Time Stamp Meme Response #1
Feb. 2nd, 2007 10:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
itsallovernowFive Years after Blue Eyes for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cofax7
This was an interesting exercise. On the one hand, for me, any excuse to go play in the AU for Blue Eyes without actually having to plot out the plot for the sequel is a treat. However, on the other hand, the sequel starts two cycles after the end of the story, not five years, so projecting forward was harder than I thought and the characters ended up not so different from versions of them that I've written withrubberneck. I'm not entirely sure that's who these people would end up being without having written their whole story to that point.
Five years puts Anix at roughly 18, puts the war somewhere. (Five years in, if the universe isn't a big ball of particle dust, some sort of compromise has been achieved or somebody has won. Because I haven't followed the trajectory of possibility number two, I went the easy route. An uneasy compromise, an arms escalation that had to end at some point and has left a lot of the smaller powers with somewhat of a voice).
The story I expected to tell - two years in - is an unexpected and not entirely welcome reunion. About what happens when promises made to an untrustworthy source come back to bite you in the ass. About what this family is going to do about it - because however the settle their own interpersonal dance, John has accepted his role as Anix' father, craves it. And he's accepted his life, tried to build it with Katralla and is sort of thwarted by the fact that the instability in the kingdom that started in Blue Eyes has carried through to what I (a staunch anti-monarchist) see as a natural conclusion. Imperial rule is out, chaotic democratic rule is in, and like the French Revolution, it's a matter of getting out, or getting dead.
So John and Teyvn and Anix meet up with Aeryn Sun and her troops and D' and it is... uncomfortable. Because they'd agreed to be noble and self-sacrificing and fate kind of said, "Fuck that," but at the same time, there's no guarantee it won't change it's mind and they've spent more time apart then together so it's a risk. It's all a risk. And mostly, they're not sure it's a risk they should take. We won't even get into wormholes and war, and teenagers with a sex life, and all the accompanying chaos. But the drabble scene I imagine for two years in has John and Aeryn sitting on the floor in a seedy motel room on a refugee planet, facing off over a bottle of crappy alcohol, playing truth or dare until they can't take it anymore, playing catch up and what if and we should and we can't.
But five years later, this isn't the story to tell. That stuff's happened. John and Aeryn have worked out most of the issues of trust and abandonment. Have relearned each other, and it's taken all that time. And in the middle, there's been family, and there's been war.
***
"We should get married."
He's holding the baby, eyes on her face as she dreams, tiny fists curled under her chin. He takes up most of the bed, one leg tucked under his knee, boots still on but Aeryn doesn't chastise him. The debris will brush off. It's still sort of... uncomfortable, unnatural, un everything that they've a bed big enough for him to sprawl out on. That they've got a bed to share.
Aeryn pulls back her hair, hands lingering at the zip of her shirt, wishing the child would wake up to nurse. Her breasts are heavy, almost painful. "You’re already married," she thinks,doesn't question why that matters to her, says instead, "I'd think you'd be tired of ceremonies by now."
He shoots her a look, a slow smile, assessing. "Not the one who just got hooded, Ambassador Sun."
She glares at him. "I still don't know if that's a promotion or a punishment." She's not being glib. This council could end up being nothing more than an exercise in futility. So much depends upon the compromises made at the negotiating table, at the balance of power holding.
John kisses their child's forehead and the girl squirms in his arms. "Anyway, two kids later and I'm not going anywhere. Wars are mostly over. You're not going anywhere. So let's get married."
"John," she starts to say in protest, and then swallows it, turns towards her cabinet to find her robes. She has a meeting later with the council. They have… ideas… about respect that involve ridiculously complicated garments. It's imbecilic. John says it reminds him of the Roman senate, formal clothes to identify each other in a crowd. Sadly, the council discourages the wearing of a weapon. Everyone still wears them, but the trick is how to keep them concealed. Even with the layers of cloth, she still feels naked in the echoing chambers filled with people who would have shot each other mere monens ago. Ceremonial robes have nothing on good boots and old leathers.
It's posturing of a kind that makes her uncomfortable, even if she recognizes the value in a uniform. This is different. No trappings of her military background, of her years as a Captain, a leader of soldiers. This is… politics. John should be doing this, not her. He actually has experience working with a government, but he refused the appointment. He and his daughter are going to head a research and development department for the council. They made the announcement in the same way he and Anix always tell her things, without room for arguement as if she has the weight of an armada at her disposal and they're the first line of defense. They tag team her, manipulating her, squeezing her on either side with their wishes and wants and needs until all she can do is give in or fight. A week away from giving birth, and the only fight she wanted was one that ended in her no longer being pregnant.
Frell. She has never wanted to be good with people. She misses D'Argo fiercely, wishes he'd come back, help her figure out how to live on a planet, how to agree to a marriage.
The baby starts to mewl, face scrunched up, fists pumping out as she stretches, kicks into consciousness. She's making little hiccupy noises even as her eyes blink and Aeryn sits on the bed next to John, takes the baby from him as she unzips her shirt, frees her breast. John hands her his pillow as she scoots up on the bed, and the baby latches on easily.
She hadn't done this with Anix, hadn't had the time, the inclination, the… agency to take these soft, quiet moments. She's not quite sure what Anix thinks of her sister. She holds her, and coos at her, but she also gives Aeryn long uncomfortable looks and it makes her wonder whether she'll always be on trial for her shortcomings, whether her eldest child will ever completely forgive her. John just laughs, says Anix is still learning to be an adult. Aeryn wishes she'd hurry the frell up.
John strokes the dusky hair on the baby's head. "Estella," he says, and Aeryn rolls her eyes as the child sucks, tiny hand flailing just a bit. She lets her finger slip into the fierce tiny grip and says, "No."
"Xhalax," he suggests, and Aeryn makes a low noise in her throat.
"Aeryn, Jr," he says, hand on her thigh, scooting around so that he can bracket her body.
She growls again, but it breaks into a laugh. "This was far easier when I was the only one with a say," she says, and knows he won't take that as a barb.
John rubs his cheek against her shoulder, lips soft against her neck and she lets herself sink into him for just a moment. It is… overwhelming at times, the constancy of his presence, this child in her arms, a planet, a home, a new life. She wakes sometimes, John's warm body pressed against hers, the sterile quiet of their quarters stifling her, and wonders if she could just walk away, leave it. And then his hand curls against her belly, seeking her presence in his sleep. Or the baby cries out, the sounds shrill like a klaxon, and she's struck with the memory of the peace treaty – all of them ragged and bloody and ready to die – the memory of her daughter at her side, propping her up as she resigns from the council as a soldier, as she agrees to start work for peace instead of subverting war.
The thoughts, the tactile sensations still her and she'll roll over, nudge John awake, kiss him until the claustrophobia is replaced by love, by lust, by the hope that he helps to generate.
"Why don't you want to get married?" he asks, voice soft in her ear, hand on her hip. "I know I'm still technically married, but it's not like anyone's going to have an issue with that." He pauses and she can feel him smiling against her skin. "Might be nice to be married before we have another one of those." And again, he touches their daughter's fine, downy hair. "Anna'd be cool with it."
"There won't be more children," she says firmly, and they've had this argument already. Two children by accident, and she's not willing to tempt fate with one on purpose.
"Oh, c'mon," he teases, "you know you want to try for a boy."
"Wants his own bloody platoon," Aeryn mumbles to the baby as John snorts behind her.
The girl in her arms flexes her fingers, nails scraping along the delicate skin of Aeryn's breast and she winces, shifts the girl so she can feed from the other side. Her daughter is being surprisingly docile at the moment. It feels like a conspiracy all around. Now there will be three against one, and she no longer has a regiment to back her.
"Why don't we try living with an infant and living in peace for a while before we contemplate more children," she says softly, and knows that it's not the real issue. And John doesn't press. "Besides, we're getting old to be dealing with babies."
"She's a gift," he says softly, and the teasing lilt is gone. "So is Anix." He kisses Aeryn's cheek. "God, babe, so are you."
She reaches for his hand, holds it tightly. Four monens ago, heavily pregnant, John missing, the peace treaty crumbling and she had vowed to do anything to get him back. Right now, she knows she'd give anything to keep hold of this current uncertainty. She may feel overwhelmed, but she wouldn't trade any of it for other options.
"You can't go home," she says, and feels the crack in her voice. Something breaking like spider veins in glass for the things he's lost. They've talked about it, quiet moments alone in the ship that brought him home. About Einstein and ripples, about shutting a door, not changing the past. About other versions of themselves running around with worse lives.
He can't summon wormholes anymore. He can't ever go home. At least not in the ways he'd hoped, or planned. Not now. There are too many timelines, too many risks.
She's still getting used to the idea that he isn't going to leave her, that she doesn't have to let him. That she doesn't have to prepare to be alone, to raise another child alone.
"I am home," he says, and she feels the finality there, the weight of his decision. Something relaxes in her belly, and the baby gurgles, a contented sigh.
"That's a lot to take in," Aeryn says. She has had whole squadrons dependent upon her guidance and leadership. She has raised a daughter to adulthood. She has had friends and lovers. All of that pales in the face of being all this to one person. She cannot let him down. Doesn't want to. Her scope has narrowed. She no longer needs to protect the universe. Just those she loves. There is more than one way to work for peace, but that doesn't mean she has to like the costume.
"So you will marry me," he says.
"Someday," she says finally. "Some day."
cofax7This was an interesting exercise. On the one hand, for me, any excuse to go play in the AU for Blue Eyes without actually having to plot out the plot for the sequel is a treat. However, on the other hand, the sequel starts two cycles after the end of the story, not five years, so projecting forward was harder than I thought and the characters ended up not so different from versions of them that I've written with
rubberneck. I'm not entirely sure that's who these people would end up being without having written their whole story to that point.Five years puts Anix at roughly 18, puts the war somewhere. (Five years in, if the universe isn't a big ball of particle dust, some sort of compromise has been achieved or somebody has won. Because I haven't followed the trajectory of possibility number two, I went the easy route. An uneasy compromise, an arms escalation that had to end at some point and has left a lot of the smaller powers with somewhat of a voice).
The story I expected to tell - two years in - is an unexpected and not entirely welcome reunion. About what happens when promises made to an untrustworthy source come back to bite you in the ass. About what this family is going to do about it - because however the settle their own interpersonal dance, John has accepted his role as Anix' father, craves it. And he's accepted his life, tried to build it with Katralla and is sort of thwarted by the fact that the instability in the kingdom that started in Blue Eyes has carried through to what I (a staunch anti-monarchist) see as a natural conclusion. Imperial rule is out, chaotic democratic rule is in, and like the French Revolution, it's a matter of getting out, or getting dead.
So John and Teyvn and Anix meet up with Aeryn Sun and her troops and D' and it is... uncomfortable. Because they'd agreed to be noble and self-sacrificing and fate kind of said, "Fuck that," but at the same time, there's no guarantee it won't change it's mind and they've spent more time apart then together so it's a risk. It's all a risk. And mostly, they're not sure it's a risk they should take. We won't even get into wormholes and war, and teenagers with a sex life, and all the accompanying chaos. But the drabble scene I imagine for two years in has John and Aeryn sitting on the floor in a seedy motel room on a refugee planet, facing off over a bottle of crappy alcohol, playing truth or dare until they can't take it anymore, playing catch up and what if and we should and we can't.
But five years later, this isn't the story to tell. That stuff's happened. John and Aeryn have worked out most of the issues of trust and abandonment. Have relearned each other, and it's taken all that time. And in the middle, there's been family, and there's been war.
***
"We should get married."
He's holding the baby, eyes on her face as she dreams, tiny fists curled under her chin. He takes up most of the bed, one leg tucked under his knee, boots still on but Aeryn doesn't chastise him. The debris will brush off. It's still sort of... uncomfortable, unnatural, un everything that they've a bed big enough for him to sprawl out on. That they've got a bed to share.
Aeryn pulls back her hair, hands lingering at the zip of her shirt, wishing the child would wake up to nurse. Her breasts are heavy, almost painful. "You’re already married," she thinks,doesn't question why that matters to her, says instead, "I'd think you'd be tired of ceremonies by now."
He shoots her a look, a slow smile, assessing. "Not the one who just got hooded, Ambassador Sun."
She glares at him. "I still don't know if that's a promotion or a punishment." She's not being glib. This council could end up being nothing more than an exercise in futility. So much depends upon the compromises made at the negotiating table, at the balance of power holding.
John kisses their child's forehead and the girl squirms in his arms. "Anyway, two kids later and I'm not going anywhere. Wars are mostly over. You're not going anywhere. So let's get married."
"John," she starts to say in protest, and then swallows it, turns towards her cabinet to find her robes. She has a meeting later with the council. They have… ideas… about respect that involve ridiculously complicated garments. It's imbecilic. John says it reminds him of the Roman senate, formal clothes to identify each other in a crowd. Sadly, the council discourages the wearing of a weapon. Everyone still wears them, but the trick is how to keep them concealed. Even with the layers of cloth, she still feels naked in the echoing chambers filled with people who would have shot each other mere monens ago. Ceremonial robes have nothing on good boots and old leathers.
It's posturing of a kind that makes her uncomfortable, even if she recognizes the value in a uniform. This is different. No trappings of her military background, of her years as a Captain, a leader of soldiers. This is… politics. John should be doing this, not her. He actually has experience working with a government, but he refused the appointment. He and his daughter are going to head a research and development department for the council. They made the announcement in the same way he and Anix always tell her things, without room for arguement as if she has the weight of an armada at her disposal and they're the first line of defense. They tag team her, manipulating her, squeezing her on either side with their wishes and wants and needs until all she can do is give in or fight. A week away from giving birth, and the only fight she wanted was one that ended in her no longer being pregnant.
Frell. She has never wanted to be good with people. She misses D'Argo fiercely, wishes he'd come back, help her figure out how to live on a planet, how to agree to a marriage.
The baby starts to mewl, face scrunched up, fists pumping out as she stretches, kicks into consciousness. She's making little hiccupy noises even as her eyes blink and Aeryn sits on the bed next to John, takes the baby from him as she unzips her shirt, frees her breast. John hands her his pillow as she scoots up on the bed, and the baby latches on easily.
She hadn't done this with Anix, hadn't had the time, the inclination, the… agency to take these soft, quiet moments. She's not quite sure what Anix thinks of her sister. She holds her, and coos at her, but she also gives Aeryn long uncomfortable looks and it makes her wonder whether she'll always be on trial for her shortcomings, whether her eldest child will ever completely forgive her. John just laughs, says Anix is still learning to be an adult. Aeryn wishes she'd hurry the frell up.
John strokes the dusky hair on the baby's head. "Estella," he says, and Aeryn rolls her eyes as the child sucks, tiny hand flailing just a bit. She lets her finger slip into the fierce tiny grip and says, "No."
"Xhalax," he suggests, and Aeryn makes a low noise in her throat.
"Aeryn, Jr," he says, hand on her thigh, scooting around so that he can bracket her body.
She growls again, but it breaks into a laugh. "This was far easier when I was the only one with a say," she says, and knows he won't take that as a barb.
John rubs his cheek against her shoulder, lips soft against her neck and she lets herself sink into him for just a moment. It is… overwhelming at times, the constancy of his presence, this child in her arms, a planet, a home, a new life. She wakes sometimes, John's warm body pressed against hers, the sterile quiet of their quarters stifling her, and wonders if she could just walk away, leave it. And then his hand curls against her belly, seeking her presence in his sleep. Or the baby cries out, the sounds shrill like a klaxon, and she's struck with the memory of the peace treaty – all of them ragged and bloody and ready to die – the memory of her daughter at her side, propping her up as she resigns from the council as a soldier, as she agrees to start work for peace instead of subverting war.
The thoughts, the tactile sensations still her and she'll roll over, nudge John awake, kiss him until the claustrophobia is replaced by love, by lust, by the hope that he helps to generate.
"Why don't you want to get married?" he asks, voice soft in her ear, hand on her hip. "I know I'm still technically married, but it's not like anyone's going to have an issue with that." He pauses and she can feel him smiling against her skin. "Might be nice to be married before we have another one of those." And again, he touches their daughter's fine, downy hair. "Anna'd be cool with it."
"There won't be more children," she says firmly, and they've had this argument already. Two children by accident, and she's not willing to tempt fate with one on purpose.
"Oh, c'mon," he teases, "you know you want to try for a boy."
"Wants his own bloody platoon," Aeryn mumbles to the baby as John snorts behind her.
The girl in her arms flexes her fingers, nails scraping along the delicate skin of Aeryn's breast and she winces, shifts the girl so she can feed from the other side. Her daughter is being surprisingly docile at the moment. It feels like a conspiracy all around. Now there will be three against one, and she no longer has a regiment to back her.
"Why don't we try living with an infant and living in peace for a while before we contemplate more children," she says softly, and knows that it's not the real issue. And John doesn't press. "Besides, we're getting old to be dealing with babies."
"She's a gift," he says softly, and the teasing lilt is gone. "So is Anix." He kisses Aeryn's cheek. "God, babe, so are you."
She reaches for his hand, holds it tightly. Four monens ago, heavily pregnant, John missing, the peace treaty crumbling and she had vowed to do anything to get him back. Right now, she knows she'd give anything to keep hold of this current uncertainty. She may feel overwhelmed, but she wouldn't trade any of it for other options.
"You can't go home," she says, and feels the crack in her voice. Something breaking like spider veins in glass for the things he's lost. They've talked about it, quiet moments alone in the ship that brought him home. About Einstein and ripples, about shutting a door, not changing the past. About other versions of themselves running around with worse lives.
He can't summon wormholes anymore. He can't ever go home. At least not in the ways he'd hoped, or planned. Not now. There are too many timelines, too many risks.
She's still getting used to the idea that he isn't going to leave her, that she doesn't have to let him. That she doesn't have to prepare to be alone, to raise another child alone.
"I am home," he says, and she feels the finality there, the weight of his decision. Something relaxes in her belly, and the baby gurgles, a contented sigh.
"That's a lot to take in," Aeryn says. She has had whole squadrons dependent upon her guidance and leadership. She has raised a daughter to adulthood. She has had friends and lovers. All of that pales in the face of being all this to one person. She cannot let him down. Doesn't want to. Her scope has narrowed. She no longer needs to protect the universe. Just those she loves. There is more than one way to work for peace, but that doesn't mean she has to like the costume.
"So you will marry me," he says.
"Someday," she says finally. "Some day."
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no subject
Date: 2007-02-02 07:14 pm (UTC)You are the bestest. Now I want to go reread Blue Eyes, but I have errands to run instead, bah.
Mwah.
no subject
Date: 2007-02-02 07:18 pm (UTC)And hee, I'm glad you liked it!
no subject
Date: 2007-02-02 07:36 pm (UTC)I was CRAVING some Thea-writing yesterday ;).
no subject
Date: 2007-02-02 07:48 pm (UTC)And I have to admit I bounced a bit over the definite article in "the sequel." If/when you're ready to tell that story, I'd be pretty excited to read it. :)
no subject
Date: 2007-02-02 09:59 pm (UTC)And yeah, this is way at the end of the story. This is the part of the story that probably won't ever get told.
no subject
Date: 2007-02-02 09:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-03 03:44 am (UTC)wonderful
Date: 2007-02-05 01:20 am (UTC)