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Because I promised... what might be construed as a Valentine's Day-ish FARSCAPE fic:
"The Road to Hell"
John/Aeryn
Spoilers for the entire enchilada plus PK WARS
Rated S for silly
"You. Promised."
John glared at her.
"It wasn't-"
"Nuh" he cut her off. "I don't want to hear it. I just... Forget it."
He shoved D'argo at her - "Say hello to your son. I have things to do." - and strode out of the hangar bay, righteous anger curling off him like a contrail.
Chiana looked from Aeryn, slack jawed with an armload of squirming toddler, to the hatch and back. "Look, I'm sure Crichton doesn't mean it, Aeryn. He's just-"
"Chiana."
Chiana stopped. Aeryn's quiet voice was no good. Chiana started sidling towards the hatch. "Why don't I go find Crichton? Explain what happened."
"Yes. Why don't you."
"Right." Chiana nodded. "I'll go do that then."
She watched Chiana make her escape into the corridor before Aeryn turned her attention to her son. D'argo had one hand wrapped around his bottle and one around a hank of her hair and was happily sticking one then the other in his wet gummy mouth. He looked up at her and smiled.
"Your father is a giant drannit."
D'argo cooed before turning back to chewing her hair. Aeryn sighed.
It wasn't fair.
She had done everything right.
Chiana had set up the deal - ferrying food supplies between systems. A couple of days work for ready currency. No Peacekeepers, no Scarrans, no God-like aliens, no guns, no bombs just honest work and two days of piloting - Aeryn had promised.
John wasn't Sebacean. He wasn't a Peacekeeper. When he'd declared that one child born under fire in a war zone was enough for him, she recognized an argument she couldn't win. In truth, ricocheting from one crisis to another was less amusing with a child in tow, let alone two. But John's solution, sitting on her hands in the quietest pocket of the sector until she gave birth was not a tenable option, not with John hovering over her every microt of the day and most of those of the night as well. Without the distraction of misplaced fetuses, galactic war and immanent death, John turned narrow-focused, over-solicitous yotz. Husband or not, father of her child or not, there was a limit to the amount of interest in her bowel function Aeryn was willing to tolerate. She needed a break. Or she was going to kill him.
The milk run was a compromise. Aeryn promised not to involve herself in any revolutions, firefights, kidnappings, religious festivals, acts of piracy, hostage-takings or anything else either dangerous (his words) or part of their everyday lives (hers). In exchange, she got two days in a transport pod with Chiana, whose chief appeal as a companion was her steadfast refusal to acknowledge Aeryn's pregnancy if at all possible. Apart from missing D'argo, it was wonderful.
They picked up the cargo on the innermost planet and delivered it to the outermost without incident. Mindful of her promise to John, Aeryn ate her vegetables, took her dietary supplements, and slept eight arns a night. She did not start a fight with the Scarrans on Barcelona. She ignored the Vorcarian on Abydos who referred to her as a fetchingly fecund female. And she didn't start the fight with the Charrids. She wouldn't even have gone into the bar if she hadn't been looking for Chiana. And she didn't go looking for Chiana until she was so late for their departure that it was clear the girl was either in trouble or in bed with a longshoreman.
In fact, Aeryn had expected to find Chiana halfway through a sixer of Frellip nectar, oblivious to the time, not chained between two Charrid bounty hunters who had clearly not received notice that the Scarran Empire had canceled the price on their heads. No matter what she had promised Crichton, she couldn't let them actually take Chiana. Hezmana only knew what outstanding warrants might exist for her arrest and Aeryn really didn't want to spend her fourth quadmester chasing bounty hunters across the sector. A few days away from Moya had been refreshing but she missed her son and she mostly no longer wanted to shoot her husband somewhere particularly painful and if the Charrids had only listened they could have gotten back to Moya on time with no one the wiser.
It really wasn't fair.
Aeryn circled the transport pod once before leaving the bay. The damage really wasn't that bad. None of the pulse blasts had even penetrated the hull. It would take the drds a few arns tops to repair the damage.
"Your father worries entirely too much." D'argo pulled the hunk of hair from his mouth and studied her.
"Psssht."
"Exactly. It was just a little firefight..." she hitched him up on her hip and headed for the central chamber. She was hungry. She wondered what John had made for dinner.
"The Road to Hell"
John/Aeryn
Spoilers for the entire enchilada plus PK WARS
Rated S for silly
"You. Promised."
John glared at her.
"It wasn't-"
"Nuh" he cut her off. "I don't want to hear it. I just... Forget it."
He shoved D'argo at her - "Say hello to your son. I have things to do." - and strode out of the hangar bay, righteous anger curling off him like a contrail.
Chiana looked from Aeryn, slack jawed with an armload of squirming toddler, to the hatch and back. "Look, I'm sure Crichton doesn't mean it, Aeryn. He's just-"
"Chiana."
Chiana stopped. Aeryn's quiet voice was no good. Chiana started sidling towards the hatch. "Why don't I go find Crichton? Explain what happened."
"Yes. Why don't you."
"Right." Chiana nodded. "I'll go do that then."
She watched Chiana make her escape into the corridor before Aeryn turned her attention to her son. D'argo had one hand wrapped around his bottle and one around a hank of her hair and was happily sticking one then the other in his wet gummy mouth. He looked up at her and smiled.
"Your father is a giant drannit."
D'argo cooed before turning back to chewing her hair. Aeryn sighed.
It wasn't fair.
She had done everything right.
Chiana had set up the deal - ferrying food supplies between systems. A couple of days work for ready currency. No Peacekeepers, no Scarrans, no God-like aliens, no guns, no bombs just honest work and two days of piloting - Aeryn had promised.
John wasn't Sebacean. He wasn't a Peacekeeper. When he'd declared that one child born under fire in a war zone was enough for him, she recognized an argument she couldn't win. In truth, ricocheting from one crisis to another was less amusing with a child in tow, let alone two. But John's solution, sitting on her hands in the quietest pocket of the sector until she gave birth was not a tenable option, not with John hovering over her every microt of the day and most of those of the night as well. Without the distraction of misplaced fetuses, galactic war and immanent death, John turned narrow-focused, over-solicitous yotz. Husband or not, father of her child or not, there was a limit to the amount of interest in her bowel function Aeryn was willing to tolerate. She needed a break. Or she was going to kill him.
The milk run was a compromise. Aeryn promised not to involve herself in any revolutions, firefights, kidnappings, religious festivals, acts of piracy, hostage-takings or anything else either dangerous (his words) or part of their everyday lives (hers). In exchange, she got two days in a transport pod with Chiana, whose chief appeal as a companion was her steadfast refusal to acknowledge Aeryn's pregnancy if at all possible. Apart from missing D'argo, it was wonderful.
They picked up the cargo on the innermost planet and delivered it to the outermost without incident. Mindful of her promise to John, Aeryn ate her vegetables, took her dietary supplements, and slept eight arns a night. She did not start a fight with the Scarrans on Barcelona. She ignored the Vorcarian on Abydos who referred to her as a fetchingly fecund female. And she didn't start the fight with the Charrids. She wouldn't even have gone into the bar if she hadn't been looking for Chiana. And she didn't go looking for Chiana until she was so late for their departure that it was clear the girl was either in trouble or in bed with a longshoreman.
In fact, Aeryn had expected to find Chiana halfway through a sixer of Frellip nectar, oblivious to the time, not chained between two Charrid bounty hunters who had clearly not received notice that the Scarran Empire had canceled the price on their heads. No matter what she had promised Crichton, she couldn't let them actually take Chiana. Hezmana only knew what outstanding warrants might exist for her arrest and Aeryn really didn't want to spend her fourth quadmester chasing bounty hunters across the sector. A few days away from Moya had been refreshing but she missed her son and she mostly no longer wanted to shoot her husband somewhere particularly painful and if the Charrids had only listened they could have gotten back to Moya on time with no one the wiser.
It really wasn't fair.
Aeryn circled the transport pod once before leaving the bay. The damage really wasn't that bad. None of the pulse blasts had even penetrated the hull. It would take the drds a few arns tops to repair the damage.
"Your father worries entirely too much." D'argo pulled the hunk of hair from his mouth and studied her.
"Psssht."
"Exactly. It was just a little firefight..." she hitched him up on her hip and headed for the central chamber. She was hungry. She wondered what John had made for dinner.