itsallovernow | Up the dusty road

ETA: For a sentence that made sense in my head, but didn't end up being the words I thought I wrote. And for my famous floating tensese:)

As the mini airs Sunday, and there's no way in hell that I'll finish either of the post-Bad Timing pieces that I've started over the course of the year, I wanted to at least put one teeny, tiny offering into the "since it ended like that and everything else is AU, anything goes fray."

Hee.

It's um, I guess, it's the kind of sap I'd like to see:) Post BT. No real spoilers, completely AU. 1000 words for my own happy ending.

Love and Cover Fire

"No."

She holds the gun like it's her best friend, like she likes it a hell of a lot more than she likes him at the moment. Her coat is open, the flat of her belly a strip of white. Her knees are rucked up, back pressed flat against the rocky wall of the barricade. Her glare feels like heat and glass, and this argument is just warming up.

"It's traditional."

"It's stupid."

Breaking out of the squat that's killing his knees, the running thought of I am too old for this shit keeping him focused, he pops up over the barricade, fires and ducks as returning fire seeks him out. He slips on the hard scrabble and falls on his ass.

"Fuck."

She doesn't let go. Woman could argue through anything - cage match, end of the world, still won't concede. Maybe that's why he loves her.

"No. No white. It's frivolous. It means virginity, purity."

He glares at her, checks his oil. She tosses him another cartridge before he has time to grimace at the burn of a near misfire.

"Dude, you guys really did do way too much shopping on Earth. 300 freakin' years ago maybe it meant that. Right now, it's just nice. A white dress. Means a wedding."

D'Argo hefts his Qualta blade, staying well shy of the line of the verbal assault. He stands up, bellowing, shoots and hits someone, gives a shout of joy and then drops to a crouch.

"Luxans wear red. A wedding is an alliance, a joining. But there are white sheets for the wedding night."

Aeryn rolls her eyes, ticks off her frustration as she counts against her gun, tapping it with her fingers. "Luxans wear red for everything. I'm already pregnant. Peacekeepers neither marry nor mate for life. I'm not wearing a white dress, and I'm not having sex on white frelling sheets."

John grabs a rock, throws it over the barricade, grins at the yelp of pain coming from the other side.

"Hah, hit one."

"You probably hit one of ours!"

He makes a face at her, sticks out his tongue. "Little encouragement would be nice, honey."

Her lip curls up.

"I have to pee. And I'm starving, and I…frell."

Her face turns a pale shade of green, and with a snarl she gets to her knees, vomits to the side, missing the bags of ammo by a fraction of an inch. John and D'Argo both groan simultaneously. Aeryn wipes her mouth off with her hand, and returns to her position tucked up behind the wall.

John and D'Argo do the pop goes the weasel dance again, one two up and fire, down on three and do it again.

"Are they getting closer?"

D'Argo purses his mouth, shakes his head.

"I don't think they can advance. They're just frelling with us until either they or we get reinforcements."

John raises his eyebrows, points Winona at the bag closes to Aeryn's right leg. "Think there may be some old food cubes in the bottom of that."

She sighs, nods and unzips it, rifles through until she finds a container with food cubes that look like they were stale about a cycle a go. She pulls one out, chewing on it with distaste.

"Better?" he asks softly and she gives a brisk nod, and a half smile.

"That mean you're going to reconsider the white dress?"

"No frelling way."

"Are the two of you going to be having this argument for much longer."

"Looks like it."

"Hmph," Aeryn snorts.

"Well, if we don't get reinforcements before they do, we'll all die in this frelling hole, and it won't matter anymore now will it? No reinforcements means death and no wedding."

"That's just…" John's jaw gapes open. "Way to be the bearer of good cheer, dude."

D'Argo shrugs.

"So marry us now."

Both sets of blue eyes turn to Aeryn.

"What?"

"You told me D'Argo could marry us, in your culture. So, if he marries us now, we'll...it'll be done."

John pauses, rolls that thought around, weighing the balance. If he's gonna die in this frelling foxhole, with the stink of vomit and hard ground and enemy fire, he'd as soon do it married as not.

"Okay. Let's do it. We survive, we'll reconsider the dress and the flowers."

"Yes."

"D'?"

"What am I supposed to say? We haven't had time to discuss the vows and the blood oaths."

"No more frelling blood oaths. Just ask us if we're willing to love, honor and obey."

Aeryn growled.

"Love, honor and not strangle?"

"Fine. Take each others hand."

John reaches out, meets Aeryn's grip and holds on tightly.

"John, do you promise to love, honor and protect Aeryn Sun and her child. To be a comfort and a friend, and shut the frell up when she tells you to."

" I do."

"Aeryn, do you promise to love, honor and protect John Crichton and his child. To be a comfort and a friend and keep him out of trouble."

"Hey, that's not…"

She squeezes his hand hard enough to bruise. "Shut up, John." Aeryn turns back to D'Argo, face solemn.

"I do."

Over their heads, the pulse cannon sends a burst of fire into the pile of rubble on the other side of the barricade.

"Amateurs," Aeryn mutters.

"Fireworks," John grins.

"All right, I pronounce you married and responsible for each other and your child."

John kisses her on impulse, unable to resist the feel of her skin against his palms, her mouth wet and fierce, bruising against his. Love and sex, conflict and violence. Strife and laughter and frustration and joy. It would never be easy, but hopefully it would always be home.

D'Argo's rough voice breaks them apart.

"Now, can we please get on with not dying here? Bad enough I'll have to face Chiana, tell her you got married without her."

"No worries, D." John slaps him on the back, feeling full and stupid and giddy. "I gotcher back on that one."

Aeryn grins, fierce and bright, grips her gun, and stands to fire.