Originally posted 12/2/03Well, looky here, new ac fic... It's been a while, hasn't it? I wanted to take a look at Aeryn and D'Argo in season 4. Finally found a time for them to talk a little. This takes place shortly after WSS:FA.
Rating: G
Setting: post-WSS:FA
Spoilers: Through WSS:FA
Disclaimer: The usual, not my characters, not my universe, no harm intended.
Thanks to the Bunnies, especially loco, ships, and shipsister, and my husband Jim for beta work on this one.
Happy Faces
A stab of pain in her side pulled Aeryn Sun from her fitful sleep with a gasp. Eyes only half-open, brain befuddled with sleep, she looked around the darkened room for any sign of the Scarrans, or that Sebacean bitch of a nurse who was trying to take her baby…. It was all she could do not to cry out in panic. And then a soft snoring sound beside her brought her home again….home to Moya, home to John Crichton.
John.
She turned her head sideways and looked at him. Asleep, he looked almost peaceful.
Unwilling to wake him from much-needed rest, she resisted the temptation to reach out and touch his beautiful face, run her fingers through his short hair, as she'd done earlier, the first time she'd roused. Then, she'd needed to prove to herself he was really there, dozing on the floor beside her bed, and that she was safe, on Moya -- that he had truly come for her as she'd hoped and prayed he would.
Now, he lay sprawled on the bed beside her, face half-buried in a pillow, dead to the world.
That last time she'd been conscious, he'd bathed her tenderly, brought Noranti in to tend to her wounds, and then chased the old woman out and dressed Aeryn in soft, loose slacks and a T-shirt. When she was settled back in bed, John sat down beside her and took her hand. It had felt warm, and loving, and she'd never wanted to let it go, but she could sense that he was troubled.
"What is it?" she'd asked softly.
He'd looked away, as if he were steeling himself to tell her something terrible, and he'd finally said, "We have to go back to Scarran space. We have to rescue Scorpius."
She'd been too tired, felt too safe, with him there beside her, holding her hand, to give a frell about the Scarrans. But Scorpius? "Why?"
"Because I made a deal with him to get you back."
"Huh," she'd said, contemplating that. "Bed," she'd told him firmly. "Scorpius will keep a little longer. I'm not charging into a Scarran base with you until you've slept!"
He'd smiled at her, a soft, silly smile, as if she'd said something funny. But he hadn't argued, just settled down beside her, fully clothed, kissed her good night -- and in microts, he was fast asleep.
He was still sleeping, obviously, as his snores demonstrated.
Let him sleep. He needed it.
She gingerly touched her side where the Scarrans' clamps had held her to their surgical bed, breathing carefully and willing herself to ignore the throbbing. The ache settled to manageable levels, and she became aware that her body needed attention of a different sort.
She slowly levered herself to sitting, then swung her legs over the side of the bed, all the while listening for any change in John's breathing. She exhaled in satisfaction when she saw she'd managed it without waking him, and inhaled again, sharply, as she got carefully to her feet and started across the room. John would no doubt have been annoyed with her, but she was pleased with herself for being able to take care of basic bodily functions on her own.
Crossing back from the sanitary facilities to the bed, she hesitated. She was tired, it was true, but she really wasn't sleepy. She didn't need the dreams, and her body, abused as it had been, wanted to move, not lie still, even with the man she loved at her side.
Swaying slightly, she stood looking down at John and considering her options. He was still sound asleep, and since neither her clumsy efforts to get up nor the noise she made in the sanitary alcove had woken him, she judged he was likely to remain so for at least another arn.
Her stomach rumbled in a low growl, and though she wasn't really hungry, she seized on the idea that she could go to the galley and get something to eat. Even better, she could make up a plate for John, for when he woke up. She was sure he hadn't been eating well.... Some logical part of her brain said if she wanted to eat, she should have someone bring them something, that she wasn't in any shape to walk to the galley, but something about the idea called out to her. So the stubborn part of her brain said it was obviously sometime during Moya's night cycle, and she shouldn't disturb anyone, and besides, she was already dressed, there was hardly any effort involved at all. All she had to do was walk a comparatively short distance. She wouldn't be gone long. With a last glance at John to make sure he was still asleep, she set one bare foot in front of the other and started towards the galley.
She hadn't gotten very far before she began to think that maybe she'd made a mistake. Her head wasn't spinning, at least, but every careful step jarred injuries and aching muscles, making it difficult to ignore the hurt, which wouldn't have been so bad if she weren't so tired. Why the frell was she so exhausted, anyway? She'd been flat on her back for days!
She leaned up against the wall for a moment, letting the familiar feel of Moya's ribs wash over her and lend her strength. She wondered idly if Pilot was aware of her there, through Moya's senses. As soon as she had more of her strength back, she would go visit him.
As soon as she had her strength back.... Well, now, that said something, didn't it?
Stupid woman, she thought.
Admit it! You should be in bed. But....she'd started this, and she would finish it. For John. So he'd know she was thinking of him. So he'd know she was all right.
She straightened up, took a deep breath, and started walking again, this time close alongside the wall, so she could reach out to it for support whenever she needed it, which was far too often. She'd made some progress this way, hugging the wall, when two yellow DRDs came scooting up out of a side corridor, beeping at her, and parked themselves in her way so she had to stop again.
She knew at once the little mechanical drones were an extension of Pilot's concern for her, and she felt an odd rush of affection for them because of it, but she refused to make pets of them as Crichton had. "I'm fine," she told them, resisting the desire to reach for the wall. Knowing Pilot was surely watching her through the cameras on the mechanicals, she pulled herself up so firmly she was standing nearly at attention. "Go on, you must have work to do!" she told the drones.
One of the little robots beeped so plaintively, she could almost understand John's tendency to treat them as if they were alive. "Pilot," she said firmly, "I'm fine. I just need to stretch my muscles." She smiled encouragingly into a pair of gently waving eyestalks. Without her comms, which she hadn't thought to put on, Pilot couldn't speak to her directly, but after a few microts, the two DRDs backed off and skittered down the corridor. Aeryn had no doubt that they would follow at a discreet distance, but at least Pilot seemed to have understood her need to do this.
She started forward again, stiff muscles and painful wounds protesting at moving once more after the stop. She moved slowly, concentrating on moving one foot in front of the other, and was just congratulating herself on having reached the turnoff for the galley -- approximately one quarter of her projected trip -- when D'Argo's unmistakable growl sounded from down the corridor ahead of her.
"Aeryn! What the frell are you doing out of bed?"
She stopped, and stood as straight as she could while she waited for the Luxan warrior to reach her. When he did, she told him with as much dignity as she could muster, "I'm getting some food for John."
D'Argo looked behind her with suspicion. "Where is he?"
"Sleeping," she said succinctly. From the look that flickered through D'Argo's eyes, she suspected John had been doing far too little of that lately. "I didn't want to wake him up," she admitted.
The Luxan locked eyes with her, trying, perhaps, to see if he could sense how she was holding up. "You should be in bed," he said finally. "You were a Scarran prisoner less than a solar day ago." After another pause, he added, "I'll get you both some food and bring it to your quarters."
While part of her was looking at him gratefully, about to thank him, the other part opened her mouth and said, "No." Simply, flatly,
No....
D'Argo glared at her, and she glared back, in what John would have called a pissing contest. She couldn't have said why she was determined to do this herself -- there was no logical reason for it -- but she
was determined. After what seemed like an eternity, the big Luxan grunted, and in one move, scooped her up in his arms, taking care not to jostle her too much. She opened her mouth to demand that he put her down, but before she could get the words out, D'Argo said, "Don't argue. I'll take you to the galley, but you are not walking."
Less annoyed than she should have been, Aeryn nodded acquiescence and leaned her head against his chest. There was no point in grandstanding when she was allowing him to carry her. The warrior seemed to understand and made no comment, and they made the walk in silence.
Once in the galley, D'Argo deposited her in a chair at the table and said, "You sit there, and I'll get things for you. What did you have in mind?"
What
did she have in mind? Her own stomach rumbled again and she asked, "Do we have any of that nexa fruit left? John likes that. And maybe some cold meat? And juice, maybe."
"Let me see what's in the cooling unit," D'Argo said, and crossed the room. He returned with several of the requested fist-sized fruits and a large angular joint of roasted vembert, plus a pair of sharp knives. "You cut the fruit," he ordered, and began slicing the meat himself.
She should have been angry at his commandeering her plan, but instead, she was grateful, and puzzled, that he would help her do this. He'd been anything but encouraging to her in the monens since she'd returned to Moya, and that had hurt more than she expected it to. She and D'Argo had understood each other, warrior to warrior, long before she'd begun to understand any of the others on board Moya, even Crichton. She missed that ease.
She began peeling the round, thin-skinned red fruit, and said softly, without looking up, "I know you think John would be better off without me."
There was no reply from the Luxan, just the steady sound of his knife sawing at the roast.
She took a deep breath. "D'Argo, we used to be able to talk, occasionally."
He grunted. "John is my best friend. And you, you hurt him, and you leave him. Over and over."
Aeryn closed her eyes, because that was all too true, no matter that she never meant to hurt Crichton. Well, if she was going to sort anything out with D'Argo, she would have to tell the truth. "Yes, I have. And I expect I will again."
D'Argo looked down at her sharply, and she lifted her head and met his gaze.
She set the knife down and qualified, "Hurt him, I mean. If there's one thing I've learned, when you're close to somebody, really care about them, and they care about you, you hurt them sometimes." She laughed bitterly. "It's not like John's never hurt me."
D'Argo frowned at her, obviously unsure what she meant. "You mean the lakka," he said finally. "To keep himself apart from you."
She shook her head, trying to think how to explain herself to the warrior who still thought only in black and white, not shades of gray. Maybe this would get his attention: "He killed me, D'Argo. He used my love and my trust and he killed me."
D'Argo growled and shook his head. "John didn't kill you, Scorpius did. John was possessed."
She almost smiled. "I know that. And I have
never blamed him for it. But it happened. We talked about it once, remember? You asked me if I could ever trust him again. You saw what he had done, even though it wasn't his fault."
The Luxan nodded grudgingly.
"Well, I was possessed, too. When he...died...on Talyn, I was possessed by a grief that you of all people should understand. And I coped....very badly. I had no reference. I didn't know a person could survive pain like that."
For a moment, he looked at her with understanding in his eyes, and she thought he must be thinking of the grief of his wife's death. And then his expression hardened and he growled, "That wasn't John. John has paid the price for your cheating."
He said it with such vehemence that Aeryn might have backed away if she'd been standing, especially considering he was still holding a sharp knife in his hand. And then she remembered Chiana wistfully saying that D'Argo still hadn't forgiven her for recreating with his son, and she suddenly thought perhaps she understood him. "I'm not Chiana, D'Argo, and John isn't you."
"This has nothing to do with Chiana, it's about how you treat Jo--" D'Argo began, but Aeryn cut him off, suddenly furious.
"You didn't know the John who died, I understand that, but he
was John Crichton! You were
his best friend, too, and he missed you terribly when we left you behind on Moya. He didn't trust Crais, and he feared Scorpius, and he wanted to go to Earth, more than anything. He was obsessed with wormholes, just like this John, and in the end it cost him his life!" She glared at him for a few microts, arms wrapped around her aching sides, and then finished, "And he loved me, and I loved him, just like the man who made a deal with frelling Scorpius to get me back from the Scarrans! Don't you ever tell me I 'cheated' on John Crichton! It wasn't my fault there were two of him! You're just lucky your twin died before he could frell up your life!"
D'Argo stared down at her, no hint of what he was thinking in his eyes. And then he looked away, and went back to carving slices of meat without saying anything. The pile in front of him was beginning to get quite large.
Aeryn took the opportunity to calm herself down, slow her breathing. She shouldn't have exploded at him in the first place, because she knew, deep inside, that she'd done exactly the same thing as D'Argo had: Accepted the Crichton who was with her as real, and put the other one out of her mind. She'd had to face the truth later, coming back to one after the other had died. Still, she wasn't going to apologize for her outburst, because what she'd said was the truth. And if D'Argo never forgave her, well, John had, and that was enough. She worked on cutting the fruit in precise slices, her mind on Crichton, and she almost didn't hear it when D'Argo spoke.
"He missed me?" the Luxan asked softly.
She looked up at him, towering above her, and gave him a faint smile. "With no males to talk to except Crais, Stark and Rygel? What do
you think?"
D'Argo shook his head and turned his attention back to the roast, letting the conversation lapse once more.
Taking comfort in the silence, Aeryn finished preparing the nexa fruit. She popped a piece of the firm tart fruit in her mouth, then asked D'Argo for a clean plate.
He brought two and laid them in front of her, saying, "One for John and one for you."
"Thank you." She smiled at him, hopeful that her rant had actually given him a different way to look at her relationship with John. She tossed some fruit on her plate and grabbed a piece of meat too, and took a bite out of it, thinking. She valued D'Argo's friendship herself, and the last thing she wanted was to come between him and John. When she finished chewing, she looked at him and asked, "Do you remember, cycles ago, that very first day, when we were escaping from Crais?" D'Argo nodded, a puzzled expression on his face, and she continued. "And John insisted we all go together? He wouldn't let you leave me, and I said I would stay, that I was a soldier, it was what I was, even though I knew if I stayed, I would be killed. And John told me, 'You can be more.'"
D'Argo shook his head. "No. I don't remember him saying that."
No, he probably didn't. He'd had a lot else on his mind at the time. But those words had meant a lot to her. She smiled again and shook her head to show it didn't matter that he didn't remember. "Well, I
am more. It's taken me a very long time, but he's taught me a lot, by living and by dying. I'm not the same person who left him, D'Argo, and I will never willingly leave him again. Not that it's really any of your business." She kept her tone light, and she hoped she didn't sound defiant, because she didn't mean to.
They looked at each other for a long moment, and then D'Argo nodded, a hint of acceptance in his eyes. "I'm going to make myself a sandwich while you get that plate together for John."
"Fine," she agreed, relieved, and began placing food on John's plate. Her stomach rumbled again to be fed, which she thought probably was a good sign, considering what had she'd been through with the Scarrans. All things considered, she was very glad that D'Argo was there to help her with even this small task.
She nibbled on the occasional bite of meat or piece of fruit while she covered the outer curve of the plate with a row of fruit slices. She reached for several slices of vembert and set them on the plate above the curve of fruit, and then frowned at the effect. Something about the arrangement of food on the plate nagged at the corners of her memory. She rearranged the meat into two stacks, and then she realized what it was: a human "happy face" symbol. The fruit made the smile, the meat made the eyes.... John had made one for her long ago, out of food cubes, and it hadn't made any sense at all to her at the time. Food was for eating, not for saying, "Smile" or "I love you." For just a moment, she contemplated leaving the arrangement of food as it was, and then, embarrassed, she reached to disturb the pattern.
A sudden shadow in the doorway alerted her to a visitor even before John's voice boomed out. "Aeryn! What are you doing out of bed, woman?!"
Plate forgotten, she looked him over critically. His clothes were rumpled and untidy and he looked half asleep, but even so, his presence filled her with happiness and she smiled broadly. "I'm not an invalid," she told him automatically.
"Yes, you are," came simultaneously from John and D'Argo. The two men exchanged knowing glances over her head.
Aeryn sighed, more annoyed with her own physical condition than with John and D'Argo's protectiveness. "All right, we'll call it fit for light duty," she compromised.
"I'll hold you to that, Missy," John said, wagging one finger at her, then dropped into the chair beside her and gazed at her with an expression that was both relieved, and fearful, as if he couldn't quite believe she was there. He reached a hand for her cheek, or maybe her hair, but before he actually touched her, D'Argo cleared his throat.
"Uh, look," the Luxan said, when the two of them turned and looked at him simultaneously. "I think I'll go see if Chiana wants to share my snack," he said, hefting a plate which held a huge sandwich.
"Sure, D," John said, not even bothering to pretend he wanted his friend to stay.
D'Argo gave Aeryn a look that, while kindly, said all too clearly,
Don't frell this up, and when she nodded gravely, he grabbed two bottles of fellip nectar and headed for the door.
"What was that all about?" John asked when they were alone.
Aeryn's mouth twitched in a smile, but she wasn't sure how much she wanted to tell him.
This was really between her and D'Argo, even though it was in large part about Crichton. "He found me in the corridor working my way here," she admitted. "He carried me."
"Carried you, huh? Sounds like D had more sense than you did." John ran his fingers gently down her hair, tangling slightly in the strands near the bottom. "That it?"
She smiled at him, and shrugged. "We....talked."
"You....talked."
"Mmm-mmm," she said, and grabbed his hand and kissed the back of it, enjoying the sensation of her lips on his skin. When she let go she added, "Mostly we sliced food."
John accepted that without argument. She had a suspicion he'd correctly guessed what they'd been talking about, and was hoping they'd sorted things out. She smiled again to reassure him they'd made a start, which seemed to work. "Okay, so, tell me true, Betty Crocker," he said with a grin, and then nodded at the table. "What's that?"
"What?"
"That." He pointed straight at the plate in front of her.
Aeryn felt her face turn red when she realized the food was still arranged in that ridiculous impression of a smile. "Oh, that," she said, brazening it out. "That's for you. I thought you would be hungry when you woke up."
"It's a happy face."
"No it's not."
"Yes it is, Aeryn."
"No it's not," she insisted stubbornly, enjoying the gleam in his eyes, tired though he obviously was. This was John Crichton, not her imagination, not a desperate dream, not a Scarran-induced hallucination, but the man she loved, and who loved her, right here beside her.
"Yes it is!"
"No....it's not!"
"Yes. It. Is!"
"Eat," Aeryn said finally, shoving the plate towards him and trying not to collapse in laughter.
John accepted the plate with a satisfied smirk, and stuffed several pieces of fruit in his mouth. As he chewed, he examined her closely. When he'd swallowed the mouthful, he reached out and touched her cheek. "Now,
there's a happy face."
Her smile grew even broader, and she touched his cheek in return. "That makes two of us," she said softly....
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