Originally posted 10/18/03Now, I really believe John and Aeryn were together, as lovers, not just friends, during the time they were both on the Favored Planet in The Locket.
But I also firmly believe that Aeryn would have a hard time letting this beautiful young man tie himself to an old woman, so I think she's going to fight him tooth and nail on this one....
This story is set shortly after John arrived in the isolated solar system in the Mist....
Rating: G, maybe PG
Setting: The Locket
Spoilers: Through The Locket
Disclaimer: Not mine....
Denial
Aeryn Sun stood in the doorway of what she already thought of as Crichton's bedroom, wrapped in a well-worn bathrobe, watching the moonlight stream in through the open window.
Don't get too comfortable with that idea, she told herself sternly.
Well, why not? Why the frell shouldn't he stay with her? It was because of her that he was stuck on the Favored Planet, the same as she was. She was someone he knew here, and goddess knew she could have used that comfort when she arrived.
And she had the room, after all. There was only her and Ennixx now, and this house had been built for the whole family....
She leaned against the door jam and clutched the mug of manet leaf tea she'd brought along with her when she'd climbed the stairs quietly in the dark. She'd brought the tea on purpose, something to give a little warmth in the late night chill, and occupy her hands.
She finally allowed her eyes to stray from the window to Crichton's form, sprawled across the bed on his stomach, one arm pillowing his head. Presumably he was wearing the sleep pants he'd borrowed, though the blankets were pulled halfway up his body, so she couldn't be sure. She could see the shape of the muscles in his bare back, arms and shoulders, as she watched him breathe.
She told herself she was just checking on him, to make sure he was all right, as she'd done with her sons, and her granddaughter when they were small. After all, he was new to this world, and she knew from personal experience how traumatizing that was. She was worried about him.
But she didn't believe her own untruth. Her motives towards John Crichton weren't remotely maternal, never mind grandmotherly. She'd been drawn here to him like a banta bug to a flame, and she knew it. A hundred and sixty-five cycles had done nothing to diminish the ties that bound her heart to his, and made her body long for his touch....
She drank some of her tea, and wished for the millionth time she'd never gotten stuck on this world.
But she had, and she'd lived here, lived in this place and time while he had been frozen just outside her reach. She'd had a life. She was old, very old, and he was youth, and beauty, and the time to act on her longing was long past.
She turned to leave, but she must have made some noise, because Crichton rolled over with a rustle of bedclothes and spoke behind her back as she was departing.
"Aeryn? That you?"
She stopped dead and turned around, unable to resist the sound of his voice. She took a deep breath. "Yes, it's me, Crichton, who else would it be? You know Ennixx isn't here tonight," she said briskly, moving into the room. "I just came to see if it had gotten too cold in here. It's not self-regulating like Moya."
She could hear the smile in his voice, recognized his moods as if it hadn't been two of his lifetimes since she'd been stranded here. "I've lived most of my life on a planet like this," he told her.
"I forgot," she said, and realized that she had indeed forgotten something so basic. Their time on Moya had been so short, and so long ago. So why did she still love him? Want him, in a way she'd never wanted anyone, even her husband? She bit her lip and stood in silence.
After a moment he propped his head up on one elbow and said, "I used to dream about this. Just last week...."
"Dream about what?
"Aeryn Sun, in my bedroom, in her nightclothes."
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't tease an old woman. I'm old enough to be your grandmother. I've seen you look at me, like I'm some kind of, what was that word you used to use? Crittler?
"No," he said softly. "No. You misunderstand. I'm looking at Aeryn Sun...and Not Aeryn Sun." He cocked his head and patted the bed in front of him. "Come here."
Her heart didn't even hesitate, her heart told her to go...while her head told her not to be foolish.
As if he could hear her thoughts, Crichton said, "Come on, it's okay. I won't bite." He sat up, leaning his back against the wall behind him.
She wondered if that was for his comfort, or hers, and she hesitated still.
"Please," he said softly, in that gentle way he had, talking to her like she was some sort of wild bird that hovered on the brink of flight.
Funny how she understood that now. Funny how she remembered it from oh, so long ago.
She gave in to her desires and his entreaties, and walked over to the bed. She set the mug down on the bedside table, and sat herself down on the edge of the bed next to him. She could feel the warmth of his leg next to her backside, and she closed her eyes for a moment, wondering if she dared to lean back in his arms.
But she couldn't. It would only encourage him.
She sat ramrod straight then, hands on her knees, and asked, staring directly ahead, "What did you mean? Aeryn Sun and not Aeryn Sun?"
He was silent for a while, and she wondered if he really meant to explain. And then he touched her hair, ran his fingers down it, the same long hair he used to play with back on Moya, but gray now, and thin with age.
She shook her head to discourage him, but he persisted.
"That's only part of what I mean," he said. "I see how much you've changed. Aged."
Well, good, at least he wasn't going to lie about it. She snorted. "Time does that to a person."
"But, it's not just that. You're...different. Softer. Not so...prickly."
She twisted her neck and looked at him then, amused. "I'm not sure that's a compliment," she said.
"It is," he assured her, taking her hand. "You've, I don't know, grown. I've seen the way you are with Ennixx. You love her."
And that terrified her, because she heard the unspoken corollary: "You could love me." And of course, she did love him, and many a time over the past hundred and sixty-five cycles, if John Crichton had somehow appeared in front of her, she would have flung her arms around him and said exactly that.
But as she'd already told herself, the time to act on her feelings was long past. He'd been on this planet less than two weekens. She'd barely had time to show him how thoroughly their little universe was encased in the mist. She knew he didn't really believe it yet, didn't understand what that meant for his future. It wasn't right to bind his heart to an old woman who could give him none of the things that a man his age should have -- a woman who was young, and healthy, and energetic, who could share his active life and give him children. She knew, she'd seen, how much children meant to him, and having had children of her own, she couldn't ask him to give that up.
If he seemed to want her now, it was only because he was clinging to the past. However much she loved him, wanted him, in her life and in her bed, it wouldn't be fair to him. She couldn't allow it.
And so she pulled her hand away, and cleared her throat, and said as firmly as she knew how, "Of course I love Ennixx. She's my flesh and blood. She's all I have left of my family."
From the hurt silence, she knew she'd cut him deeply, realized he'd heard something she hadn't said, hadn't meant: "And you aren't." And it broke her heart that she'd hurt him, and she wanted to apologize, explain to him, but maybe it was for the best.
Before she made up her mind what to do, he said with regret, "Not so different after all, I guess."
But hurt or not, he reached out and stroked her cheek with his hand, and she couldn't help it, she turned her head into his caress and nuzzled against his fingers. She felt the sigh of acceptance that ran through him, and, feeling marginally better, she stood up, facing the door.
When she tried to speak her throat was dry, so she picked up the mug of now cold tea from the table and took a swallow, working her throat just a little. She turned back to look at him then. "I'd better get to bed. They say you need less sleep when you get old, but in my experience, that's not true."
Crichton looked at her for a long moment, then cleared his own throat. "Would you mind closing that window before you leave? You were right, it's kinda chilly in here."
"Of course," she said, ignoring the second meaning, and crossed over and pulled down the window. "There. That will be better."
As she started to leave, her name on his lips pulled her up short.
"Friends?" he asked, when he had her attention.
He must have believed that she really had changed, because he would never have dared to ask her that on Moya.
And she looked in his eyes, and chewed on her lip, and, no matter how much her heart wanted more, she promised simply, "Always."
When he nodded, she fled, heart pounding, wondering how she could have lived so long, and still make the same mistakes with Crichton.
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