have the coordinates, roughly,"

Carson offered.

"That will take too long. We'll have to use this." Rodney held up the inert transmitter. "With this activated I will be able to track the signal to the exact location."

"Do it. We have to go now. You–"

"No, John!" Moira objected, hand still grasping his arm. "You can't go! With that transmitter at full power and proximity you'll be in agony! Somehow it is triggering our wounds caused by the Wraith, and yours are brand new. Fresh."

"I noticed," he said with a frown. "I have to–"

"She's right, John. Your injury is too fresh, too new. So the pain is much greater than Moira's," Carson agreed. "You cannot go."

"I can at least fly the Jumper to the site and–" John began. Stubborn.

"No." Rodney shook his head. "If this thing suddenly goes off when we're in flight what would happen then?"

"It's decided." Moira faced the two men. "We have to go now. That thing's a time bomb. Rodney, get what you need to disable the transponder. Carson, we'll need a knife, a saw, something. I'll go get Evan. He can fly us to the mainland." As the men separated she turned. "What?" she asked. John was watching her. A smile on his handsome face.

"Nothing. You are so sexy when you give orders, Doctor O'Meara."

"Shut up, John." She quickly kissed him. "Stay here. Keep the city secure, colonel. No, you don't have a choice this time." She quickly moved to get Evan.

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

Evan yawned. Powered up the Jumper. "Okay. So we have to go find a buried body with a Wraith transponder that activates the transmitter that brings the dead to life and causes traces of the enzyme found in Wraith-inflicted injuries to cause pain."

"That's about it," Moira agreed, moving to the open hatchway.

"Everything's here." Rodney patted a bag he held as he entered the ship. Took the co-pilot's seat. "I can disable it out there. I think."

"Carson!" Moira called.

"Coming!" Carson headed for the ship, entered. "This should do the trick." He held up a bone saw. Put it back into his bag. "I've got smaller instruments too."

"What you really need is a machete," John retorted, strode up the ramp. "Oh, look!" He held up the wicked, curved blade. "It's amazing what Ronon leaves lying around. Luckily he's not here so he won't mind me borrowing it."

"John? No! You can't–" Moira protested, but he stepped past her, nearly pushing her out of the way with a gentle hand.

"Alpha," he reminded quietly. Closed the hatch. "Major, why are you in my seat?"

"So I got out of bed for nothing, sir?" Evan vacated the pilot's seat, took the one behind.

John settled in the chair. Glanced back to see Moira sitting in the back, frowning. Hands on the shovels propped up against the wall. "All right. Let's get this done. Now." The ship lifted, lifted. The hatch opened above them, revealing the night sky. Stars twinkled brightly. They flew over the water, escaping the confines of the city. John brought the HUD to view. "Carson. Coordinates. I'll land as close as I can."

"And then you'll stay put," Moira called from the back.

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

The forest was alive with sounds. Deep darkness was only penetrated by flashlights. It was wet. A recent rainfall had left mud, debris. Water dripped off the trees, splattering onto the team as they advanced. Boots clomping noisily in the mud. P90 lights guiding them. A lone howl broke the cold air.

"Uh...what kind of predators are out here?" Rodney asked.

"The usual nocturnal mammals. Wild cats. Foxes. Wolves. A few bats and–"

"Wolves? Did you say wolves?" Rodney stammered.

"They won't bother us," Moira assured. "And I doubt there are wolves. We've never really done a complete survey of the animal life on the mainland. I'm sure the animals are all from Earth but there could be some interesting variations and hybridizations like the–"

"Did you have to ask her?" John complained. "Major Lorne, take point with McKay. I'll take the six." At Moira's and Carson's glare he held up a hand. "Way back once that thing is on. Okay? Go."

"Stay way back, John. With the two pieces so close together the transmission will be much more powerful," Rodney warned. "Powering up. It will take a few minutes to calibrate precisely."

"Let's move out." Evan led Rodney into the darkness. Carson and Moira followed. She stumbled as the vibration began. The tingling intensified.

"Moira? Maybe you should stay back with John," Carson suggested.

"No. I'll be fine. It's not as bad for me," she refused. Nevertheless Carson took her elbow, guided her through the mud and darkness.

John held back, held back, then followed. Gritted his teeth as the vibrating pain laced his back. He kept his light trained on the two scientists in front of him. Each carried a shovel. His boots made noisy squelching sounds in the mud.

"Okay, got it!" Rodney called. "This way!"

Moira struggled but suddenly felt fine. "It stopped."

"I switched if off. The scan is working now," Rodney answered.

Free of the intense pain John quickly sprinted to them. "Good work, Rodney! Let's get this done!"

They reached a clearing. An earthen mound which was thick with mud.

"There?" Evan pointed.

"No. Past that. I...oh oh." The light flared to life on the transmitter. "What the...I didn't activate it, I swear!" Rodney fumbled.

Moira lost her footing, grabbed Carson's arm. John groaned and doubled over in pain.

"Go forward! Go!" Carson shouted.

"Going!" Rodney and Evan swiftly circled the mound, were lost to sight. "We're close! I'll try to switch if off again!"

"Now, Rodney!" John shouted.

"Carson! There are no discernable features here! I need you!" Rodney hollered.

"Go!" Moira urged, releasing him.

Carson nodded, ran around the earthen mound. "I'm coming! Shut that bloody thing off!"

"I'm trying! It's life a homing signal!"

John groaned loudly. He fell to his knees, dropped his P90 and the machete. Hot slashes of fire were coursing up his back, as if the scratches were being ripped open again. Moira whirled, limped to him, sank to her knees. "John! Hold on! Hold on!" she urged, catching him before he fell face forward into the mud. He braced himself, but leaned heavily on her.

"Moira...maybe you were right..." he conceded through a clenched jaw.

"Rodney! Hurry!" she cried, wincing as her foot started to throb. "Damn it, John, why didn't you listen to me or to Carson? You and your stubborn, pigheaded, obstinate male pride!"

Suddenly the pain stopped. Moira's foot relaxed from its cramp. John's back dulled to a stiff ache. He slumped in her arms a moment, released from the vibrating agony. But Moira was still haranguing him.

"You should have stayed on Atlantis! You didn't have to come with us! You don't have to prove anything! You are so–"

"Moira," he tried, straightening.

"–stubborn! It's not worth this, John! It's not worth this torture just to assuage your damn male ego and your pride! Just because you are the military commander of Atlantis doesn't mean you can't accept help when you need it and you can't go rushing off onto every–"

John kissed her, silencing her words with a lengthy, provocative possession of her mouth by his. He pulled her against him, ramming her body into his. He stood, pulling her to her feet with him.

"John! Moira!" Carson called. A lone Scottish voice in the darkness.

John broke the kiss. "Fine now, Carson! We're coming!" He grabbed his gun and the machete. Handed her the shovel. "What? It was the quickest way to shut you up, baby. See? We're fine. No need to berate me."

She was staring at him. The unexpected kiss full of passion, promise. "I...um..."

He smiled. "Let's go, Moira." He swatted her rear. "Move that pert little ass of yours."

"John!" She hit his arm. "Stop it!" But she quickly ran with him around the mound and towards the bobbing lights of their friends.

"Here!" Evan called. He had already started digging into the ground. Into a bare spot of earth. A grave. Carson held the light on the muddy rectangle.

John made to take the shovel when Moira pulled it out of his reach. "No. We'll all take turns. It will go faster." She met his gaze. Challenging him to argue.

John shrugged. "Fine by me, Moira. You first, then. This is right up your alley, isn't it? Digging in the graves?"

"Digging for fossils, not corpses," she retorted. She stepped into the mud. Began to shovel after watching Evan's movements. Where he was dumping the heavy, wet dirt.

"That mud looks awfully heavy," Rodney commented. Scowling. "How far do we need to go?"

"Six, seven feet," Carson answered. "They're working well together."

"Not too well," John muttered, watching Moira. The mud flecking her pants, her arm. "I should have brought some popcorn," he mused. Trailing his light along her body. The muddy clothes clinging. Dampening.

"John! The ground!" she directed irritably. The men laughed.

"Oh! Sorry." John lowered the light to the ever increasing opening in the earth.

After a foot John and Carson took over, hefting the thick mud. Descending deeper towards their goal. Owls hooted in the trees. Mud was flying everywhere as the two men worked rapidly, as if trying to outpace each other. Finally they paused, breathing heavily. John noted the light that Moira held was rising up his legs. Pausing on his rear as he was leaning on the shovel.

"Hey! Watch it!"

"Oh! Sorry, John," she smirked, causing the others to laugh.

John climbed out of the hole, thrust the shovel into Rodney's hands. "Your turn."

"What? I'm holding the light!" the scientist complained.

"That's my job now." John took it. "In!"

"Fine, fine! But I have to warn you if there is anything contagious down there I will get sick! Not to mention whatever awful things are crawling around in that filth."

"Go!" John pushed him towards the opening.

"Whatever you do, sir, do not shine the light on his ass," Evan joked. Laughter exploded.

"What? Oh, that was so funny! But yes, don't," Rodney agreed. More laughter.

Carson clambered out of the hole, handed his shovel to Evan. "Your turn, major."

"Oh joy," Evan commented.

Steadily they worked. Handing off the shovels. Each taking turns. Each becoming progressively muddier, dirtier. Wetter. The hole grew deeper. Deeper. Piles of mud were flung up on either side. Making the slope of the hole slick.

John wiped his sweaty brow with his arm. Clambered out of the hole. He took his P90 from Moira, gave her the shovel. "Ladies first."

"Charming." She descended, half sliding, half jumping to join Carson.

"I'd kill for a beer right now," John complained.

"This will have to do, sir." Evan handed him a bottle of water.

"Thanks." John drank deeply. "How much farther? At this rate we'll be in China. If we were on Earth, I mean."

"A few more inches should do it," Carson assured.

Moira snorted. "Yeah, that's what they all say." Her bland comment produced a wave of laughter to startle the night. She laughed, glanced up at John who was mock glaring at her. "Sorry," she said as she laughed.

A thud as Carson's shovel hit something solid. "Got it!" he informed.

"Okay, out. Moira." John held his hand towards her. She took it. He pulled her out of the hole as Carson clambered to the surface. Evan helped him.

"Wait, John. The signal...it could have activated the body," Carson warned.

"You mean it's alive? Undead? Whatever?"

"Possibly," the doctor cautioned.

"Crap," John muttered. He looked at Moira. She was a muddy mess holding his P90. He smiled, finding her desirable. "Which is it now? Vampires or zombies?"

"Both," she replied.

John hefted the machete, nodded at Evan. The two men jumped down into the hole. "On three, major. The rest of you stay back."

The men opened the coffin. The partially decomposed body of the blond woman who had been a Runner as well as a Wraith worshiper stared up sightlessly. Her head was turned one way. Part of her face was eaten away. The flesh removed to reveal the skull. Evan grimaced, held his P90 pointed at the corpse.

"Now that's disgusting," Rodney needlessly stated. "It has to be dead."

"You thought she was hot?" John asked.

"No! Yes, no, never mind!"

"I think I know how the signal was activated," Carson climbed down into the hole. "Something chewed through to the brain tissue. No doubt the scavenger accidently activated the transponder which likewise activated the transmission."

"Carson!" Moira cried as the corpse lunged upwards. Without any warning. Evan fired his gun. The bullets slammed into the corpse. Dried flesh and tattered clothing flew. But the corpse did not slow. Did not stop.

"Carson, down!" John shouted. As the doctor flung himself backwards John lifted the machete high into the air. Then swung it in a perfect arc with both arms. It cleanly sliced through the corpse's neck. Bones shattered. The body bounced. Fell back into the coffin. The head flew into the sky, rolling. "Shit."

"Catch it! If that transponder falls out we'll never find it in this muck!" Carson shouted.

Rodney flailed backwards, backwards, caught the head. "Oh. Ick. This is so gross!"

"Nice catch, Rodney. For a Canadian," John quipped with a grin.

"They do say two heads are better than one," Evan joked. Groans. The two men clambered out of the grave, covered in mud and grime.

"Hold it steady, Rodney, we don't want to jostle it!" Carson scrambled out of the grave, grabbed his pack to open it wide.

"I'm going to puke if you don't take this from me!" Rodney warned, turning green. "Oh god, I'm touching brain! Brain matter!"

"Drop it in, slowly...there." Carson shut the bag as the cloth enfolded the head.

"Ugh!" Rodney wiped his hands on his pants. "That may have been the most disgusting thing I have ever held!"

"What about the body?" Moira asked, glancing back at the grave. Shuddered seeing the headless corpse.

"We need to re-bury it," Carson decided.

"What? Carson, it will take another hour to–"

"Then you'd best get a move on, colonel, haven't you? I'll not leave a desecrated grave," the doctor insisted.

"Fine. Shovels. Moira, are you volunteering again?" John asked, looking up at her as he stood in the grave.

Rodney was vigorously shaking his head. Moira smiled. "No. I think this is a military job, colonel. We scientists just like to watch." Laughter.

"Charming," John commented. "Major, let's get this done. Wouldn't want the scientists to get their pretty hands all dirty." The two men laughed. Began to shovel the mud back into the hole.

"We already did," Moira countered. Another lone howl sounded in the night. Close. "You might want to move those military assets, boys. Predators are on the prowl."

"I thought you said there were no wolves here," Rodney stated, looking round.

"I did. But who knows what lives on this mainland? In another galaxy. Life forms we haven't even encountered yet. Creatures from another world," she said in a spooky voice.

"Stop scaring Rodney, Moira. That's my job," John quipped. Laughter.

"Nothing can be as bad the Wraith," Evan said.

"True. Were you boys going to finish tonight or–" Moira teased.

"We're done." John thrust the shovel at her. Wiped his dirty hands on his pants. Took his P90 again. Hefted the machete over his other shoulder. "Let's go. Rodney, you can deactivate that thing in the lab. Right?"

"Yes. Once it is out of the head, er, brain. I so need a shower, a bath, a shower, disinfectant!"

"And that was before we got here," quipped Carson. Laughter.

"Lead on, major. I think a beer is calling my name," John said.

"Several, sir. I hear it too," Evan agreed.

Once in the Jumper John scowled. "I need to find the deluxe Jumper wash after this little excursion." Laughter.

"We do look a sight," Carson agreed.

"At least it's over. Right?" Moira asked.

"Aye, I think so. Nearly," Carson nodded.

"Once we reach the city we'll all head to the physics lab. The sooner that transponder is extracted the better I'll sleep. But we need to stay together just in case we have to arrange a return trip to the mainland of the living dead. I'll check on my security teams and join you."

"Sounds good, sir," Evan agreed.

"Okay, John," Rodney agreed.

"Fine by me," Carson agreed.

"You'll come to the lab afterwards?" Moira made certain.

"Yes. We can clean up after we're sure it's over," John stated.


	7. Chapter 7

Defensive Cooperation7

Moira blanched. Looked away as Carson carefully performed an autopsy of the head, the brain. Using a scalpel he pried apart dried, muddy tissues. Searching into the cortex for the alien artifact lodged somewhere in the brain matter. "Ugh. That just killed my appetite," she complained. Looked at the door as John entered. Carrying two six-packs of beer. He smiled at her.

"Want one?" he asked.

"No thanks. You're not going to get drunk again, are you?"

"No. This isn't all for me. Carson."

The doctor turned, smiled at the offered beer. "Ah, just the thing. Thank you." He drank some, returned to his work. "I've almost got the little bugger."

"Rodney."

Rodney took the proffered drink. Took long swallows. "Not bad. For an American," he quipped, eying the can. He turned to work on the transmitter. "Thanks. I'm shutting this down for good. Removing the necessary components."

"Moira, look at this, will you?"

She grimaced, neared. "On second thought..." She stepped back and took the beer John had just started to drink. She sipped. "Ick." She handed it back to him. "What....oh." She stared at the tiny device implanted into the brain tissue.

"Yes. Look here." Carson prodded it with his scalpel. "The transponder is obviously of Wraith origin. Part of it is organic. It's literally grown and attached itself to the brain tissues. Like a cancer or tumor would. Fascinating."

"So it can work on electronic and brain wave patterns simultaneously. And I bet those Wraith cells are from the claws. That's why our injuries were affected," she surmised.

"Yes. It's quite ingenuous, actually."

"Can you remove it?" asked John. Sipping his beer. Watching them.

"Aye, but we have to be careful."

"Careful? It's already dead," John said. Paused. "Isn't it?"

"Aye. But the ATA gene may activate it. So no touching," Rodney warned.

"Funny, Rodney, that is exactly what the woman said too," John quipped.

"Oh ha ha. You should have seen her before she became a corpse," Rodney muttered.

"Seriously, Rodney, why do you find Wraith women so attractive?" John continued.

"I do not!"

"Here we go," Carson sighed. He shook his head. "Will you two behave for a second?" Carson carefully extracted the device, cutting the inert tissues. A little fluid spurted.

Moira stepped away, felt sick. She bumped into John. She turned, took his beer and sipped.

"Ick. Here."

"Sure you don't want your own?" he asked with a smile.

"Yes. That's all I want. Are you–"

"Completely sober, Moira." He gave her a suggestive look. "Lots. You said."

She smiled. "You did, flyboy, not me."

"Here we go." Carson set the device into a small dish. "It's all yours, Rodney."

"Gee, thanks." Rodney took it. Viewed it under a microscope. "It is ingenious. Very clever. Very clever indeed. The components are so small, so compact."

"Can you disable it?" John asked.

"Of course. Give me a minute, will you?"

Carson drank his beer, closed the head into a secure bag. Peeled off his gloves. "I can safely say I've never had an experience quite like this one."

Rodney drank some beer. "There. It's dead. Inert. Disabled on both ends."

"You're sure?" John tested.

"Yes, Sheppard, I'm sure!"

"You're sure sure?"

"Yes!"

"Sir?" Evan approached, eyed the group. The beers. "Everything is secure. Do you still want the security teams posted in place?"

"No. If anything happens it is Rodney's fault. Catch."

Evan caught the beer tossed his way. "Thanks, sir." He drank. Eyed the head in the bag. "That is just gross." He pulled up a chair and sat. Drank deeply.

"Very," Moira agreed, shifting her stance. Her foot was uncomfortable after the vibrating pain. Aches traveled along the scars.

The men were silent. Drinking. Each caught in their own thoughts. The horror they had just witnessed, endured. John stood, wordlessly handed each man another beer. Sat back down and eyed Moira as she stood in front of him, in the semi-circle of men.

Evan broke the silence. "So...zombie or vampire?"

Moira smiled, shifting her stance again. Eyed the men as they sat around her.. All filthy with mud on their clothes, on their arms and faces. All appearing tired. All drinking generously of the beers they clutched in their hands. "Vampire," she answered.

"Vampire? No, no, no, no, I'd say zombie," Rodney argued, gesturing with his beer before taking a long swallow. "Walking undead."

"But you kill vampires by decapitation. At least that's one way," Moira argued. "Not zombies. Actually the Wraith are closer to vampire mythology than zombies when you think about it. Sucking the life energies out of their victims and then their appearance of–"

"I don't want to think about it," John interrupted. "Moira, sit down."

"How do you kill a zombie?" Carson asked.

"Salt. Salt sewn in the mouth. Makes them go back to their grave," Evan answered.

"Ah...Kolchak. Now that was a good show!" John agreed.

"Yes. The classic. Not the re-make," Moira stated, glancing back at him. Smiled.

"I can't believe the way you swung that machete, Sheppard!" Rodney enthused. "Holding it high in the air like a medieval knight, then whack! One swing and it was done! Snap!" Rodney made a chopping gesture with his free hand.

"Yeah. I had some practice," John dourly noted. Moira turned, touched his knee briefly. A touch of sympathy. She looked back at the men. "Moira, sit," he insisted, leaning to pull her suddenly onto his lap. "You need to be off your foot."

"John!" Moira objected, scrambling as she straddled his lap, nearly falling as she squirmed. Trying to stand but John's arm kept her in place.

"Keep squirming, Moira, please," John teased into her ear. He sat back, relinquishing his hold as she glanced back at him. Glared. Then settled. She turned slowly, but the others seemed oblivious to her whereabouts as they drank.

"No, really!" Rodney continued, gesturing with his beer. "Standing heroically over the coffin! Machete raised high! How can any woman resist that? Moira, could you?"

"I..." Moira blushed as all eyes hit her. She replied glibly, "Women find it hard to resist a man wielding a big instrument." Uproarious laughter spilled out of each man. Moira shifted on John's lap, smirked. "That came out wrong," she ameliorated. More laughter.

"As long as it goes in right," John quipped. More laughter.

Moira hit his thigh in reprimand. Leaned forward a little, rocked a little as she shifted, her rear bobbing slightly before settling against him. Heard his appreciative murmur behind her. She glanced at him over her shoulder. He smiled, raised a brow. Raised his beer. She shook her head and he sipped. Swallowed. She looked back at the men. "What we were discussing?" she asked, moving to stand but he pulled her down onto his lap again.

"No. Rest your foot. Keep your pert little ass right here."

"John, shut up!" she objected, as the men laughed. "Are you sure you're not drunk? If you were drunk you could sing."

"No. Not drunk," he assured.

"Sing? Sheppard sings?" Rodney asked, slurring on the letter s.

Carson laughed. "Not really, no."

"Oh, come one, Carson!" Moira argued. "I thought it was lovely."

"I so have to hear this!" Rodney enthused.

"No, you don't!" Carson objected. "No one needs to hear that again."

"It was wonderful!" She turned on John's lap. "John, sing something!"

"No. I'm not drunk so I'm not singing," he mildly stated . Drank. He licked his lips, offered it to her again. She took the can, sipped. Made a face and handed it back to him.

"Thank God!" Carson exclaimed. Eliciting more laughter.

"Do you think you could do better?" Evan challenged.

"Aye, of course! I'm a Scot! Music is in my blood!" Carson boasted. Drank.

"That's true," Moira agreed, "but you really need to hear John. I bet he sounds even better when he's not drunk...and really singing."

"You're just saying that because you like him," Rodney accused. Sighed. "All women like him."

"Yes, you don't have an objective opinion," Evan agreed, pointing at her.

"I can judge objectively," she assured. "I'm a scientist. I'm just saying I believe purely on what I've heard so far that John can actually carry a tune and sing."

"If he can he won't sound as good as Carson," Rodney stated.

"Just keep talking about me like I'm not here," John acerbically commented. Amused he set down his half-empty can. Touched Moira's lower back. Slid his fingers under the shirt.

"Oh?" She turned, rocking on him pleasantly, thighs opening wider to make him softly moan. "Sorry, John." She touched his arm, smiled. "We can settle this easily enough if you would only sing. Come on, John. Sing."

"No."

"John," she pouted, shifted against his crotch deliberately now, "just a little song? A few lyrics? Is that too hard, John? Is that too hard, colonel?" she asked innocently, but subtly rocked as she felt his body reacting to hers.

He smiled. "Not hard enough," he teased.

She sighed. Turned back round. "He won't. He's so damn stubborn!"

"He will. You've got a hold on him. He'll succumb to your charm," Evan replied.

"You've really got a hold on him," Carson agreed. The two men exchanged drunken smiles.

"Hey! Isn't that a song? Was a song? Let me think. You've really got a hold..." Rodney frowned, trying to remember as the alcohol relaxed him. "Yes!" He sang, "You've really got a hold on me..."

Carson smiled, began to sing the song. Started with the first verse, "_I don't like you but I love you..._." His fine Scottish voice filled the air as he sang the lyrics. As he reached the chorus the other two men joined in, singing the words loudly.

"_You've really got a hold on me!_" They repeated it three times.

Then Evan launched into the second verse. "_Baby I don't want you but I need you..._" His fine voice only slurred a little as he sang the lyrics. As he reached the chorus the other two men joined him, even louder now. Three times they sang the chorus.

Then Rodney jumped in, sang the third verse. "_I want to leave you, don't want to stay here..._."

Surprising the air with his rendition, in tune and only slightly marred by the beer coating his throat. As he reached the chorus the other two men joined him. Loud voices singing with abandon. Even Moira joined in, swaying slightly on John's lap as she sang with them.

Only John refrained from joining the revelry. He was smiling, trying not to laugh as the men sang drunkenly, loudly. Clearly enjoying themselves, free from the stress and the horrors they had endured. John shifted, enjoying the feel of Moira's body as she was practically gyrating on him now as she swayed. Found her off-key voice adorable.

Elizabeth paused in the doorway, hearing singing. Drunken singing that was growing in volume. Repeating the same lines over and over. Some voices were off-key. Some were quite good. A Scottish accent. A Canadian. An American. A woman's that was nearly drowned by the men's more raucous volume. Smiling she entered the lab. Neared. Carson and Rodney were next to each other, swaying as they sang. Evan sat near, swaying as well. John sat across from them, a quizzical, beleaguered look on his face. Moira was perched on his lap, swaying as she sang.

Raising a brow Elizabeth coughed. "Gentlemen?"

Like a spell being broken silence fell. Moira practically jumped off of John's lap, stepping away from him and stumbling as her foot ached. She blushed. "Doctor Weir."

Carson set his empty bottle aside. "Elizabeth. We were just going to bed."

Rodney smiled. "Lizzie! Come join us! We were debating who has the best!"

"Ma'am, we were just wrapping up the mission, our misshon, mission," Evan explained, trying not to slur his words.

"With bells on, apparently, major. Colonel?" she asked, trying to keep a straight face. She stared at their muddy clothes, dirty faces and arms. Their drunken, happy faces. Some were embarrassed. Some not.

John lazily reclined in the chair. Shifted to both ease his sore back and to conceal the partial erection Moira had engendered. "We needed a debrief after these two, or three days of hell. Of horror. We solved the walking dead problem."

"Undead," Carson corrected.

"Zombies," Evan disagreed.

"Vampires," Moira insisted.

"Whatever. So the city is safe. It won't happen again. Will it?" John eyed the scientists.

"It won't!" Rodney asserted.

"It can't," Carson agreed.

"It shouldn't," Evan opined, even though he wasn't a scientist.

All eyes fell on Moira. "What? You're all correct. Both the organic and inorganic causes have been eliminated."

"Thank you, Doctor O'Meara. At least one of you is sober," Elizabeth quipped.

John raised his hand. "Make that two."

"I think you all need to get cleaned up and go to bed. We can fully debrief in the morning...oh, it is morning. This afternoon, then," Elizabeth said.

"Oh. I guess we should go," Rodney realized. Glanced down at himself. "Have I been in these filthy things the whole time? Who knows what kind of bacteria was in that mud, that filth, that grave! Oh my God I caught the head! I touched the brain! I need to shower! I need to bathe! I need to apply disinfectant!" Laughter.

Carson stood. "Aye, a hot shower, a wee toddy and I'm off to bed as well," he said, sounding completely sober. "After I wrap this up." He grabbed the bag with the head in it, slung it over his shoulder and headed out the door. Rodney quickly followed, still muttering about how dirty he was and asking what diseases he could possibly catch.

Evan stood. "I'll be heading that way too, ma'am. Sir. Moira." He smirked at her, left.

Moira sighed. "Me too. I haven't slept since today? Yesterday? Tomorrow? I don't know."

"All right. Goodnight." Laughing Elizabeth left, shaking her head.

Moira gathered the empty cans off the floor, off the tables. Glanced back to see John watching her. Expression unreadable. She sighed, turned away to drop the cans into the trash can. "I suppose you are angry, John. We just got carried away, is all. I didn't think I had that much beer but...anyway, you have to admit it was fun. And Carson does have a fine singing voice. So does Evan. And so does Rodney. Rodney! I wonder if Katie knows," she babbled, moving round to clean up the lab. Turn off the microscopes. Place the surgical tools in a zippered bag. "I'm surprised at your actions, colonel. Pulling me onto your lap for everyone to see, but then I realized. I realized you knew they would be sho, so drunk they wouldn't remember it. So your shecret, secret is safe. Your little secret of your affair with me. No, not affair. Your seeing me is safe, so are you happy, colonel?" She sighed. "You should have joined in on the singing. Hmm... I wonder if John Anderson can sing?"

"Hilarious, Moira," he commented. Watching her putter around the lab. Limping slightly now. Starting to clean up things they hadn't even touched. Straightening folders. He glanced at the empty doorway. Heard nothing but silence. Scowled, but then sang quietly, "_I don't like you but I love you..._." He proceeded to sing the first verses.

Moira whirled, nearly dropping a lap top as his voice startled her. Its low tones in perfect harmony as the words filled the air. She stared, wide-eyed as he straightened in the chair, launching with a louder voice into the musical refrain. Adding some vocal touches that showed off his range and his talent.

Abruptly he stopped. Smiled at her astonished, ardent gaze. "Well? Satisfied, baby? Does that get your pert little ass back onto my lap?"

She smiled. Hastened to him. Straddled his legs. Ran her hands up his chest to his shoulders. "Oh John! I knew you could sing! I knew it! Oh John!" she gushed. Kissed him. Kissed him again, began to gyrate on his lap. His hands ran up her back. Then down to her hips, guiding her seductive rotations on his lap as their mouths entwined. Entwined.

"My Moira," he said huskily into her ear. Kissing down her throat.

Feeling his hand sliding up under her shirt to her bra she pulled back a little. "Well? Satisfied?"

He smiled. "No. Not yet."

She stood, clambering off him. "Let's get cleaned up, John."

"All right, baby. But you had better walk directly in front of me." He grinned.

Moira smirked, glancing at his evident arousal. "Goodness, colonel, that is some ordnance you are packing."

He laughed. "You better believe it, doctor. Lead on." He followed her out of the lab. Down deserted corridors. "Whoa! Not yours?" he asked as they passed her room.

"No. Yours. You have the better shower." She stopped, turned to him. "Wait. Let me get a few things and I'll meet you in yours."

"Okay. Don't take too long," he warned.

She smiled. "Me? You're the one who takes so long, John...so very long," she purred. "Don't start without me, colonel."

He laughed. "Then you better move that pert little ass!" He headed for his room. Entered and waited. Paced. Paced. Impatient. Amorous. He rubbed some dirt off his arm. Rubbed his stubbly chin. Removed his shoes and socks. Wished he had brought another beer with him. When the knock sounded he pounced on the door, waved it open. "What took you so long?" he complained, stared at the duffle bag she carried. He pulled her into the room, closed the door.

"I had to gather a few things. And brush my teeth to get rid of that awful taste of beer. I hope you will do the same." She set the bag on the floor, laughed as he stared at it. "Don't panic, John. I'm not moving in. I just needed a few things. Fresh clothes for later today. You know, when I have to sneak out of your room somehow. No doubt we'll be sleeping in late. I can't leave your room in a nightshirt, now can I? Looking like I've been having vigorous sex in your bed for hours? Since you insist on discretion."

"Vigorous? Hours? Yes." He took her hand. "Come on. You still owe me lots." He pulled her into the bathroom. His bare feet padded quietly on the tiled floor. He undid his belt, removed it. Unbuttoned his pants but her hand stopped him.

"No."

"No?"

She smiled. Sat to remove her shoes. Hesitated and took off her socks. "We can get our clothes clean as well." She stood, stepped past him to turn on the water. Adjusted the temperature.

"Moira?"

"Is this too kinky for you, sweetie?" she teased, stepping in before he could reply. The warm water pelted her loose hair, muddy clothes. Making them quickly sodden. Clinging to her body.

John laughed. Stepped in after her. "We're going to have to work on a proper definition for kinky, Moira. This is not it."

She smiled, turned to him. Water sluiced down his hair, his clothes now sodden as well. She stepped closer, ran her hands through his wet hair. Kissed him. "John, John, half the fun is the journey itself, not just the finish line. Oh! Damn! Shampoo!" She exited. Quickly returned with a bottle in hand. "Hope you don't mind smelling like vanilla and jasmine. I need to wash my hair first."

"Lovely...just what I want to smell like...oh! Then soap, then..." He smiled broadly. Stared as she tilted her head to fully wet her hair. Send it streaming down her back. She stepped closer to him. Ran her hands up his chest, tugging the heavy, wet fabric. She peeled it off him as he helped her. He yanked her against him and kissed her passionately. Hands running over her body now, tugging at her clothes.

She tugged at his pants. "You first." She grabbed the soap as he removed his pants, then his boxers. He sighed happily as her soapy hands ran over his back gently, careful of the bandage. He turned to face her, reveling in the sensations as she scrubbed his chest, his arms. Kissing him repeatedly. Fingers teasingly reaching down his waist. Lower. Lower.

He groaned. "Moira," he said. Voice rough as he reacted.

She gently turned them and moved him back a step. "Let me wash my hair first." She hesitated under his intense scrutiny. But peeled off her sodden t-shirt, then the bra.

John stared. Entranced as the water spilled down her bare skin. Washing away the mud, the dirt. Sliding over her bare breasts. She undid her pants. Gingerly stepped out of them, turning away to wriggle out of the sodden panties. Removed them. She poured some shampoo into her hand, turned back towards him and washed her hair. Turned away again to rinse her long hair. Suds slid along her back to her rear. She turned again, tilted her head to rinse, arching her back, thrusting her breasts towards him. Suds spilled down to her waist, between her legs.

John audibly groaned at the lascivious, luscious sight. He had to steady himself, one hand on the wall as he was abruptly stiff. Abruptly coming in a rush of sexual heat. "Moira," he croaked, trying to stop the flood of lust, of desire. But suddenly she was there, her body pressing against his. Wet skin sliding along wet skin. Her mouth catching his, then her hand slipping down to grasp, to caress, to hold and rub up and down. Up and down. Fingers slipping on wet skin, as his cock grew even harder in her hand.

John groaned, practically thrusting in her fingers, the hot flesh and warm water reminiscent of actually entering her. He closed his eyes briefly, imagining the folds of her flesh enclosing him, taking him into her. Or her mouth closing on him instead of her fingers. He moaned as her grip tightened, tightened, her fingers moving faster and faster. Coaxing. Cajoling. Her mouth running along his jaw up to his ear. To circle and circle in time to her hand's frantic movements. He shuddered, spurted, coming in a rush as the water pummeled them. He steadied himself, one hand pressed to the slick wall as his body strained, spasms erupting into pleasure. Still caught in the tunnel of her fingers. He breathed deeply.

Moira released him. Kissed him deeply, savoring his full lips, nibbling on the bottom one as her hands slid along his thighs, then up to tangle in his chest hair. She pressed her wet body to his. "Are you all right, John?" she asked, voice a soft, breathy noise in his ear. She rinsed off her hands, her thighs.

He opened his eyes as she turned, stepped out of the shower. "Hey! Moira! Where..." he paused as his voice was raspy, hoarse.

"Getting dry. Are you going to be in there all night, er, morning, sweetie?"

He smiled. Shut off the water and stepped out of the tub. Moira was wrapped in a towel, combing her hair. "Um...I'm sorry. I couldn't stop it. I couldn't..."

She laughed softly. "It's all right, John. You seemed quite...pleased."

"Pleased?" he asked, grabbing a towel. She left the bathroom. He roughly dried his body, ran his fingers through his hair. Stepped into the room. Shadows dominated. Moira was already in his bed, clad in a pale green nightshirt. Gathering her long hair to one side. "That was...that was amazing. That was..."

She laughed again. "Wow...I never thought I would render John Sheppard speechless."

He laughed, slipped into the bed next to her. He turned her face to his, kissed her. "Allow me to return the favor, sweetheart."

"Are you serious?"

He shrugged. Laid down as weariness overtook him. "Well...give me five...no, ten. Maybe eleven..." He yawned. Pleasured and relaxed.

She snuggled against him. "Maybe twelve, colonel. Go to sleep."

"Okay, Moira." His arm slid around her. "Maybe fourteen. Hey, when you leave my room be sure to take the long way round. Less traffic."

"John? Are you kidding me? Please, no one will even notice me at this time of–"

"Just do as I say, Moira."

"Fine," she grumbled. Sighed. "I guess it's a good thing you are too tired to have sex, then. No oh John Anderson to–"

He swatted her rear. "Stop that, now! I'm sick of that, Moira."

"Too bad, John. If this is how you want it."

"Oh, I know exactly how I want it, baby. Believe me. You'll see."


	8. Chapter 8

Defensive Cooperation8

John woke alone. He sighed. Wondered if Moira had encountered anyone in the hallways. Wondered at her mood. Frowned. He quickly dressed, ignored the mess on the bathroom floor. Noticed she had taken her clothes. And the duffel bag. He made his way to the cafeteria. Carried a loaded tray and sat across from Rodney. Grinned at the scientist's expression. Untouched food on his plate. "Rodney, you're not eating? At all? Wow...is this an alternate Rodney?"

"Ha ha. No." Rodney rubbed his temples, glowered as John began to devour the food on his plate. "Why aren't you hung over?"

"I didn't get drunk," John explained. "Want some?" He waved a piece of bacon under the physicist's nose.

Rodney recoiled as if the food was citrus. "No! God, no!" He made a face, leaned back in his chair. "What the hell happened this morning? It was this morning, right?"

"Yes. You don't remember?"

"Not really. Not all of it. We did...wait. Carson was there, right? And, and Lorne. You. Moira. We deactivated the transponder in the brain tissue...did we discuss horror movies?"

"Yes," John confirmed, talking round a mouthful. "The ways to kill zombies and vampires. And then there was the singing."

"The singing?" Rodney stared, aghast.

John smirked. "Yes. And let me tell you, Rodney, there is nothing, nothing worse than a drunken, singing scientist." He laughed.

"I so did not sing!"

"You did. You all did. Ask Elizabeth."

"What? She was there?" Rodney exclaimed. Consternation.

"It was a fine time," Carson interjected, joining them. "I must say I haven't had a knee slapper like that since med school."

"A what? Why aren't you hung over?" Rodney snapped. Glanced at the doctor's plate of food.

"Och, I can hold my drink much better than you can, Rodney. It takes more than a few beers to get me under the table."

"That's what I was saying, doc. Scientists can't hold their liquor," John said. They laughed.

"Is that so? Have you seen Major Lorne yet? He has yet to emerge!" Rodney retorted. He looked past them, irritated. Saw Moira talking to another woman. "Moira! Moira, here!" he gestured.

John stared in surprise. He half-turned to see Moira hesitating, just as surprised. She headed for their table, took the empty seat next to John. "Rodney." She smiled. "Carson." She glanced at John. "John." She drank from the bottle of water she had been carrying.

"Moira, did we really sing?"

She met Rodney's gaze. Smiled. "Yes. Everybody did. Well, nearly everyone," she glanced at John. Smiled at the memory of his private vocal performance.

"I remember that! Who did you judge to be the best?" Carson asked.

Moira sipped her water. "That was a most difficult choice. Surprisingly most of you can sing pretty well. Maybe we should have a re-match."

"Only if it involves drinking," John suggested.

"God, no. I don't want to drink ever again!" Rodney complained. "Moira, I think John needs to bring you."

Moira was glad she had swallowed her water. John wasn't so lucky and nearly spit out his food but recovered . "Excuse me?" she asked, glancing at John.

He smirked. "Yeah, I know, I do need to do that, don't I?" he quipped.

"No, I think he should bring you on our next mission. You were quite efficient out there."

"Not to mention in here," John quipped quietly, earning a smack on his leg beneath the table.

"Thank you, Rodney," Moira said, trying to ignore John's teasing. "So were you. We all handled the situation quite well, considering the circumstances."

"Moira does handle things quite, quite well...ow!" John's complaint directly followed her foot kicking his ankle.

"What do you think, John? About bringing her?" Rodney asked, having no idea about the double entendre he was unwittingly engaging. Carson was trying not to laugh.

"Don't answer!" Moira muttered, coloring as she scooted away from him. Could feel his eyes quickly raking over her.

"Hmm..." John rubbed his clean-shaven jaw, considering. "What do I think about bringing her? I can bring her, you know. And bring her, and bring her each and every time. I–"

"It would depend on the mission parameters. Is that not correct, colonel?" she interjected, glaring at him in warning.

He nodded. "Yes, doctor, it would. Whether or not your particular expertise was needed. Wanted." He waited until she had swallowed more water. "Upon whether or not you can move that pert little ass fast enough."

"John!" she flared, as the men laughed. "I've had enough of that!"

"I haven't," he rejoined quietly. Carson laughed.

"Shut up, colonel! And you, Carson! Men! I bet John Anderson isn't this rude!" She stood, snatched a piece of toast from John's plate and moved to another table.

John's laughter had halted at the mention of John Anderson. Rodney was shaking his head. "Good way to piss her off, John. If you don't like her just say so." He stood.

"What?" John asked, thrown by the comment.

"I'm going back to bed. Don't call unless there is a crisis. A major crisis."

John stared after him. Noted that Moira was sitting two tables down from his. Alone. Nibbling on the toast and drinking her water. He met Carson's amused gaze, scowled. "Guess I just threw discretion out of the window," he grumbled.

"Aye, you certainly did the other day with your performance on the intercom. Except for Rodney, that is. Face it, John, half the base knows by now. And the other half will know by tomorrow. I don't see what the problem is, but you'd better make peace with it sooner rather than later." He stood. "And don't go breaking up with Moira over this because I won't have it. I won't!"

"You won't? What the hell..." John muttered, irritated as he watched Carson heading for her. He glanced around the cafeteria as it was filling with people. He eyed the line near the food. Stared. Considered. Smiled. Stood and headed for it.

John sidled up to the skinny technician he had identified earlier as the one and only John Anderson. He was a lanky man with wispy blond hair and watery blue eyes. "Hey, aren't you John Anderson?" he asked, schooling his expression into neutral.

The technician jumped, almost dropped his tray but recovered. Squinted for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, colonel. Colonel Sheppard. Did you have some computer problem?"

"No. I just wondered. I hear your name. A lot," he informed. Waited. Appearing bored as he absently grabbed a cup of fruit.

The technician stared. "You, you do? Sir? I don't...I...from, from whom?"

"Her." John gestured vaguely in Moira's direction. Glanced to see Carson still talking to her. "From, what's her name? Doctor O'Meara. The crypto whatever."

"Paleozoologist," John Anderson corrected.

"Yeah, that's what I said. Anyway, she says your name a lot. Oh John Anderson. So I just assumed. You know..." He raised a brow. Gave a suggestive tilt to his head. Nodded. "You know...you and her...you know..."

Finally the technician understood the inference. "Oh! Oh?" He glanced at Moira. Giving John time to subsume his merriment and impatience. "Um, um, no. I mean I've never even asked her out on a, a date."

"What?" John appeared puzzled. "You've never even asked her out on a date? Well, if it was me...I mean, if a woman was saying my name the way she says yours I'd ask her out this very second. I'm just saying, is all..." He moved back to his table. Sat. Waited. Trying not to smirk.

Carson smiled as he stood near Moira. "How is your foot, love?"

"Fine. A little sore, but not at all like it was earlier. Carson, um, what did upset John?"

"Yes," he answered. "I think you know the cat's out of the bag, so to speak."

"You mean, oh. Oh. Yes." She sighed. "I guess. He doesn't like it."

"No, he doesn't. For the life of me I don't know why, but if he breaks your heart over this he will have to answer to me."

"Carson?" She stared, dreading. "You, you don't think he'd... I hadn't thought of that." She morosely eyed the bottle of water.

Carson patted her shoulder. "No, I don't think so, Moira. I've seen how he looks at you. He'll not let you go that easily. Just give him time to sort it out."

"I have, I mean, I..." She sighed. "I don't know what to do."

"You don't need to do anything, love. It's all down to him. If your foot troubles you come and see me."

Moira sighed again, watched him leave. Drank her water and finished the toast. She could feel someone standing at her table. Knew it wasn't John because he wouldn't hesitate or linger. Finally she looked up, irritated. "Oh. John."

John Anderson smiled. "May I have a seat?"

"Of course. Please."

"Moira. Do you want to go out?"

Moira stared, almost spitting out her water but swallowing instead. "Out? You mean out on the balcony?" she asked, sincerely puzzled. Hearing a familiar snicker she looked past him to see John watching. Merriment on his face. She glared, suddenly recalling seeing him with the technician in the line.

"No. I meant out. Like on a date. You know. I'm asking you out on a date."

Moira eyed him. "Oh. I...um...that is...um.." she stammered, out of sorts. Heard another snort and saw that John was smirking now. Sitting back in the chair, arms folded across his chest. Clearly enjoying the show.

"I mean here, of course. We'd have to meet here. You know. Obviously. We could dress up, you know, for a date. Eat here, you know. Have a nice meal on the balcony." As he paused John mouthed the words "you know" at her. And then the technician said, "You know."

Moira had to look at the table as a laugh bubbled. Then anger flared as she realized that somehow John had orchestrated this awkward scenario. She calmed herself and smiled at the nervous man in front of her. "I would love to go on a date with you, John. It would be nice to have a meal with a civilized, polite man for a change. I have been spending way too much time with those boorish military types." She raised her voice a little so John could hear every word. Was rewarded with a dirty look.

"You would? Really? I mean, you know...okay. Great." The technician beamed.

Moira smiled at him. "Yes. I am very flattered that you asked me, John. Let's meet here, like you suggested. At twenty hundred, shit, I mean at eight o'clock." She ignored the muffled laugh from two tables away. She stood. "I' ve got to get to work so I'll meet you here. All right?"

"Yes. That would be lovely, Moira. Thank you." He stood, fumbled. Left.

Moira's smile faded. She headed for John, scowling as he smiled broadly. "What the hell is this, colonel?"

"Hmm...it looks like one pissed off paleozoologist to me, but then I'm no–"

"What is this?" she demanded, not amused. "You want me to go on a date with him now?"

"You could have said no," he observed. Pointed at her. "Just be sure, be damn sure you say oh John Sheppard." He grinned at her flustered, angry face.

She shook her head. "You son of a bitch! You better believe it, colonel! John Anderson is going to have the best fucking date of his life!" she flared, stomped away from him.

John laughed heartily. Knew she would never go that far, would never sleep with him. But wondered just how far she would go, as pissed as she was at him.

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

Moira found herself in the bizarre position of getting ready for a date with John Anderson, subtly arranged by her lover John Sheppard. She shook her head over the fiasco. Had only agreed because the set-up. The colonel's evident hilarity over it, his odd revenge for her constant teasing of saying Anderson's name instead of his. She sighed. Fumed. Wondered if she would somehow wind up dating two men at once. She dressed for the date with a vengeance.

John found himself in the unusual position of not wanting any of the women ogling him. He sat in the cafeteria, waiting. Glanced at the various women in the room. Some shyly admiring. Some boldly assessing. Some were quite beautiful. Others had physical attributes that would catch any man's eye, including his. He knew he could easily have any of them. Have meaningless but enjoyable sex. Could try to pretend that he didn't care how it would affect Moira. How she was in his every thought, every desire. Intruding far too often into his heretofore solitary existence, except for the sexual escapade. He sighed. Waited to see what would happen on the date. Amused and slightly unsettled.

Moira entered the cafeteria. She knew she was early but couldn't sit still. Had tired of pacing in her room, thoughts flitting all over. Mostly over the colonel and his games. His irritating insistence on discretion, on privacy. To the point where she wondered if he was ashamed of being with her. Or embarrassed. Moira felt tense. Stomach churning. She looked round. Saw the colonel in the far corner. Lurking like some chaperone. Bored expression on his handsome face, but suddenly he gave a winning smile as a woman sat across from him. Moira sighed. Turned as John Anderson came up behind her. "Oh. John."

He smiled. Clad in a decent but rather shabby suit. A garish tie of bronze and blue. "Hi. Wow...you look...wow..." His gaze traveled over her.

"Thanks. So do you."

"Shall we?" He led her to a table near the windows. Pulled out a chair for her. Sat across from her and smiled.

John caught sight of Moira, heard her voice. Did a double take and stared as if he had never seen her in his life. Her hair was piled on top of her head, tendrils sliding down to her bare shoulders and arms. She had on a purple, sleeveless knit dress. It had a modest neckline and fell to her knees. Hugged every curve as she moved awkwardly in her high heels. He had never seen her in a dress and he could only imagine touching her. Sliding his hands up under the skirt. Running his mouth along her bare shoulder. He shifted as she turned to sit and his gaze was riveted on her rear hugged deliciously by the folds of the fabric. Concealed when she sat down. He suddenly remembered the woman seated across from him and met her gaze. Smiled warmly. "I'm sorry. You were saying?" The woman laughed.

Moira heard the feminine giggle. Had to look over her shoulder to see John's charming smile. His handsome face attentive. Brilliant green eyes sparkling, focused on the woman in front of him. Head tilted slightly. Slouching back just a little as the black t-shirt hugged his torso. Seemed to strain over his biceps. He licked his lips and Moira bit back a whimper. Then anger. That was her thing. Hers! She looked back as her date was talking about computers. Voice animated. She felt suddenly sick. Sick of the game. At the deception. At the unwitting victim in front of her. She stood. "I'm sorry."

"What?" John Anderson stood. "Moira? I'm sorry! I didn't mean to ramble on about the giga bytes and the new computer interface. You know how it is. Scientists and their enthusiams."

"Yes, I know. It's not you. I can't...I can't do this. John, I'm sorry. This was a mistake," she said solemnly. A wave of emotion in her voice.

"What? I don't understand, Moira!"

"I'm sorry, John! I should never have accepted! It wasn't fair to you. It's my fault. I can't do this, I just can't!"

John heard Moira's voice. The emotional tone. He looked past the woman with him to see Moira standing, talking, her voice upset. Hands fluttering. Nearly stumbling over her chair in her haste. He tensed, wondered what was wrong. Wondered if the technician had upset her.

"John? Is everything all right?" the woman asked, seeing his intent gaze and then his glare.

"Moira, wait! I don't understand! You accepted–"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, John!" She moved round the chair, nearly tripped over the heels. "I can't do this. I can't. I won't. It's not fair to you, and it's not right! I can't!" She felt a wave of tears and hastened out of the cafeteria.

John was on his feet, glaring at the technician who still stood, stunned. Perplexed. Without a word he strode after Moira. Sprinted to catch up to her in the hallway. "Moira? Moira!"

She ignored him, nearly breaking into a run but she tripped again. Nearly fell but John was there to catch her. His arms slid around her, pulled her against him.

"Moira? What's wrong? Did he upset you?"

"Let go!" She shoved free, whirled, but nearly fell again as her foot cramped. "Damn it! Damn it, damn it!" she swore, hitting his chest until she suddenly clung to him. Hid her face on him.

John held her close, stroked her back. "Moira? Sweetheart?" He kissed her brow. Gently moved her back to kiss her cheek. Her lips. She responded, kissing him passionately.. Pulling at his shirt. But pushed him back. Stared at him. He touched her wet, rosy cheek. Allured by her teary, brown eyes. The sorrow there. Her rosy lips parted but no words came. He ran his fingers in the strands of her falling hair. Abruptly tangled his fingers to pull her hair down, loose. As his mouth captured hers. Kissing her deeply, tongue thrusting into her mouth as he turned them. Pushed her against the wall.

Moira nearly drowned in the kiss, the passion swirling, so hot, so intense. She pushed him from her to stare. Emotions tangled, twisted. Stared into his brilliant green eyes. So intense, so warm. His look of concern. Of passion. His lips full and luscious. Wet from hers. She released his shirt before she clawed it off him. "John..." She paused. Brow furrowed in thought. She looked at her hands on his chest. Wished his shirt was gone. Wished she could feel his skin, his chest hair. All that warmth and strength.

John kissed her again, scattering her thoughts. "Mine," he intoned, voice low and intimate in her ear. He nibbled her earlobe to make her whimper. "Now." He led her to his room, slowing to allow for her limping gait.

"John? No." She tried to free her arm from his but he wouldn't relinquish his firm hold. "John? John! John!"

"You shouldn't be saying that yet, Moira. We're not even close to oh John yet," he scolded. "But we will be."

"John! Let go! I'm not going with you!"

"Yes, you are."

"John!" She sighed, followed him into his room. She stepped away from him to stumble. "John! John–"

He turned, smiled. "Geez, Moira, just you saying my name like that makes me hard."

"Shut up! I...I can't!" She limped to the bed. Sat.

He watched her. "Can't? Can't what? What happened, Moira? Did he upset you?"

"You! You upset me! I upset me! Damn it, John, I won't do this! I won't! I'm sick of this!" she declared.

He sat next to her. "Sick of what, exactly? Of me?"

"Yes!"

"What?"

She met his gaze, saw his genuine surprise. "Not you. This!" She gestured. "This fucking secrecy! How far would you have let that date go, John? How far? Until I slept with him?"

"Hell no. Damn it, Moira, I would never have let it go that far! Nor would you!" A pause. "Would you?"

"No! But maybe I should have!" she flared.

"Then go!" He pointed at the door. "Go fuck him! But be damn sure, be damn sure you say oh John Sheppard when you come! If you come!"

She smiled. ""Oh John Sheppard?"

"Fuck, yes! This is why I hate talking!" He pushed her onto her back, onto the bed. Slid over her as she scooted up to the pillows. He kissed her. A deep, probing kiss as his hand snaked along the skirt. Slid up under it to caress her bare thigh. Higher. Higher to encounter the silky fabric of her panties.

Moira squirmed, returning his kisses. She murmured, arching up to him as his fingers probed, probed. Her hand tightened on his arm. She whimpered as he slid his fingers into the panties to encounter her wetness, her cleft opening at his touch as her legs parted. "John, oh John..."

"Sheppard," he intoned gruffly. Freed her to yank down the strap of the dress. Fingered her violet bra and pulled it down. His mouth wandered down her throat. Down to her bare breast to kiss, to suck until she moaned, squirming in arousal.

"I should have known that would get you off," she noted, fingers sliding under his shirt, then fingering his pants, tugging. Inviting.

He freed her suddenly. "What would?"

"Huh?" She was pulling eagerly at his shirt. Kissing his throat now. Circled his ear to make him groan. All but sliding her body into his. Reached down to stoke his hard cock.

"Get me off," he clarified.

"I'm trying," she quipped. "Oh John, John!"

"No," he smiled, caught her hands. "What would get me off? The date? Or this purple dress?"

"Both. John, I want you." She kissed him. He sat. Pulled off his shirt to her delight. Leaned down to kiss her. Her hands ran eagerly over him.

"Both?" He sat again. Undid his pants as she watched.

"Yes."

"So what was all that? That melodrama?" She was silent, pulling up the skirt slowly. Pausing to finger the panties. To wiggle out of them. He tried not to be distracted by the sight of the violet underwear as she removed it. "Moira?"

"John..." She sighed. "We can't go on like this. We can't keep pretending. I know," she said before he could protest, "you value your privacy, our privacy. But come on, John. This is getting ridiculous. Unless you want me to go another date with another man. All this dissembling is making me sick. What is it? Are you afraid people will think you're slumming with a lower echelon woman now? Not up to your usual standard?"

"No! Don't be ridiculous, Moira!" He stood. She thought he was going to leave but he only pulled down his pants. Sat to remove his shoes. "It's nothing to do with you! I agree this date thing got out of hand. Moira, I'm sorry. Truth is...it was killing me. To see you with that, that other John. Even on a fake date."

She smiled, relieved at his words, his admissions.

"But we still need to be discreet."

She frowned. Tensed. "John! You just said–"

He turned to her. Slid over her as he kissed her. Moved against her. Slid his aroused cock between her legs as he pulled the dress off her torso. "Look, baby, I'm not good at this. This talking...feeling...kind of crap. Okay?"

"No. It's not okay! You sang over the intercom and now you want to hide it all again!" she complained, stopping him.

"Yes."

"Why? I don't–"

He kissed her. "You're going to make me say it, aren't you, Moira?" he groused.

"Say what? John? What is it? Are you ashamed of–"

"Of course not, Moira! Don't be stupid!"

"Then what? No!" She stopped him. Legs closing sharply before he could penetrate her. He groaned in surprise, frustration.

"Moira! Fuck!"

"You tell me right now, John Sheppard! Or this ends!" she threatened. Gripped his arms tightly. Not as tightly as she had trapped his cock.

He groaned in both pain and pleasure. "A little breathing room," he rasped.

"What? What the hell kind of comment is...oh." She relaxed her legs, parting them again. Relaxed her fingers. "Sorry." She smirked.

"It's not funny, Moira. Ouch."

"Sorry, sweetie. So? Tell me!"

"Fuck this." He sighed. Looked around the room. Back at her. "It's...it's because of the way I feel. About you," he admitted. Began to move but she stopped him.

"What? Because of the sex? Well, I've told you we're too, um, exuberant, and you make me so loud when you bring me like–"

"No! Not that! Damn it, Moira, it's because I love you! All right? Now shut up and fuck me!" he kissed her hard. Entered her suddenly, a quick thrust.

Moira gasped at both his words and his actions. His admission at long last and his increasing momentum. Rocking the bed. "Oh John! Oh John, John, John!" she enthused.

John didn't know if it was his words or his actions that had prompted her ecstatic response. Didn't care as the pleasure steadily grew. He kissed her repeatedly, losing himself in need. Release. Pleasure. Irritated he had said the words but glad too. Annoyed she had insisted upon hearing them but not caring as she writhed beneath him, calling his name in growing passion.

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

Moira sighed, stretched contentedly. Rolled onto her side as John lazily sprawled next to her. "At least John Anderson asked me out on a date," she teased, chided. "We've never been on a proper date, sweetie."

He made a face, post-coital bliss interrupted by her observation. "We have."

"No, we haven't, not a proper date. And dinner near the holding cell doesn't count."

He groaned. "Do we really need to do that, Moira? Aren't we way, way past all that–"

"Crap?" she supplied. "No. John Anderson knew how to treat a–"

"Don't care. And if you keep saying his name I'll initiate a second date. A third."

"John? You wouldn't? Would you?"

He laughed at her mortified expression. "Don't press me, baby."

She slid on top of him. Kissed him. "Oh John Sheppard," she teased into his ear. Squirmed on him playfully.

He smiled. Squeezed her rear. "That's more like it, baby. That pert little ass is mine. And now thanks to the intercom everyone knows it."

"And whose fault is that? Will you let go?"

"Never." He kissed her, rolled them so she was beneath him. "My Moira," he said against her skin. Beginning a delicious seduction all over again.

"Are you going to take me out on a date, John?" she asked.

"You're serious?" he asked, lifting his head to meet her gaze. "Isn't this–"

"This is not a date. This is sex."

"It's trying to be," he complained, making her smile. "Sex, I mean."

"I'm serious, John." She kissed him. Beamed at him. "Since you love me." He gazed into her shining brown eyes. So full of happiness, of love for him. He thought he could drown in all of that love. Until she frowned. "Unless you didn't mean it. Did you mean it, John? Or do you say that to all of your lots some women?"

"I meant it, Moira. I don't say it to my lots, er some women. Some!"

She relaxed under him. Happiness blooming again as she stared dreamily at him. "I love you, John."

"Then stop talking and let's enjoy that, shall we? My Moira?"

"Yes, John. Yes. Oh John. Oh John Sheppard."


End file.
