Ok, present for Cranky
Jul. 30th, 2003 05:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
itsallovernowIt's beyond rough, really, that's no joke, but I promised ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
crankygrrlchapters before tomorrow morning. I reserve the right to clean them up tomorrow though. And I'm ultra late for my Latin student.
Chapter 12
“We’ve got him,” said Teyvn, his voice breaking up a little as the com signal faded.
D’Argo sighed in relief. He looked at Anix, his silent shadow for the past five arns, her eyes wide and serious.
“Is he alive?” D’Argo asked, bracing himself for the answer.
“Yeah, alive.” Teyvn confirmed, “But he’s weak.” There was a long pause, filled up with speculation and unspoken things that D’Argo didn’t even want to contemplate. And then Teyvn added, almost as an afterthought, “ And we captured the Scarran.”
“Alive?” D’Argo asked incredulously.
“Weeeelll,” Teyvn stretched the word out, the ramifications hanging in the air. “Technically, yes. But the Captain permanently rearranged his neural pathways. I don’t know how much use he’ll be to us babbling for his mommy.”
“Very funny.” It never failed to amaze D’Argo that Aeryn Sun’s sense of humor had honed itself to a razor fine point over the years, bitter and sardonic, she could draw blood when she wanted, but right now she sounded tight and controlled, and to D’Argo’s ears at least, very, very tired.
“Are you all right?” Anix asked quickly, tense with worry. “Is Crichton all right?”
“I’m fine,” Aeryn replied. “John will be fine.”
She turned her attention back to D’Argo who waited for her instructions. “Teyvn and the others will bring the Scarran back first thing in the morning, and I want techs out here tearing apart this ship. I don’t want any more surprises, and in case the Scarran can’t speak, I want to know why he was here, aside from the obvious.”
D’Argo didn’t argue with her. The fact that Crichton was alive meant the Scarran had tortured him. Either the Scarran had recognized him, cycles past his last public appearance, or he’d been sent to gather information from whatever source he could. Neither possibility made D’Argo very happy.
“Are you coming back tonight?” he asked, looking again at Anix. He could see Aeryn in his mind’s eye, shoulders slumped with weariness, shaking her head.
“No. It’s too far, and even with the stim. I gave John, he won’t make it to the transport. He needs sleep and food, and walking for four arns, or being jogged around in those wretched land vehicles isn’t going to help him any tonight.”
D’Argo nodded. He neglected to point out that she’d called him John, that her voice had softened and her focus shifted. Some things didn’t change over the span of a lifetime.
“We’ll be fine, and when Teyvn arrives with the Scarran, we will be prepared to question him,” he said, bitter glee lacing his voice.
He heard Teyvn start to talk, asking if he really had to sleep with the Scarran. John was babbling in the background, an occasional reaction to the battle stims and one he wasn’t surprised to observe in the human, and tapped off his com as he heard Aeryn bark something in frustration at her soldiers.
“It’s been quite a day, shokoula,” he said to Anix, the endearment slipping out for the first time in cycles. She tilted up her lips, and furrowed her brow, uncertain of what to say. D’Argo offered her his hand, which she took and he pulled her to him in a crushing hug.
“I am very, very glad that you are safe,” he said to her gruffly as she buried her face in his tunic, holding onto him tightly.
This girl, with her dark hair and foreign eyes, and clear, joyous intelligence, was as integral to his life as his own blood. Her mother had been part of his life for longer than his wife had, and he trusted and loved them both without reservation. He wanted to see Anix grow up, to see her happy and healthy, developing into the beautiful Sebacean woman that he knew she’d become, and he’d really like to see her mother smile with pure joy again before he died. Any place he had in this universe, any action he took in the name of this rebellion and these wars was to secure a place in the universe for this odd disruptive family.
Family, he thought in wonderment, thinking as well of John Crichton and his odd humor, his stubbornness and unwavering friendship, reappearing after all this time to become a comrade, again, a partner to all of them, and mourning slightly the difficult path that John had chosen for himself cycles ago. You never knew what to expect from them, or where you’d discover those bonds that went deeper than blood.
D’Argo had given up his son once to protect him, and in doing so had traded one kind of horror for another. They’d found Jothee when Anix was seven cycles. He was wild and angry, had been a slave changed to a mine and his anger cut everyone around him. Aeryn knocked him across the maintenance bay one day, and earned his undying respect, but D’Argo wanted the love of the small boy he’d been forced to abandon, not the respect of a fellow criminal. D’Argo had wanted to retire from this life of running and hiding and piracy and battle. The wars were beginning, and he wanted to leave the Uncharted Territories and settle into safety. He had wanted to raise crops, make wine, have a family life again.
They’d raised enough currency through piracy and excursions for the rebellions springing up that he could afford to settle down, to buy land and live on it. Chiana and Jothee reluctantly agreed to accompany him, and they’d lived on the planet for six monens before Aeryn appeared with Anix in tow.
She had accepted a dangerous mission with the newly organized Rebellion and wanted her daughter to be safe and hidden. D’Argo knew better than to argue with her, the conflict between family and her sense of justice and duty heavy in her eyes. She didn’t beg, just looked at him, bit her lip, and held tightly to her daughter’s hand.
The year had been idyllic, until a monen before Aeryn returned when he realized the family life he dreamed of had been a lie. His paramour and his son had been raised on the thrill of the hunt, and had found their own excitement in each other. He gave up his son for the second time, consumed with the feelings of outrage and betrayal. He stormed against them, disowning Jothee, scarring him and threatening Chiana.
He’d spent several weeks in an alcoholic stupor. He tried to send Chiana away, but was in no condition to watch over Anix,, who needed attention and nurturing, and finally found solace in that same child of a former Peacekeeper, who had insisted that he stay with her, read to her and walk her to school. She ignored his temper and his violent mood swings, confident that he’d never harm her, and D’Argo made an effort to live up to her childish vision of him. Anix Sun was family in a way that the other two couldn’t be, and when Aeryn returned, he left Chiana on the planet and accompanied the Sebaceans back to Moya. And, eventually, it was Anix who taught him to forgive Chiana, her longing for her friend and playmate a reminder of why D’Argo had loved the young Nebari in the first place.
Anix finally pushed him away, her face dry but red and blotchy. She rubbed her nose, and pushed back her hair in a parody of her mother in Aeryn’s deliberate frustration. “I’m hungry,” she announced, and he grinned at her resilience.
“All right,” he said, “Let me tell Tyno and the Empress that Crichton is safe, though.” He would relish seeing the relief on the Empress’ face, as much as he had spitefully enjoyed her horror at word of a Scarran loose on the planet. He hope these events would at least serve to show her how vulnerable they were to invasion and attack, from all forces. He was less excited about seeing the wavering conflict of emotions flick across the features of the Councilor. Tyno was too good a man to wish John harm, but he was still a man watching events unfold in front of him that were in direct contrast to his personal wishes and desires.
He was following Anix down the hallway towards the common area, when his coms again crackled to life. Expecting another smart-ass report from Teyvn, D’Argo was surprised to hear Atos deep voice ring through. “Captain D’Argo,” he queried. “Atos, what?” he replied. “Sir, I think you need to come down to the conference room.” His voice was deadly calm, and fear twisted in D’Argo’s gut. Atos had been with them for years, was loyal, competent and overly serious. He did not make mistakes, and he did not ask for help or pander to authority. If he was asking for D’Argo’s presence, something seriously frelled was going on.
“I will be right there.”
He looked at Anix, who was nervously running her thumb over her lips, a habit picked up from Crichton. She knew Atos as well as any of them.
“Go eat, and then get some sleep, shokoula,” he ordered quietly, leaving her no room for argument. She tilted her head, gearing for protest and he just shook his head. “Go.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she whirled around, continuing down the hall without saying goodnight, abandonment slumping her shoulders.
He entered the conference room and took in the sight of three soldiers in full gear surrounding a young woman. He nodded to Atos, and looked back at the woman who’s arms were locked behind her with Peacekeeper issued cuffs. Her boots had been taken, as had her armour and weaponry. Her pale hair was escaping it’s tight queue, but she still sat upright and proud in the hard chair. Her name was Be’Ann and she’d come home with Aeryn after a particularly nasty mission. She’d been 17 cycles old, her family destroyed by a Scarran/Nebari skirmish on her planet. She was steadfastly loyal to Aeryn, treating her like a combination of mother and mentor and friend, and had even initially served as a nanny to Anix for a time before she’d begged for weapons and prowler training. She was still among the trusted elite among Aeryn’s squadron, and the sight of her in cuffs raised D’Argo’s hackles. And here he’d thought the day was improving.
Atos couldn’t even look at the woman, just focused his dead eyes on D’Argo. “Sir,” he said, his voice dripping with venom. “We’ve found the spy.”
Chapter 13
“Babies,” he said, his voice light and happy. “They’d be beautiful. Big eyes and curly hair and pink cheeks and ten fingers and ten toes, because I know you’re an alien, but you got the same parts as humans, at least on the outside.” He attempted to leer and simultaneously peer down her shirt, succeeding in neither, but instead stumbling, nearly knocking them off balance. Aeryn cursed silently, wedged her shoulder more firmly under Crichton’s armpit, and tugged his wrist down to her neck to steady him.
After he woke up, they’d surveyed their options, and found them seriously lacking. Finding John dead would have been one thing, battered, bruised and in shock was something completely different. A little battle triage had determined that nothing was permanently broken, but he was shuddering and clammy, and his pulse was still thready underneath her fingertips. When she tried to prop him up, tears had sprung into the corner of his eyes from the pain.
“Didja get the license plate of that semi?” he'd asked, earning him typically vacant looks of incomprehension. As she worked out a plan with Teyvn, she realized that she couldn’t travel with Crichton, nor could she leave him on the floor of this ship. They could sleep outside, although their were carnivorous species around after dark, but that was a risk she was willing to take. However, Crichton didn’t look like sleeping on the ground was going to do him much good either.
The situation had been aided and abetted shortly after when the guard she’d sent outside to keep watch had given a shout of alarm. Teyvn had raced outside, pulse rifle drawn, and returned a few microts later looking vastly amused.
“There’s an old woman out there who wants to know if we need help.” He tried very hard to contain himself, but began to chortle anyway. Aeryn, still trying to assess what was wrong with John, had lashed out with her fist, catching her commando in the knew. He wavered and buckled, but jumped back.
“What did you say,” she gritted out.
“Yes?” he replied. She waited, calling upon years of patience, of life with humans and Luxans and Nebari and Hynerians and soldiers and female offspring to give her the strength to not beat one of her most trusted men into a bloody pulp. He get to the point when it suited him.
“She said that she has a small house, that she can offer food an shelter for the night if someone is in need.” He sounded amazed, actually and Aeryn concurred. Kindness in this universe was always cause for amazement.
“Well tell her she’s the answer to our prayers,” Aeryn finally replied.
Teyvn left and returned with directions. Aeryn left the soldiers there to guard the wilted Scarran, made arrangements with D’Argo, and shot John full of battle stimulant. The effect of which was to set him to babbling immediately. He was walking, although reluctantly and not without her assistance, draped across her body like cheap firesilk, but he was ambulatory, and enthusiastic, and whatever mental torture the Scarran had enacted upon him had loosened both his tongue and his wandering hands. He was near incomprehensible, and very, very affectionate. And he’d been talking about babies for the last 300 microts.
Finally, she bumped him sharply with her hip, and bit out without thinking, “I had a baby, John. And yes, she was beautiful, but she also cried endlessly and threw up and destroyed things. Her nose ran, and she got sick, and she swallowed things when no one was looking and she couldn’t tell me what was wrong, and she got dropped, and hidden and forgotten about and I was a terrible mother and she probably would have died if I hadn’t had help, so don’t tell me about babies!”
He looked at her, startled at the outburst, and she opened her mouth, equally surprised at what had escaped her thoughts. Then that slow easy, smile spread over his face and she felt something soften, and he leaned towards her, nuzzling her neck, his nose and lips caressing the delicate skin there, and then sliding his cheek over hers to rest on the top of her head. He slid his other arm around her waist, folding her to him and held onto her, his heart thumping against her chest. He smelled like fear and like sweat, and like John, and she realized she’d never quite forgotten that scent, even mixed in with the acrid remnants of his torture. So she allowed the embrace for a few microts, fueled by her relief at his survival, then turned in his arms, and securing his wrist again, she marched them forward.
The old woman had a tiny house, with a tiny extra bedroom and Aeryn had never been so relieved to see a bed on planet before. The stim wore off halfway through the simple meal that they were offered, and she could barely get John into the bed. The old woman looked on in sympathy, but didn’t offer to help. In fact, she’d been gracious but distant the whole time and Aeryn was surprised that she offered her hospitality in the first place. When she finally got John onto the bed, divesting him of boots and gunbelt, she turned to their host.
“Thank you,” she said, reiterating the phrase she’d been offering since they arrived on the doorstep of this small dwelling, miraculously left standing. “You were in need,” the woman replied. “And you’re not Peacekeepers,” she added, hatred filling her voice.
“No,” Aeryn agreed. “We are not Peacekeepers.”
The woman had brought tea for Aeryn, along with towels and bandages, and then shut the door, blocking them off from the rest of the house. The room was dark, but Aeryn didn’t bother to turn on any lights or seek illumination elsewhere. The rest of the house had been light by lamps and candles, and she didn’t know if there was an outside power source available. Her troops hadn’t made it this far out. So she sat on a straight backed chair, weariness making her ache, and watched John Crichton sleep. And at some point she must have dozed off herself, because she woke up, back stiff and sore, to find her head cradled in her arms, upper body resting on the high mattress.
John was awake, looking at her, hand propping up his head. She felt fuzzy and warm and uncomfortable, the events of the day settling into her muscles and bones and tendons, and she was suddenly beyond exhausted.
“Aeryn,” he whispered, his voice a caress. “Come here.”
She looked at him, not comprehending. And he nodded at her, encouragingly.
“Stubborn," he chided gently, a grin teasing at his lips. “Come here and lay down before you end up stuck like that.”
And for the life of her, she couldn’t think of a reason not to. She stood up, wincing from the pain, and fumblingly toed off her boots before turning around and sitting on the bed. She felt warm hands unknot her hair, and then stretched back her neck as the heavy masses tumbled free. Strong fingers rubbed her scalp, caressed her neck and then a hand wrapped around her arm, tugging her down. She pulled her reluctant limbs onto the bed, scooted back until she was jammed up against John Crichton, and promptly fell asleep.
crankygrrlchapters before tomorrow morning. I reserve the right to clean them up tomorrow though. And I'm ultra late for my Latin student.Chapter 12
“We’ve got him,” said Teyvn, his voice breaking up a little as the com signal faded.
D’Argo sighed in relief. He looked at Anix, his silent shadow for the past five arns, her eyes wide and serious.
“Is he alive?” D’Argo asked, bracing himself for the answer.
“Yeah, alive.” Teyvn confirmed, “But he’s weak.” There was a long pause, filled up with speculation and unspoken things that D’Argo didn’t even want to contemplate. And then Teyvn added, almost as an afterthought, “ And we captured the Scarran.”
“Alive?” D’Argo asked incredulously.
“Weeeelll,” Teyvn stretched the word out, the ramifications hanging in the air. “Technically, yes. But the Captain permanently rearranged his neural pathways. I don’t know how much use he’ll be to us babbling for his mommy.”
“Very funny.” It never failed to amaze D’Argo that Aeryn Sun’s sense of humor had honed itself to a razor fine point over the years, bitter and sardonic, she could draw blood when she wanted, but right now she sounded tight and controlled, and to D’Argo’s ears at least, very, very tired.
“Are you all right?” Anix asked quickly, tense with worry. “Is Crichton all right?”
“I’m fine,” Aeryn replied. “John will be fine.”
She turned her attention back to D’Argo who waited for her instructions. “Teyvn and the others will bring the Scarran back first thing in the morning, and I want techs out here tearing apart this ship. I don’t want any more surprises, and in case the Scarran can’t speak, I want to know why he was here, aside from the obvious.”
D’Argo didn’t argue with her. The fact that Crichton was alive meant the Scarran had tortured him. Either the Scarran had recognized him, cycles past his last public appearance, or he’d been sent to gather information from whatever source he could. Neither possibility made D’Argo very happy.
“Are you coming back tonight?” he asked, looking again at Anix. He could see Aeryn in his mind’s eye, shoulders slumped with weariness, shaking her head.
“No. It’s too far, and even with the stim. I gave John, he won’t make it to the transport. He needs sleep and food, and walking for four arns, or being jogged around in those wretched land vehicles isn’t going to help him any tonight.”
D’Argo nodded. He neglected to point out that she’d called him John, that her voice had softened and her focus shifted. Some things didn’t change over the span of a lifetime.
“We’ll be fine, and when Teyvn arrives with the Scarran, we will be prepared to question him,” he said, bitter glee lacing his voice.
He heard Teyvn start to talk, asking if he really had to sleep with the Scarran. John was babbling in the background, an occasional reaction to the battle stims and one he wasn’t surprised to observe in the human, and tapped off his com as he heard Aeryn bark something in frustration at her soldiers.
“It’s been quite a day, shokoula,” he said to Anix, the endearment slipping out for the first time in cycles. She tilted up her lips, and furrowed her brow, uncertain of what to say. D’Argo offered her his hand, which she took and he pulled her to him in a crushing hug.
“I am very, very glad that you are safe,” he said to her gruffly as she buried her face in his tunic, holding onto him tightly.
This girl, with her dark hair and foreign eyes, and clear, joyous intelligence, was as integral to his life as his own blood. Her mother had been part of his life for longer than his wife had, and he trusted and loved them both without reservation. He wanted to see Anix grow up, to see her happy and healthy, developing into the beautiful Sebacean woman that he knew she’d become, and he’d really like to see her mother smile with pure joy again before he died. Any place he had in this universe, any action he took in the name of this rebellion and these wars was to secure a place in the universe for this odd disruptive family.
Family, he thought in wonderment, thinking as well of John Crichton and his odd humor, his stubbornness and unwavering friendship, reappearing after all this time to become a comrade, again, a partner to all of them, and mourning slightly the difficult path that John had chosen for himself cycles ago. You never knew what to expect from them, or where you’d discover those bonds that went deeper than blood.
D’Argo had given up his son once to protect him, and in doing so had traded one kind of horror for another. They’d found Jothee when Anix was seven cycles. He was wild and angry, had been a slave changed to a mine and his anger cut everyone around him. Aeryn knocked him across the maintenance bay one day, and earned his undying respect, but D’Argo wanted the love of the small boy he’d been forced to abandon, not the respect of a fellow criminal. D’Argo had wanted to retire from this life of running and hiding and piracy and battle. The wars were beginning, and he wanted to leave the Uncharted Territories and settle into safety. He had wanted to raise crops, make wine, have a family life again.
They’d raised enough currency through piracy and excursions for the rebellions springing up that he could afford to settle down, to buy land and live on it. Chiana and Jothee reluctantly agreed to accompany him, and they’d lived on the planet for six monens before Aeryn appeared with Anix in tow.
She had accepted a dangerous mission with the newly organized Rebellion and wanted her daughter to be safe and hidden. D’Argo knew better than to argue with her, the conflict between family and her sense of justice and duty heavy in her eyes. She didn’t beg, just looked at him, bit her lip, and held tightly to her daughter’s hand.
The year had been idyllic, until a monen before Aeryn returned when he realized the family life he dreamed of had been a lie. His paramour and his son had been raised on the thrill of the hunt, and had found their own excitement in each other. He gave up his son for the second time, consumed with the feelings of outrage and betrayal. He stormed against them, disowning Jothee, scarring him and threatening Chiana.
He’d spent several weeks in an alcoholic stupor. He tried to send Chiana away, but was in no condition to watch over Anix,, who needed attention and nurturing, and finally found solace in that same child of a former Peacekeeper, who had insisted that he stay with her, read to her and walk her to school. She ignored his temper and his violent mood swings, confident that he’d never harm her, and D’Argo made an effort to live up to her childish vision of him. Anix Sun was family in a way that the other two couldn’t be, and when Aeryn returned, he left Chiana on the planet and accompanied the Sebaceans back to Moya. And, eventually, it was Anix who taught him to forgive Chiana, her longing for her friend and playmate a reminder of why D’Argo had loved the young Nebari in the first place.
Anix finally pushed him away, her face dry but red and blotchy. She rubbed her nose, and pushed back her hair in a parody of her mother in Aeryn’s deliberate frustration. “I’m hungry,” she announced, and he grinned at her resilience.
“All right,” he said, “Let me tell Tyno and the Empress that Crichton is safe, though.” He would relish seeing the relief on the Empress’ face, as much as he had spitefully enjoyed her horror at word of a Scarran loose on the planet. He hope these events would at least serve to show her how vulnerable they were to invasion and attack, from all forces. He was less excited about seeing the wavering conflict of emotions flick across the features of the Councilor. Tyno was too good a man to wish John harm, but he was still a man watching events unfold in front of him that were in direct contrast to his personal wishes and desires.
He was following Anix down the hallway towards the common area, when his coms again crackled to life. Expecting another smart-ass report from Teyvn, D’Argo was surprised to hear Atos deep voice ring through. “Captain D’Argo,” he queried. “Atos, what?” he replied. “Sir, I think you need to come down to the conference room.” His voice was deadly calm, and fear twisted in D’Argo’s gut. Atos had been with them for years, was loyal, competent and overly serious. He did not make mistakes, and he did not ask for help or pander to authority. If he was asking for D’Argo’s presence, something seriously frelled was going on.
“I will be right there.”
He looked at Anix, who was nervously running her thumb over her lips, a habit picked up from Crichton. She knew Atos as well as any of them.
“Go eat, and then get some sleep, shokoula,” he ordered quietly, leaving her no room for argument. She tilted her head, gearing for protest and he just shook his head. “Go.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she whirled around, continuing down the hall without saying goodnight, abandonment slumping her shoulders.
He entered the conference room and took in the sight of three soldiers in full gear surrounding a young woman. He nodded to Atos, and looked back at the woman who’s arms were locked behind her with Peacekeeper issued cuffs. Her boots had been taken, as had her armour and weaponry. Her pale hair was escaping it’s tight queue, but she still sat upright and proud in the hard chair. Her name was Be’Ann and she’d come home with Aeryn after a particularly nasty mission. She’d been 17 cycles old, her family destroyed by a Scarran/Nebari skirmish on her planet. She was steadfastly loyal to Aeryn, treating her like a combination of mother and mentor and friend, and had even initially served as a nanny to Anix for a time before she’d begged for weapons and prowler training. She was still among the trusted elite among Aeryn’s squadron, and the sight of her in cuffs raised D’Argo’s hackles. And here he’d thought the day was improving.
Atos couldn’t even look at the woman, just focused his dead eyes on D’Argo. “Sir,” he said, his voice dripping with venom. “We’ve found the spy.”
Chapter 13
“Babies,” he said, his voice light and happy. “They’d be beautiful. Big eyes and curly hair and pink cheeks and ten fingers and ten toes, because I know you’re an alien, but you got the same parts as humans, at least on the outside.” He attempted to leer and simultaneously peer down her shirt, succeeding in neither, but instead stumbling, nearly knocking them off balance. Aeryn cursed silently, wedged her shoulder more firmly under Crichton’s armpit, and tugged his wrist down to her neck to steady him.
After he woke up, they’d surveyed their options, and found them seriously lacking. Finding John dead would have been one thing, battered, bruised and in shock was something completely different. A little battle triage had determined that nothing was permanently broken, but he was shuddering and clammy, and his pulse was still thready underneath her fingertips. When she tried to prop him up, tears had sprung into the corner of his eyes from the pain.
“Didja get the license plate of that semi?” he'd asked, earning him typically vacant looks of incomprehension. As she worked out a plan with Teyvn, she realized that she couldn’t travel with Crichton, nor could she leave him on the floor of this ship. They could sleep outside, although their were carnivorous species around after dark, but that was a risk she was willing to take. However, Crichton didn’t look like sleeping on the ground was going to do him much good either.
The situation had been aided and abetted shortly after when the guard she’d sent outside to keep watch had given a shout of alarm. Teyvn had raced outside, pulse rifle drawn, and returned a few microts later looking vastly amused.
“There’s an old woman out there who wants to know if we need help.” He tried very hard to contain himself, but began to chortle anyway. Aeryn, still trying to assess what was wrong with John, had lashed out with her fist, catching her commando in the knew. He wavered and buckled, but jumped back.
“What did you say,” she gritted out.
“Yes?” he replied. She waited, calling upon years of patience, of life with humans and Luxans and Nebari and Hynerians and soldiers and female offspring to give her the strength to not beat one of her most trusted men into a bloody pulp. He get to the point when it suited him.
“She said that she has a small house, that she can offer food an shelter for the night if someone is in need.” He sounded amazed, actually and Aeryn concurred. Kindness in this universe was always cause for amazement.
“Well tell her she’s the answer to our prayers,” Aeryn finally replied.
Teyvn left and returned with directions. Aeryn left the soldiers there to guard the wilted Scarran, made arrangements with D’Argo, and shot John full of battle stimulant. The effect of which was to set him to babbling immediately. He was walking, although reluctantly and not without her assistance, draped across her body like cheap firesilk, but he was ambulatory, and enthusiastic, and whatever mental torture the Scarran had enacted upon him had loosened both his tongue and his wandering hands. He was near incomprehensible, and very, very affectionate. And he’d been talking about babies for the last 300 microts.
Finally, she bumped him sharply with her hip, and bit out without thinking, “I had a baby, John. And yes, she was beautiful, but she also cried endlessly and threw up and destroyed things. Her nose ran, and she got sick, and she swallowed things when no one was looking and she couldn’t tell me what was wrong, and she got dropped, and hidden and forgotten about and I was a terrible mother and she probably would have died if I hadn’t had help, so don’t tell me about babies!”
He looked at her, startled at the outburst, and she opened her mouth, equally surprised at what had escaped her thoughts. Then that slow easy, smile spread over his face and she felt something soften, and he leaned towards her, nuzzling her neck, his nose and lips caressing the delicate skin there, and then sliding his cheek over hers to rest on the top of her head. He slid his other arm around her waist, folding her to him and held onto her, his heart thumping against her chest. He smelled like fear and like sweat, and like John, and she realized she’d never quite forgotten that scent, even mixed in with the acrid remnants of his torture. So she allowed the embrace for a few microts, fueled by her relief at his survival, then turned in his arms, and securing his wrist again, she marched them forward.
The old woman had a tiny house, with a tiny extra bedroom and Aeryn had never been so relieved to see a bed on planet before. The stim wore off halfway through the simple meal that they were offered, and she could barely get John into the bed. The old woman looked on in sympathy, but didn’t offer to help. In fact, she’d been gracious but distant the whole time and Aeryn was surprised that she offered her hospitality in the first place. When she finally got John onto the bed, divesting him of boots and gunbelt, she turned to their host.
“Thank you,” she said, reiterating the phrase she’d been offering since they arrived on the doorstep of this small dwelling, miraculously left standing. “You were in need,” the woman replied. “And you’re not Peacekeepers,” she added, hatred filling her voice.
“No,” Aeryn agreed. “We are not Peacekeepers.”
The woman had brought tea for Aeryn, along with towels and bandages, and then shut the door, blocking them off from the rest of the house. The room was dark, but Aeryn didn’t bother to turn on any lights or seek illumination elsewhere. The rest of the house had been light by lamps and candles, and she didn’t know if there was an outside power source available. Her troops hadn’t made it this far out. So she sat on a straight backed chair, weariness making her ache, and watched John Crichton sleep. And at some point she must have dozed off herself, because she woke up, back stiff and sore, to find her head cradled in her arms, upper body resting on the high mattress.
John was awake, looking at her, hand propping up his head. She felt fuzzy and warm and uncomfortable, the events of the day settling into her muscles and bones and tendons, and she was suddenly beyond exhausted.
“Aeryn,” he whispered, his voice a caress. “Come here.”
She looked at him, not comprehending. And he nodded at her, encouragingly.
“Stubborn," he chided gently, a grin teasing at his lips. “Come here and lay down before you end up stuck like that.”
And for the life of her, she couldn’t think of a reason not to. She stood up, wincing from the pain, and fumblingly toed off her boots before turning around and sitting on the bed. She felt warm hands unknot her hair, and then stretched back her neck as the heavy masses tumbled free. Strong fingers rubbed her scalp, caressed her neck and then a hand wrapped around her arm, tugging her down. She pulled her reluctant limbs onto the bed, scooted back until she was jammed up against John Crichton, and promptly fell asleep.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-07-30 06:11 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for posting it - rough or not, it was a treat to read. I like where you're going with it. :)
no subject
Date: 2003-07-31 11:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-30 06:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-31 11:36 am (UTC)(And Zhaan is not alive in the present timeline. I haven't gotten to that part of the backstory yet, although I did briefly mention that she, Crais, and Talyn are all dead).
The quote for the beginning of this, when it's clean and shiny, mistake free and more importantly, plot whole and vast expositional stretches free, is going to be the quote from DD about time being elastic, as opposed to a brittle framework. Things were set in motion way before John got frozen:)
no subject
Date: 2003-07-30 08:00 pm (UTC)I really need to go back and comment on the last two chapters, but that's gonna have to wait a bit.
Thank you for sharing.
no subject
Date: 2003-07-31 11:32 am (UTC)I reread these chapters when I got to work this morning though, and some of the mistakes just make me shudder. I may have to fix them just for my own viewing pleasure.
On, and have a great time at ScaperCon!
no subject
Date: 2003-07-31 05:27 am (UTC)And rather late for my bus, so detailed f'back will have to wait.
Wonderful. Yay!