Originally posted 2/2/04Okay, I promise, this isn't nearly so sad as the last one. I even got some "awwww, how sweet" comments from some betas..... Okay?
I think I've mentioned I'm watching FS with new victims, and we're partway through fourth season. And it occured to me after watch "A Prefect Murder" last week that I now have a better idea what might have been going through John's head (all the stuff I wrote after the ep was from Aeryn's POV, or assuming that John was still hurt/angry).... So, I put together this little piece set right after D'Argo and company have managed to stop J&A from shooting each other, and they're lying on the floor....
Rating: G
Setting: APM
Spoilers: Through Twice Shy
Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, no disrespect intended.
Thanks to imloco2, shipsister, shipscat, scrubschick, and MadScientist for thoughts and suggestions.... (Such a lot of betas for such a small fic!
)
Reaching Out
Exhausted.
She's so exhausted.
It's taken every bit of strength she has not to succumb to the mental commands to shoot the man she loves with all her heart, the man who touches the very core of her without even trying.
She thanks whatever capricious Fate brought the others into this mountaintop palace in time to stop Prefect Falaak's plan to dispose of the evidence of his villainy.
She's had more than enough of being used on this wretched world.
As she lies, drained, on the floor, she considers her surroundings. The rumpled fur rug beneath her feels soft on her bare arms, tickles her waist where her vest is hiked up just a little.
At the edge of her vision, she sees John's gloved hand twitch, reaching for her. If she weren't so exhausted, she would cry.
For all that they are estranged these days, he has been her rock through this ordeal, listening to her story, helping her understand how she came to kill seventeen innocent people without any intent of her own.
He trusted her....
She takes his hand, feeling warmth in his leather-clad fingers, and holds onto her center...herself.
* * * * * * * *
Oh, God.
He lies sprawled on his back, rumpled fur lumpy beneath him, head turned sideways, eyes locked on her face. Aeryn's beautiful face.
He's been in a drugged haze most of the time they've been on this miserable pile of rock, first the Lakka, then the damned bee stings...and now, his head is clear.
He almost shot her, the woman he loves beyond life itself. If they hadn't gotten lucky, if the others hadn't arrived in time, it would have ended here, both of them dead, and the baby, too.
"I thought the coin toss ended badly," he remembers.
Her voice echoes in his ears even now: "It did."
And in his mind's eye, she stands there, compelled to hold a pulse pistol on him, misery in her eyes.
Really, John, he thinks,
is this frelling plan of yours really going to protect anyone? Are you accomplishing anything with this but hurting her? He heaves a breath and thinks,
Maybe not. But I have to try.And he does have to try.
But still, he hates that he's hurting her. He reaches out his hand to her, and feels himself come alive when she wraps her fingers around his.
He holds onto...the best part of himself.
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