Getting rid of those mangy rabbits
Sep. 10th, 2003 03:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
itsallovernowIn the words of Yosemite Sam, tham pesky varmints.
Taking my own advice, I tried to write something entirely different in order to solve my uberexposition problem with Blue Eyes. This is a maybe scene from the requisite post-BT fic that loyal viewers and ficcers are required to write. (That sounded snide. It's not supposed to. I'm in the throes of being annoyed with myself, ignore the tone).
Since![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
searose, crankygrrl and rubberneck are all tackling that timeframe one way or another, I don't feel real compelled to finish this. It'd be another mini-monster anyway. But it helped me figure out a plot point so I'm grateful enough to post it, despite the flaws and contradictions. Basically, the premise of the story is that boredom and bureaucracy can be more of a threat to doing the right thing than torture at times. It's the bureaucracy that made the trains run on time.
“You wanna talk about it?,” he asked grudgingly, leaning against the doorway, slumped over to fit in the rounded frame. Sebaceans were taller than this. Why the hell were the doors to quarters so small?
Aeryn sat on the edge of the small bed, the bloody peacekeeper-red coverlet spread out behind her. She braced her elbows on her thighs, pushing her hands against her knees so forcefully that her knuckles were bone white. She looked up at him with such loathing that he wanted to turn around, walk out and leave her in this snit.
“Talk about what?” she hissed. “The fact that I’ve been vomiting since we were revived or the fact that we’re on a Command Carrier as Braca’s honored guests. Which one would you like to discuss John?”
“You were sick,” he said stonily. “I didn’t have a choice.”
She closed her eyes against him, breathed through the wave of naseua. “ You had a choice. You could have left me behind. You wanted to work on wormholes,” she said flatly, her face so pale he could see the tiny threading of veins at her temples.
“Maybe,” he shot back.
She looked up, grey eyes glassy, and shook her head at him. “It was supposed to be fine,” she growled. “I came back, and it was supposed to fine. But it’s not.”
He welcomed the raw scrapings of cut glass voice, on his skin, low, throaty and certain,“No, it’s just not the same.”
Tears slid down her face, and overflowing of emotion choked his throat. Aeryn had never cried in manipulation, never used her tears, didn’t know how. But they spilled from her regardless, cutting tracks in her beautiful face.
She looked away from him, angry and embarrassed, unwillling to meet his gaze with tears on her cheeks.
“I can’t stay here any longer,” she said.
“We don’t have any other choice,” He was impatient at the repetition.
She sighed, still didn’t look at him. “Just go away, John,” she demanded softly.
And that was the difference. He’d learned how to walk away, had become a man who could leave her ill and in pain, and walk away. He hated that. But he was still going to do it.
***
He spent eight arns in the lab with the techs, a team less skilled than those from Scorpius’ command carrier, but proficient nonetheless. They didn’t see the art of wormholes, only the science, and that was what allowed him to spin out his web slowly, giving them enough each day to build the equations, but not enough to see the whole picture.
Scorpy was pleased, standing too close to John, hot and fetid and greedy. His fingers winding into Sikozu’s curls, pulling too hard at his new toy. The Kalish looked glazed and giddy, her mouth glistening wet, eyes seeing nothing but Scorpius.
“And how is Officer Sun?” he asked, oily and unconcerned.
John ignored him, following the vectoring equation, noting where they screwed up, and finally correcting the mistake. They’d been unable to hide the pregnancy after Braca traded the Qujaga two Peacekeeper prisoners for them. The Qujaga had been happy to get rid of them, They’d been in stasis for four monens and microts after they were revived, Aeryn threw up on the boots of the first scientist she saw and hadn’t really looked back.
She’d been ill ever since, could barely keep anything down, and had trouble sleeping, her dreams filled with nightmares. The weakness tore at Aeryn, and her ill temper reflected that. Braca had suggested a bargain once they arrived on the carrier - medical care, sanctuary for them both if Crichton would help them with a little side project.
Moya was long gone, and they really had no choice this far into Tormented Space. Aeryn could barely walk, so thin and brittle that he was afraid for both mother and child and he’d accepted for them on the spot, not taking into consideration what it meant for a her to live on a Command Carrier, a traitorous ex-Peacekeeper, pregnant with the child of an unclassified alien species. She’d always been the strongest person he knew, and being here was tearing her down even as it gave him a new sense of purpose. He wanted to help, to make it better, but she was so frelling stubborn sometimes.
He worked on the theory, and had a drink with the techs, and when guilt pulled strongly enough at him, he returned to their quarters. He knew she was bored and scared and unhappy, unable to see a way out of this situation that wouldn't risk them and the baby. And the niggling guilt increased as he realized that despite Scorpius, despite Braca's sneering leers, and the fight, he felt pretty good. He had a purpose here.
Aeryn was curled up on her side, her long heavy hair wrapped around her body, torso bare, breathing softly. The room was tiny, and he was careful not to bump into anything while he silently undressed. He sat on the edge of the bed where her legs curled up, and slid the coverlet down under the curve of her belly. She was some four and and half, maybe five monens along and the hard half circle of the baby was a sharp contrast to the angular lines of her lean body. He gently place his hand on the side of the curve, willing the fetus to move or kick.
Sebacean gestation was genetically accelerated, humans obviously needed to cook for nine monens. The doctors thought it was this, mixed with the heat differentials that were making Aeryn so sick. The baby appeared to be healthy. He bent forward and kissed her stomach, laying his cheek against it. Her skin was clean, which was a good sign. Meant she’d been able to shower and he breathed her in, his hand rubbing her hip. “John?” she murmured, and he almost regretted waking her up, but the look on her face wiped away the regret. Her eyes were dark with drowsiness, and the sight of her, too thin, but still fertile, breasts and belly belying jutting hips and sharp collarbone, spiked his desire.
He licked the skin of her hip, pushed away the blanket and parted her thighs. He’d loved her and hated her and mourned her, but he’d never been indifferent to her. She shifted to give him better access and he laid the flat of his tongue on her clitoris, sucking the skin into his mouth and his fingers moved inside her. She whimpered, bucked against him and he sucked harder and then backed off, tracing her sex with the tip of his tongue, drawing shudders and moans from her, then withdrew completely to kneel on the ground beside the bed. He wrapped his hand around the outside of her pale thigh and nudged her towards him until she sat up, knees bracketing his shoulders, her sex pink and glistening and open for him. She looked at him, not smiling, jaw set, but she was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth and her hands clutched the coverlet as he looked at her.
He put his hand on the join of her thigh, brushed his thumb over her clit, and she arched her neck and back. He raised his other hand, stroking her sensitive nipples with his fingertips, sliding down her sternum to stroke her belly, then traced back up to her neck. She caught his hand, turned it towards her, kissing the pad of flesh on his palm and then biting down, before sucking his thumb into her hot, wet mouth. He groaned and clasped her neck, jerking her down to him to meet his kiss, bruising and sharp and frantic until he pulled her down to straddle his knees, holding her in place and then driving up into her. They moved together, fast and grinding, until she came silently, bracing herself against the bed, clutching his shoulders, and pulling him inside her. Her contractions finished him off, and he moaned his release into her neck, wanting to be closer, but blocked by the baby between them.
The pressure on his knees was too much, and she had to help him back up onto the bed as he winced in pain. The bed was really to small for both of them, but he had refused to be separated from Aeryn initially and now it was a point of pride that they hadn’t killed each other yet in this tiny space that was far more of a cell than any room had been on Moya. It meant he could sleep close, could hear her breath, feel her heartbeat, rest his hand on her stomach. Also meant he’d gotten elbowed in the head and kicked in the knee more than once as she adjusted to sharing a bed, her mind filled with night terrors.
They’d never talked about what happened on the Scarran freighter, hell they’d barely mentioned her extended summer vacation or the odd calm she’d returned with. And at first, he’d found that he slipped into loving her because it was familiar, and stayed away from her because so was the pain, and then, after Earth, after the freighter and Katratzi and nuclear terrorism, he’d looked over at this woman who was both more and less than the soldier he’d fallen in love with when he was a different man, and he couldn’t seen his life without her, and he also knew that if she left, he’d get over it. But he didn’t want to. And it was the wanting that buoyed him, that and that glorious moment on an open sea when she’d announced that they, he and Aeryn, were going to have a baby. The world opened right back up, only to compress again moments later by further evidence of the universe’s needless cruelty.
She was laying on her side, his pillow between her knees and he tucked himself up next to her. She didn’t sink back into him, but when he wrapped his arm around her chest, she laced her fingers with his.
“Three whole arns without vomiting,” she said sardonically, sounding tired, but almost amused.
“No one turned to goo today,” he replied. “I thought that was pretty noteworthy.”
She didn’t laugh, but she tightened her grip on his hand.
“I feel like I’m losing my mind, John,” she said quietly “I cry, I vomit, I can barely hold onto my pulse pistol. This can’t be normal.”
“Doc says you’re okay,” he said, “Or at least, you will be if you stay hydrated, take the supplement shots, keep her temperature stable, get enough rest.”
She was silent for awhile and he stroked the soft skin under her breasts. She seemed willing to put the early argument aside, and he was happy to comply. When she spoke again, it was barely more than a whisper. “I’ve never in my life gone this long without a purpose, and no I don’t consider pregnancy a purpose and so help me if you tell me again that’s my job now I will kill you.” She sounded deadly serious and he didn’t blame her.
“I know,” he said, pulling her closer. “And I think I found you something to do until we can figure out a way off this boat.”
Taking my own advice, I tried to write something entirely different in order to solve my uberexposition problem with Blue Eyes. This is a maybe scene from the requisite post-BT fic that loyal viewers and ficcers are required to write. (That sounded snide. It's not supposed to. I'm in the throes of being annoyed with myself, ignore the tone).
Since
searose, crankygrrl and rubberneck are all tackling that timeframe one way or another, I don't feel real compelled to finish this. It'd be another mini-monster anyway. But it helped me figure out a plot point so I'm grateful enough to post it, despite the flaws and contradictions. Basically, the premise of the story is that boredom and bureaucracy can be more of a threat to doing the right thing than torture at times. It's the bureaucracy that made the trains run on time.“You wanna talk about it?,” he asked grudgingly, leaning against the doorway, slumped over to fit in the rounded frame. Sebaceans were taller than this. Why the hell were the doors to quarters so small?
Aeryn sat on the edge of the small bed, the bloody peacekeeper-red coverlet spread out behind her. She braced her elbows on her thighs, pushing her hands against her knees so forcefully that her knuckles were bone white. She looked up at him with such loathing that he wanted to turn around, walk out and leave her in this snit.
“Talk about what?” she hissed. “The fact that I’ve been vomiting since we were revived or the fact that we’re on a Command Carrier as Braca’s honored guests. Which one would you like to discuss John?”
“You were sick,” he said stonily. “I didn’t have a choice.”
She closed her eyes against him, breathed through the wave of naseua. “ You had a choice. You could have left me behind. You wanted to work on wormholes,” she said flatly, her face so pale he could see the tiny threading of veins at her temples.
“Maybe,” he shot back.
She looked up, grey eyes glassy, and shook her head at him. “It was supposed to be fine,” she growled. “I came back, and it was supposed to fine. But it’s not.”
He welcomed the raw scrapings of cut glass voice, on his skin, low, throaty and certain,“No, it’s just not the same.”
Tears slid down her face, and overflowing of emotion choked his throat. Aeryn had never cried in manipulation, never used her tears, didn’t know how. But they spilled from her regardless, cutting tracks in her beautiful face.
She looked away from him, angry and embarrassed, unwillling to meet his gaze with tears on her cheeks.
“I can’t stay here any longer,” she said.
“We don’t have any other choice,” He was impatient at the repetition.
She sighed, still didn’t look at him. “Just go away, John,” she demanded softly.
And that was the difference. He’d learned how to walk away, had become a man who could leave her ill and in pain, and walk away. He hated that. But he was still going to do it.
***
He spent eight arns in the lab with the techs, a team less skilled than those from Scorpius’ command carrier, but proficient nonetheless. They didn’t see the art of wormholes, only the science, and that was what allowed him to spin out his web slowly, giving them enough each day to build the equations, but not enough to see the whole picture.
Scorpy was pleased, standing too close to John, hot and fetid and greedy. His fingers winding into Sikozu’s curls, pulling too hard at his new toy. The Kalish looked glazed and giddy, her mouth glistening wet, eyes seeing nothing but Scorpius.
“And how is Officer Sun?” he asked, oily and unconcerned.
John ignored him, following the vectoring equation, noting where they screwed up, and finally correcting the mistake. They’d been unable to hide the pregnancy after Braca traded the Qujaga two Peacekeeper prisoners for them. The Qujaga had been happy to get rid of them, They’d been in stasis for four monens and microts after they were revived, Aeryn threw up on the boots of the first scientist she saw and hadn’t really looked back.
She’d been ill ever since, could barely keep anything down, and had trouble sleeping, her dreams filled with nightmares. The weakness tore at Aeryn, and her ill temper reflected that. Braca had suggested a bargain once they arrived on the carrier - medical care, sanctuary for them both if Crichton would help them with a little side project.
Moya was long gone, and they really had no choice this far into Tormented Space. Aeryn could barely walk, so thin and brittle that he was afraid for both mother and child and he’d accepted for them on the spot, not taking into consideration what it meant for a her to live on a Command Carrier, a traitorous ex-Peacekeeper, pregnant with the child of an unclassified alien species. She’d always been the strongest person he knew, and being here was tearing her down even as it gave him a new sense of purpose. He wanted to help, to make it better, but she was so frelling stubborn sometimes.
He worked on the theory, and had a drink with the techs, and when guilt pulled strongly enough at him, he returned to their quarters. He knew she was bored and scared and unhappy, unable to see a way out of this situation that wouldn't risk them and the baby. And the niggling guilt increased as he realized that despite Scorpius, despite Braca's sneering leers, and the fight, he felt pretty good. He had a purpose here.
Aeryn was curled up on her side, her long heavy hair wrapped around her body, torso bare, breathing softly. The room was tiny, and he was careful not to bump into anything while he silently undressed. He sat on the edge of the bed where her legs curled up, and slid the coverlet down under the curve of her belly. She was some four and and half, maybe five monens along and the hard half circle of the baby was a sharp contrast to the angular lines of her lean body. He gently place his hand on the side of the curve, willing the fetus to move or kick.
Sebacean gestation was genetically accelerated, humans obviously needed to cook for nine monens. The doctors thought it was this, mixed with the heat differentials that were making Aeryn so sick. The baby appeared to be healthy. He bent forward and kissed her stomach, laying his cheek against it. Her skin was clean, which was a good sign. Meant she’d been able to shower and he breathed her in, his hand rubbing her hip. “John?” she murmured, and he almost regretted waking her up, but the look on her face wiped away the regret. Her eyes were dark with drowsiness, and the sight of her, too thin, but still fertile, breasts and belly belying jutting hips and sharp collarbone, spiked his desire.
He licked the skin of her hip, pushed away the blanket and parted her thighs. He’d loved her and hated her and mourned her, but he’d never been indifferent to her. She shifted to give him better access and he laid the flat of his tongue on her clitoris, sucking the skin into his mouth and his fingers moved inside her. She whimpered, bucked against him and he sucked harder and then backed off, tracing her sex with the tip of his tongue, drawing shudders and moans from her, then withdrew completely to kneel on the ground beside the bed. He wrapped his hand around the outside of her pale thigh and nudged her towards him until she sat up, knees bracketing his shoulders, her sex pink and glistening and open for him. She looked at him, not smiling, jaw set, but she was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth and her hands clutched the coverlet as he looked at her.
He put his hand on the join of her thigh, brushed his thumb over her clit, and she arched her neck and back. He raised his other hand, stroking her sensitive nipples with his fingertips, sliding down her sternum to stroke her belly, then traced back up to her neck. She caught his hand, turned it towards her, kissing the pad of flesh on his palm and then biting down, before sucking his thumb into her hot, wet mouth. He groaned and clasped her neck, jerking her down to him to meet his kiss, bruising and sharp and frantic until he pulled her down to straddle his knees, holding her in place and then driving up into her. They moved together, fast and grinding, until she came silently, bracing herself against the bed, clutching his shoulders, and pulling him inside her. Her contractions finished him off, and he moaned his release into her neck, wanting to be closer, but blocked by the baby between them.
The pressure on his knees was too much, and she had to help him back up onto the bed as he winced in pain. The bed was really to small for both of them, but he had refused to be separated from Aeryn initially and now it was a point of pride that they hadn’t killed each other yet in this tiny space that was far more of a cell than any room had been on Moya. It meant he could sleep close, could hear her breath, feel her heartbeat, rest his hand on her stomach. Also meant he’d gotten elbowed in the head and kicked in the knee more than once as she adjusted to sharing a bed, her mind filled with night terrors.
They’d never talked about what happened on the Scarran freighter, hell they’d barely mentioned her extended summer vacation or the odd calm she’d returned with. And at first, he’d found that he slipped into loving her because it was familiar, and stayed away from her because so was the pain, and then, after Earth, after the freighter and Katratzi and nuclear terrorism, he’d looked over at this woman who was both more and less than the soldier he’d fallen in love with when he was a different man, and he couldn’t seen his life without her, and he also knew that if she left, he’d get over it. But he didn’t want to. And it was the wanting that buoyed him, that and that glorious moment on an open sea when she’d announced that they, he and Aeryn, were going to have a baby. The world opened right back up, only to compress again moments later by further evidence of the universe’s needless cruelty.
She was laying on her side, his pillow between her knees and he tucked himself up next to her. She didn’t sink back into him, but when he wrapped his arm around her chest, she laced her fingers with his.
“Three whole arns without vomiting,” she said sardonically, sounding tired, but almost amused.
“No one turned to goo today,” he replied. “I thought that was pretty noteworthy.”
She didn’t laugh, but she tightened her grip on his hand.
“I feel like I’m losing my mind, John,” she said quietly “I cry, I vomit, I can barely hold onto my pulse pistol. This can’t be normal.”
“Doc says you’re okay,” he said, “Or at least, you will be if you stay hydrated, take the supplement shots, keep her temperature stable, get enough rest.”
She was silent for awhile and he stroked the soft skin under her breasts. She seemed willing to put the early argument aside, and he was happy to comply. When she spoke again, it was barely more than a whisper. “I’ve never in my life gone this long without a purpose, and no I don’t consider pregnancy a purpose and so help me if you tell me again that’s my job now I will kill you.” She sounded deadly serious and he didn’t blame her.
“I know,” he said, pulling her closer. “And I think I found you something to do until we can figure out a way off this boat.”
no subject
Date: 2003-09-10 04:11 pm (UTC)Are we really obligated to do post-BT fic? 'Cause I feel no urge for it at all.
no subject
Date: 2003-09-10 04:44 pm (UTC)I can't wait to read the post-BT fic at the hands of the afore mentioned excellent authors or others (ahem if the bunnies were to follow you home, for instance) that I trust. I just needed a swift kick in the butt to get me back on track.