Cholak's Demon
Chapter 10
Aeryn woke abruptly, a sound from her dream lingering as though it had been a real noise disturbing the
silence of her chamber. She pushed the thermal sheet down around her knees and sat up, waiting for her
heart to slow from its wild pounding and for the clammy layer of sweat to dry in the cool air of the cell. There
had been so many deaths over the cycles, so many bodies left behind, each one dead as a result of her
actions -- she wasn’t sure why this one continued to invade her dreams. She never dreamed about the man or
his face. It was the sharp crackle of bone breaking that crept out of her memory at least once every night to
disturb her sleep, a small sensory leftover that had the power to leave her shaking and mildly nauseous when
she woke.
She slid out of bed, pulled on a pair of loose-fitting insulated pants, wrapped the thermal sheet around her
shoulders and padded barefoot through the corridor, headed for the one sight that would remind her that killing
a unarmed tech had been worthwhile.
“Pilot?” she called quietly over her comms. The doors to Crichton’s cell swung open slowly, the usual metallic
grinding muted to a hushed grumble as the bars slid into their recess at a fraction of their usual speed. Aeryn
looked up at the golden bulkheads surrounding her, taking a microt to appreciate the maternal concern of ship
and pilot. It was the fourth night in a row that she’d made this small journey from cell to cell, but just the same,
Pilot’s anticipation of her request was unexpected. “Thank you, Pilot,” she whispered, and gently patted Moya’s
bulkhead, trusting that the leviathan would understand the silent thanks.
She stepped cautiously to the side of John’s bed, moving just as silently as she had aboard the command
carrier, working hard not to wake him. Sitting on the floor brought her to a level where she could stare at him
face to face, watching the tiny flutter of his eyelids as he dreamed. She’d stolen into his cell the third night
she’d had the small nightmare, originally intending to wake him so they could talk for a while. Instead, she had
ended up simply observing him for almost two arns, then returned to her own chamber and slept soundly
through the rest of the night. Watching John had turned out to be all she needed in order to banish the small
nightmare for the rest of the sleep cycle.
Tonight he was lying on his side, one hand resting near his chin, his hair standing up in disheveled tufts along
one side of his head. She was close enough to make out small details -- the curl of his eyelashes, a scar along
one thumb, the soft gleam of his teeth between slightly parted lips, each seam and wrinkle of his knuckles.
They were all well known now, studied and catalogued during their few peaceful days about the small transport
ship, and carefully reviewed over the past few nights.
Aeryn looked down at her own hands clutching the thermal sheet around her shoulders against the mild chill of
the chamber, reflecting on what those two hands had done in order to bring him back safely. It was the same
introspection she had indulged in the preceding three nights, and she wondered how many times she would
have to repeat this ritual, reminding herself each time of the reward gained by her actions, before the dreams
left her alone. When she looked back up, John was awake, silently staring back at her.
“Hey,” he greeted her calmly in a whisper, only his eyes moving as he inspected his midnight visitor.
“Hey.” She provided the ritual answer, then reached out to touch his cheek, driven by an irrational but
overwhelming need to verify that he was real, alive, and lying there safe and sound. It had taken so long to find
him. Even when he was right in front of her, it sometimes seemed like a dream. There were times when she
would look away from him while doing something completely routine, and half expected him not to be there
when she looked back, as if he were some sort of imaginary wraith that would dissipate if she didn’t keep her
eyes on him.
“Going to sit there all night?” he asked.
“I’ll go back to my quarters in a few microts,” she’d assured him, not quite ready to return to the emptiness of
her own cell.
He shook his head, a brief side-to-side twitch. “Actually, that was an invitation to join me,” he offered in a
hushed voice.
“Are you sure?” Despite some improvement since their talk in the starburst chamber, physical contact was still
something that he endured rather than enjoyed. But he lifted the covers without another word, welcoming her
into his bed. Aeryn left her own thermal sheet rumpled on the floor and slid into the trapped warmth beneath
the covers, something cold inside her chest seeming to melt and flow away as John lowered the covers over
both of them.
“You okay?” she asked, trying to leave a little room between them.
“Come here,” he murmured, pulling her close against his chest. There was one shuddering lurch as she made
contact, then he relaxed again.
“You don’t have to,” she assured him.
John pulled his head back on the pillow to look at her; another tiny smile appearing that suggested she was
missing something for the second time that night. “I still love you, Aeryn. That hasn’t changed. Come here.”
He burrowed an arm beneath her, and enfolded her in the warmth radiating from his body. She sighed with
relief and did her best to merge her body into his, wrapping an arm around him in turn and tucking her head
carefully against his shoulder.
“Anything hurt?” she verified as they got comfortable. Pilot had finally located a medical facility that could treat
his broken shoulder. A short flight in her Prowler and three hundred crendars later he’d been released from
the restriction of the bandages and undergone several regeneration treatments which had resulted in the
bones healing in a matter of arns instead of days. Despite the medical technician’s assurances that everything
was healed, two solar days later John continued to favor his right arm.
“My shoulder is stiff, that’s all. I’m fine,” he told her. “Getting better by the microt.” John laid his cheek against
her head, slowly rubbing her back with his right hand. “See? It works perfectly.” The hand traveled down to
her buttocks and pressed her against him more firmly.
“I’m glad.” She inhaled deeply, filling her senses with the smell of soap, the hint of leather that they both
carried with them, the fragrance of the shaving lubricant he used, and the smell that she’d come to identify
simply as John Crichton. Closing her eyes allowed her to concentrate on the feel of his arm holding her tight,
the firmness of his body against hers, and the warmth pouring off him, enveloping her with something that felt
like security.
“Want to talk about it?” he murmured into her hair.
“About what?”
“About what?” he mimicked deprecatingly. “About why you were sitting beside my bed.”
“No.” He was still coping with his own set of nightmares, specters and haunting memories; John didn’t need to
share her traumas as well … at least not yet. “This is enough.”
“Bad dream?” he tried one more time.
“I wanted to be closer to you. That’s all.” He returned to rubbing her back, his hand traveling along her spine
in time with the slow cadence of his breathing, lulling her into the same measured pace of breaths. “Nice,” she
breathed into his chest.
He hummed an agreement and several microts later the stroking stopped as he fell asleep. Aeryn stayed
awake almost another arn, just listening to his breathing and the muffled thud of his heart, letting the two
sounds drive away the specters that haunted her sleep, hoping that this time it would be for good.
* * * * *
John wrestled a component loose from its fixture inside the engine and slid out of the crawlspace, taking care
with the stiff muscles in his shoulder as he made the awkward transition into the cargo space of the transport
craft. He wandered over to a storage container, placed the bit of circuitry on the top and picked up a large
wrench, taking several microts to wrap his fingers securely around the knurled grip of the tool. The
regeneration had taken care of the bones, but it couldn’t restore the strength and mobility he’d lost by having
his arm bound in one position for nearly twenty days. Given time and exercise it would return to normal, he’d
been assured by the medical technicians, but until then every motion was a conscious effort.
“Time,” he muttered under his breath. The wrench came down on the rhotarri component, flattening the metal
tongue that had held it in place and chipping off some of the ceramic matrix encasing the fragile circuits. “Give
it time. More time.” He hit the unit again and again, the wrench landing harder with each blow. “Time … and …
pa … tience,” John grunted with each ringing impact, smashing the debris into smaller fragments until there was
nothing but glittering shards scattered across the top of the cargo bin. He tossed the wrench into the wreckage
and stood looking at it for several microts, working his left hand against the aching muscles in his shoulder.
“John …” Crichton jumped at the bass noted summons, whirling around to face the intruder while he scrambled
to pick up the wrench. D’Argo stepped through the doorway from the cockpit, stooping slightly to pass through
the opening. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Circuitry abuse, but nothing important,” Crichton returned, looking sheepish at his momentary alarm. He
tossed the wrench back into the debris and wandered slowly toward the access hatch to the engine.
“This doesn’t look like repairs,” his friend suggested.
“I’m destroying the rhotarri engines,” John explained, worming his way into the crawlspace. He yanked out a
fistful of cables and slid back into the cargo space trailing the twisted cord of wires behind him. He braced
himself, wound the mass around one hand and heaved, yanking the entire length lose at once. “There’s
nothing I can do to get rid of wormholes, but I can try to make sure this technology doesn’t fall into the wrong
hands.”
“You built other ships like this, though,” D’Argo suggested.
John selected a single strand of wire and pulled it out of the bundle, crumpled it into a tangled mass and tossed
it to one side. “I can’t do anything about those. If they keep using the engines, they’ll eventually all get lost and
disappear.” He continued to rip the cable down to its constituent parts, adding to a growing heap of discarded
bits in one corner, barely glancing at his friend until the last strand was added to the pile. “What’s up D?” he
asked, turning to face the fidgeting luxan.
“John, we’ve had little time to talk since you returned,” D’Argo began tentatively. “I hesitate to say anything …”
“D’Argo, let it all hang out,” John encouraged him as he faltered and paused uncertainly. “Nothing’s changed
between us in the last couple of cycles. Say what’s on your mind.”
“I am worried about you, my friend,” D’Argo rumbled, stepping forward to put one hand on John’s shoulder.
“When Rygel and Pilot told me that you and Aeryn had escaped and were docking, I thought everything was
going to be all right between the two of you.”
John began shaking his head, smiling at his friend’s concern. “No, D’Argo. It’s okay between us.”
“But … this!” D’Argo objected, waving a hand at the carpet of shattered components that surrounded the cargo
container John had been using as an anvil. “And ‘time and patience’. I assumed you were …”
John cut him off before he could fumble his way through more of the awkward explanation. “That’s not about
Aeryn. I promise. But I don’t really want to talk about it either.” He thumped the luxan’s heavily muscled
shoulder with the heel of one fist, trying to reassure D’Argo that all was well.
D’Argo eyed him for several microts, watching as John went back to the maintenance crawlspace and reached
in to retrieve another component. He continued to stare, looking both anxious and mildly confused as John laid
the next victim on the block and picked up the wrench. Crichton glanced between him and the object to be
destroyed several times, the bashing suspended for the moment.
“Give us some time, D’Argo,” he finally offered. “Some … things happened aboard the command carrier, and
both Aeryn and I need some time. It’s …” The wrench rose and fell, smashing the hardened ceramic that had
been designed to withstand the extremes of cold and heat inside the engines of a space-going craft. “… just …
going … to … take … some … time!” Crichton finished, punctuating each word with an impact. He took a deep
breath and tossed the wrench into the most recent layer of shards atop the container.
“John.” The small sound managed to carry every bit of affection the two men had formed over the cycles --
worry, concern, and the offer of understanding wrapping themselves around his name.
“Leave it alone,” John warned him with finality. D’Argo nodded in resignation and turned to leave, wending his
way around the few containers remaining in the otherwise empty ship. “D’Argo …” John called after him. This
time his voice was the one full of hesitation and uncertainty. “When you go into hyper-rage … luxans, I mean.
Do you remember what happens? Afterwards.” He looked down at his hands, turning them from palm up to
palm down several times.
“Some luxans suffer blackouts during the height of their rage, others remember every detail,” D’Argo offered,
scowling slightly at the question. “As we get older the rage lessens, and we learn to control it instead of letting
it control us. Did you encounter another luxan while you were gone?”
“No.” John continued to examine his hands, as though looking for something in the grime that coated his
fingers and palms. “Aeryn said I did something during a fight on the carrier, but I don’t remember it. I’m missing
the last part of the escape.”
“Crichton,” D’Argo nearly laughed. “When we came on board this excuse of a ship, the cockpit floor was
covered in blood, as was much of the living quarters. You and Aeryn both looked like the losers of a Maxilian
grudge battle, and you slept through the moment when I accidentally dropped you down the steps while getting
you out of here.” He shook his head, smiling down at Crichton as he moved back to stand in front of him. “It is
not surprising that you don’t remember some of that day.”
“That’s not what I mean,” John objected.
“You are worrying about something that is understandable, expecting too much of yourself. This time it is you
who should leave it alone.” D’Argo gave him a small snort of amusement, turned away, tanktas flying with the
force of his spin, and left John alone in the nearly empty cargo compartment.
John watched his friend leave then crawled back into the access tunnel, intending to continue his
self-appointed task of dismantling the rhotarri engines and restoring the systems controlling the hetch drive to
their original condition. He lay in the gloom, staring up at the familiar patterns of components, and for a
moment it was almost as if he were back inside the engine cowling the first day that Aeryn had found him. He’d
been content but empty that day, satisfied with his life but feeling as through he were holding his breath, waiting
for something to happen. The sound of Aeryn’s voice that afternoon, saying ‘I’m looking for someone named
Latgah’ had just about knocked him out with surprise, and was the beginning of a return to his usual, hectic life
in the Uncharted Territories.
So much had happened since that moment, the interval of days feeling far longer than the cycles that had
separated his abrupt departure from Moya and Aeryn’s arrival at the repair facility. Every moment, every
emotion, every look from her since that moment was clear in his memory, as yet unblurred by the passage of
time. Even the fog of exhaustion hadn’t diminished his recollection of the events on the command carrier,
although he would have willingly forgotten much of that experience. The one missing piece of recall --
beginning the moment he’d seen Aeryn get shot -- was an annoying anomaly to the pattern, a hole that begged
to be patched over.
John reached into the tangle of machinery and pulled more of his invention loose, tossing it past his feet to land
in the cargo area with a clatter, continuing to ponder those missing moments. He’d chased down elusive
memories plenty of times before, but the last microts in the command carrier hangar refused to be recaptured.
It felt as futile as trying to dredge up the falsely remembered event triggering a case of déjà vu -- always
chasing something that wasn’t really there. He closed his eyes, replaying the gut-wrenching sight of Aeryn
being flung across the hangar by the force of the pulse blast, remembering the noise, the smell of chakan oil
plasma and smoke, and the feel of the deck plates beneath him. There was a glimpse of a startled face as he
scrambled past Gallenn … and then his memory came up empty once again.
“D’Argo’s right,” he muttered to himself. “Stop trying to drag the memory out, John-Boy. It’s not there to be
found.” Crichton focused on the job waiting above his head, resigning himself to the reality that he would
probably never fill in this particular gap in his memory.
* * * * *
He stands beside the pair, watching as the taller figure in black leather holds the young Peacekeeper up by the
front of his uniform, turning his head to one side so he won’t have to look into the dying eyes. Dispassionate
curiosity is his only emotion as the taller of the two figures stands hunched slightly to one side, the stolen fuel
cell tucked precariously inside his jacket, threatening to slide loose if he moves too far in any direction. The
dying young one reaches up with one fumbling hand and pulls at a sleeve, crying in fear as his training deserts
him, too young and inexperienced in the cruelties of battle to hang on to his indoctrination, even though it has
been instilled since his recruitment as a child.
“I’m sorry,” the tall one whispers, and pulls the knife out, blood washing over fist and hilt, the black jacket pulling
tight around his upper arm as he tenses for the second drive into sebacean flesh.
“Not again,” Crichton groaned, waking chilled and soaked in sweat. His toes clenched involuntarily as his bare
feet touched the cool smoothness of Moya’s deck plates. Waking had truncated the familiar nightmare before
its usual deadly ending, but it had unlocked the recurring feelings of guilt and anger. John pulled off his damp
shirt, mopped his face and chest dry with it, then pitched it into the corner while considering whether he wanted
to try sleeping again.
The images of the dream hovered on the edge of his consciousness, drifting along beside him with ghostly
inaudible whispers, convincing him that if he went back to sleep the nightmare would recur. He grabbed his
pants, intending to get dressed and find something to do for the rest of the sleep cycle. The feel of the heavy
leather in his hands triggered a wave of surreal recall, as though he were holding that young Peacekeeper up
by the jacket here in Moya’s dim-lighted cell. John hurriedly hung them up, ridding himself of the tactile
reminder, and looked around for something else to wear.
So many of his worst memories seemed to involve black leather. It was as though the substance magnetically
summoned the hideous moments and the anguish. Crichton stood staring at the meager collection of
possessions on the shelves and hooks, trying to remember when his life in the Uncharted Territories had first
gone so bad. The very first day had been pretty traumatic, from the moment he’d arrived right through
encountering Crais and his black-uniformed subordinates for the first time, but things hadn’t gotten really
miserable until he had insisted he could emulate a Peacekeeper captain and donned leather for the first time.
He spun away where his pants hung next to the new pulse pistol -- christened ‘Winona II’ earlier that evening --
looking for something else to wear.
His threadbare orange flight suit peeked at him from its place the corner, but after five cycles it was barely
hanging together, and he didn’t want to risk damaging or destroying it. It was a link to his home, a last reminder
of something he had once been. John fingered the bright nylon, considering the eager, naïve astronaut who
had worn that garment for the first time.
“How would you have handled it?” he inquired of the person who no longer existed, trying to imagine how he
would have ever survived if he’d fallen directly into Grayza’s clutches instead of facing Crais when he’d first
arrived. He had grown stronger over the cycles, capable of coping with the humiliation and the sense of
violation, but the rawest emotions, those closest to the surface, were anger and desperation. Fight or flight, a
portion of his mind acknowledged the ancient reactions. His instincts were insisting that he either destroy
something, possibly himself, or get away from this place.
“Agh,” John growled at himself, shaking his head vigorously. “Shake it off. You’re alive and in one piece.” He
spun away from the reminder of his comfortable past on Earth, and scanned his quarters, looking for something
else to wear for the rest of the night. Old possessions and new were intermingled, his life prior to the moment
Moya disappeared into the wormhole and his more recent history beginning to blend into one. D’Argo, Chiana
and the others had kept his cell as he’d left it, clinging tenaciously to the hope that they would eventually find
him. They’d added to the clutter by unpacking his gear bags while he and Aeryn had slept away almost two
entire days, lying side by side in the medical bay, recovering from their wounds and exhaustion.
John smiled thinly, remembering something he’d seen in one of the bags, and dug through the pile of clothing
stacked along the shelves. He yanked out one of the tan coveralls -- his ‘uniform’ from the repair facility -- and
held it up by the shoulders, considering that alternative.
Slim, pale fingers slide the cloth of the overalls off his shoulders, allowing the one-piece garment to fall away all
at once. Grayza kisses the center of his chest, slowly running her tongue across one nipple. Her hand travels
downward to slide under the waistband of his shorts, reaching between his legs as though she owns his body.
John dropped the coveralls and bent over, pressing one hand against his stomach, on the verge of vomiting.
He fought the nausea back, stilled the shuddering of his body by force of will, and slowly straightened up. Four
deep breaths helped quiet his stomach and steady his nerves, and he once again considered his options. Tan
coverall, black leather, or wander Moya’s tiers undressed.
“Think good thoughts. Find a happy thought,” he chanted briefly. John picked up the two pieces of clothing,
weighing the choice mentally as he fingered first the smooth, heavy leather, and then the slightly rough surface
of the canvas-like cloth. “Find a happy thought,” he repeated absently, admitting that there had been good
times associated with both items. He was simply ignoring them, too caught up in his lousy memories to focus on
the pleasant ones. The memory of Gallenn firing a particular series of hand signals across the repair facility
planted itself firmly in his mind, the smiling sebacean somehow managing to tell a joke in the limited mechanical
language they’d developed. John tossed the leather pants into the corner and pulled on the coveralls.
* * * * *
The dreams had left her alone since the night she’d wound up in John’s bed, but her nights were no more
restful for that improvement. Too often she woke in the middle of the sleep cycle and lay for arns, considering
John’s slow recovery or her own lingering sense of guilt. Physically he was nearly back to normal, the work on
the transport providing the exercise that his shoulder required, but her concern over his mental state was
keeping her awake night after night.
Aeryn tucked one arm behind her head and stared up at the ceiling, considering the conversation she’d had
that evening with D’Argo. He’d been recounting in a general way, the discussion he’d had with Crichton earlier,
merely amused by John’s suggestion that he should be able to remember the last moments of the battle aboard
the command carrier. She’d smiled along with him, and agreed that the combination of injury, exhaustion and
the chaos of battle was an adequate excuse for the blank in John’s memory, keeping her own knowledge of the
missing information to herself. It was beginning to look as if John was going to remember what he’d done, and
she wasn’t sure how to handle it if he asked her straight out what had happened.
She closed her eyes, firmly directing her thoughts toward getting some rest, and tried to go back to sleep.
There was no guarantee that John would remember. Trying to decide now how to handle an event that might
never take place was a waste of time and energy.
The first floating sensation of sleep had begun to drift over her when there was a small shuffling noise outside
the doors to her cell. She laid still, eyes closed, listening intently for several microts, sorting out the small
noises filtering through the background rhythms of Moya. There was a small sigh and another quiet rustle as
the person shifted, and she knew it was John, standing irresolutely just outside the heavy bars of the door.
Aeryn sat up and turned toward the door, meaning to invite him inside, but he was already gone, disappearing
more silently than she could have managed.
She tended to forget the honed reflexes and new capacity for fighting that she’d discovered during their trip
back to Moya, the abilities unneeded and therefore hidden since their return. It was a subtle reminder that he
had changed in the past cycle and a half, similar to the John Crichton she’d known, but occasionally
unpredictable because of the adaptations he’d been forced to make in order to survive. Aeryn watched the
empty corridor for several microts, vainly hoping he might return to tell her why he was wandering the tiers at
this arn. He didn’t reappear.
“Pilot?” she commed quietly, getting out of bed.
“Yes, Aeryn?” came the more informal address. Pilot seemed to use it whenever he was performing a personal
favor, as opposed to ship’s business when everyone’s interests were involved.
“Do you know where Crichton is right now?” She found the loose pants that she liked to wear if she was up in
the middle of the sleep cycle, and grabbed a long-sleeved, insulated top to protect her from the slightly cooler
air that circulated throughout Moya during the leviathan’s version of night.
“He was last seen entering the hangar bay where his ship is parked,” Pilot answered. “Would you like me to
comm him?”
“No. Thank you, Pilot. I’d prefer to talk to him myself, face to face.” Aeryn tugged the top into place, took a
single microt to consider whether she ought to leave John alone, and then went after him. If he’d come as far
as her quarters, it meant that there was something troubling him enough that he was tempted to talk about it. It
was unlikely that she’d get back to sleep until she knew what was bothering him, so she might as well go find
out.
* * * * *
After a small amount of searching, she finally found John sitting on the bunk in the living quarters of the
transport ship, leaning against the wall with his head tilted back, staring at the ceiling. He was wearing the
coveralls, she noted with an unpleasant tightening of her stomach. John was wearing the clothes from his
temporary life with Gallenn, sitting in the deserted quarters aboard the ship that he’d modified himself, perhaps
regressing to a life he would prefer to continue.
Aeryn stepped silently through the doorway and waited for some sort of response, looking for a sign as to
whether she was welcome here, feeling like an intruder. John rolled his head to one side to look at her, then
patted the mattress next to him, inviting her over. She slid the short distance across the mattress to sit beside
him, copying his slouch against the wall.
“Problem?” she asked after several microts.
“Trouble sleeping.” He tilted his head to the other side so he could look at her face. “Like some other people
around here lately. What are you doing up?”
“Looking for you.” The silence lengthened as they sat together, neither one eager to continue the
conversation.
John sighed, and sat up straighter. “It was so nice being here for those few days,” he finally started. “No one
else around, no bad guys, no panics or disasters or crises. It was probably the nicest nine days I’ve had since I
wound up on this side of the universe.”
Aeryn squirmed sideways on the bed, sidling up next to him. John looped an arm around her shoulders and
pulled her securely against his side.
“Is that why you’re sitting here in the middle of the night? Replaying every microt of those days?” she asked,
trying for a hint of levity.
“Not exactly.” John rubbed her back for a microt, staring at the ceiling. “I was thinking that if I hadn’t been so
pig-headed and tried to cut our trip short, we would have gotten back to Moya six days sooner, and we would
have avoided the Peacekeepers completely.”
“And you wouldn’t have been interrogated by Grayza,” she added.
“I was thinking more of you,” he contradicted her. “It’s my fault that you had to do the things you did.”
“I was the one who asked to take an extra two days to get back to Moya at the end of the trip,” she pointed out.
“So it must be my fault.” John started to shake his head, the precursor to an argument. “We could sit around
smacking ourselves with a dead drannit if it would help with the guilt.”
John’s laughter rumbled quietly alongside her. “You spent too much time with Gallenn.”
“Maybe,” she agreed. “But it gets to the heart of the issue quite nicely. We can’t change what we did or what
happened. It’s no one’s fault. We did what we did, and it turned out badly.”
“History of our lives.” John scowled for a microt, then gave his head a small, vigorous shake.
“What was that?” she demanded, not recognizing the intent behind the gesture. John squirmed beside her, a
whole body wriggle that meant he didn’t want to explain. “Never mind,” she said, releasing him from any
requirement to answer.
John shrugged and took his arm away from her shoulders, taking one of her hands in both of his instead.
“Aeryn? What happened after you got shot on the command carrier?”
This was exactly what she’d been dreading, lying awake worrying about her answer and its effect on him. “How
do you mean?” she asked, trying to determine how much he’d remembered.
“You said that I covered for you and Gallenn while he got you on board. You also said I went berserk. What
did I do?” He was staring intently at their joined hands, not even glancing at her face, making it impossible to
read his thoughts.
“Provided cover for us, among other things.” She felt mildly chilled despite her thick shirt, uncertainty robbing
her of her usual confidence. “Why are you worrying about this? It’s over.”
“I … had that dream again tonight. I don’t understand why it’s back.”
“You killed several of the soldiers,” she tried, attempting to ease the truth by minimizing what he’d done in his
frenzy of grief.
John let go of her hand and examined his own instead, rubbing at an abraded knuckle with one thumb. “I keep
thinking I’ll remember at some point. It’s like the memory is right here.” He grasped at thin air just behind one
shoulder, indicating a spot very close behind him. “But there’s nothing there … except the dream.”
“Could something else be causing it?” She tried to aim him in another direction, unhappy with the idea of
deliberately deceiving him, but convinced that telling him the truth was the wrong thing to do. “It started up
again when I came back because you weren’t sure about the cost of survival. Maybe it’s because of what
happened in Grayza’s quarters. I’d understand if you were still angry at me.” Having him vent his anger on her
seemed a small price to pay if it led to his peace of mind.
“I’m not angry at you anymore,” he objected. “Not that way, at least. I don’t think that’s it.” He flapped his
hands in frustration and tilted his head back against the wall, returning to the position she’d found him in,
staring at the ceiling. “So all I did was kill some Peacekeepers,” he reiterated.
She weighed the cost of telling him the truth against the cost of lying to him, taking too long to answer. John sat
up and turned to face her, attention focused sharply on her face. “That’s not all, is it?” he demanded
forcefully. “Is it, Aeryn? What the frell did I do? You said I went berserk. How many of them did I kill?”
Here was the John Crichton she knew best -- the man of principles who had a regard for life that often
endangered his own. This was the man who had felt obligated to save millions, and had paid for it by sacrificing
a single life on Dam-Ba-Da -- his own. She made a fast calculation, and gave him the piece that she thought
he might be able to live with.
“All of them.”
John sagged back, staring at her with his mouth hanging open in shock. “How many were left at that point?”
“I’m not sure. They were still trying to get to us, and Gallenn was busy trying to save me. You held them off,
John. We would have all died or been captured if you hadn’t kept fighting.” Aeryn reached for his hand, but he
pulled away this time, looking upset.
“When were you going to tell me, Aeryn?” he said angrily. “Ever?”
“I hadn’t decided. You seemed to be coping with enough at the time.” He brushed away another attempt to
touch him. “Look at yourself; look at what it’s doing to you right now, John. This is why I was waiting.”
He wasn’t listening to her anymore, caught up in his own guilt and remorse. “There had to be at least a dozen
soldiers still alive in there,” he agonized. “God. I hate what I’ve become. How do you stand this?”
She heard the crack of breaking bone, the sound of the tech’s neck breaking that had invaded her dreams for
so many nights, and the impact of the memory broke down the carefully constructed barricade that had been
keeping her feelings from getting loose. Aeryn spun off the bed and stood in front of him, barely in control of
her physical reactions, let alone her emotions.
“You bastard!” she yelled at him. “You selfish bastard! I gave that life up. I never wanted to do that sort of
thing again, but I did it willingly to get you out of there.”
“It’s what you were trained for, Aeryn.” He looked shocked at her reaction, surprised but not upset. “I’d never
deliberately injured anyone in my life until I got to this place, and now I’ve turned into the type of person who
can kill that many people and just block it out of my mind.”
Aeryn turned her back on him, hiding any sign of the emotions that were tumbling out of control. She kicked at
the wall, guilt transforming into anger, and turned back to face him. “You killed them in the heat of battle, with
your opponent trying to kill you. I had to sneak up on them one by one, kill them with my bare hands, and then
hide the bodies. This wasn’t combat or even a fair fight against an equally armed opponent.”
She held her hands out toward him, fingers spread wide. “You asked me at one point how to get the
bloodstains off your hands. You tell me, because this time I did the killing so you would survive. I stand it
because I don’t have a choice. I did it to save your life, John, and I don’t regret that decision.” John slid to the
edge of the bed, a new form of remorse appearing, guilt that he’d triggered this reaction.
“I hear them in the night, John. I hear them die, and they won’t leave me alone until I remind myself why I did
it.” She took two steps away from him, the explosion fading as fast as it had started. “I don’t regret paying the
price … but you do.” There were tears where she didn’t want them, stinging and flowing despite her efforts to
stop them, all the worry and pent up concern of the past days flooding out uncontrollably.
John was off the bunk in an instant, reaching for her, but she slapped his hands away, angry that his words had
goaded her into the accusation that he regretted saving her life; angry at herself for lashing out, but equally
mad at him for triggering it.
He tried again, catching the blows on his arms and shoulders, driving through the flurry of ineffective strikes to
grab her, stopping the defensive attack by hugging her. “I’m sorry,” he said into the side of her head, holding
her tight. “I don’t regret it, Aeryn. You know I would never regret anything that kept you safe. I didn’t know. I’m
sorry.”
She leaned into him, letting the weakness run out with her tears, trying to find strength and control as the hurt
flowed away. It was as though she’d begun holding her breath the moment they’d been pulled onto the
command carrier, and she’d only just begun breathing again, rediscovering the miracle of oxygen. His arms
were around her, comforting her for a change, instead of seeking out his own security. Part of her would have
preferred to remain strong for him, but the portion of her psyche that enjoyed the tight embrace was insisting
that this moment was long overdue.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” she mumbled into his shoulder.
“You should have said it days ago,” John countered immediately. “Gallenn warned me that I was too caught up
in my own stupid problems. You should have told me sooner.”
He freed one arm from the hug and picked her up, relocating them together to the bunk, sitting on the edge
with her in his lap. They stayed that way for several hundred microts, simply using the contact to heal the
bruised feelings.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked at last.
He squeezed her tighter for a brief moment, answering with the suggestion of a laugh. “You didn’t kick me in
the mivonks this time. I’ll take that as an improvement over our last battle.”
She sat up straighter, still resting her head on his shoulder, but looking at his face to find the haunted look
gone for the time being. Somewhere in her furious accusation he’d found what he needed to accept what he’d
done, the detail of how he’d killed them still hidden, perhaps forever. It hadn’t been her intent to divert his
attention away from that last fact, but the outcome was worth the brief argument.
“Had enough for one night?” She twisted to glance at the timepiece in the corner, surprised to find that little
more than an arn had passed. Most of the sleep cycle still remained, more than enough to get some rest.
“I think I’m going to stay here tonight,” John admitted. “One last night pretending none of that happened.” He
smoothed her hair back from her face and wiped her tears away with one thumb.
“John --”
“I can’t go back,” he cut her off. “I can’t and I don’t really want to, but it would have been nice to just stay here
for the rest of our lives. A little boring maybe, but nice.”
Aeryn thought about the way he was dressed and what had brought him here in the middle of the night,
comparing the way she felt now and the way she’d felt that last, wonderful morning they’d shared here. It
seemed like a dream now, an imaginary moment that could never be recreated, and understood his desire to
stay in the room for a few more arns. She slid out of his grasp, pulling away incrementally so he would know
that she was simply getting up, not withdrawing from him, and pulled off her top.
“Aeryn, I … ” he started to object.
“I don’t want to do anything,” she assured him. “I only want to lie under the covers the way we did that last
morning here. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” She finished undressing and slid into bed, reaching over
her head to dim the lights to the same twilight setting they’d been set at that last idyllic morning. John
continued to sit on the edge of the bed, watching uncertainly as she made herself comfortable. She waited for
over a hundred microts, then closed her eyes and resigned herself to getting some more sleep. The night he’d
invited her into his bed they’d both been clothed and their companionship had not progressed beyond hugging
and sleeping. When she’d pulled off her clothes this time, she’d hoped he was ready for the next step. It
seemed that she was expecting too much from him too soon.
The thump of a boot dropping to the floor pulled her back from the floating edge of sleep, echoed an instant
later by its mate. She rolled over to check on him. John was standing with his hand frozen at the top of the
coverall zipper as though the fastener was stuck. His eyes flickered toward her then back down at his
motionless hand, indecision apparent. Aeryn sat up, the covers falling away from her body, and reached for
the zipper. Rather than taking over the task herself, she placed her hand over his, leaving the final decision up
to him, and pressed down. There was a microt of resistance, then their joined hands lowered the slide until he
came to a stop at his waist.
Aeryn stood up, gradually easing the coveralls off his shoulders and letting them slide down his torso, pausing
when they reached his hips. He shivered, looking ill, and she tried to think of something that might distract him
from whatever memory had triggered the reaction.
“May I have a hug?” she whispered into the stillness of the small space. John gazed at her for several microts,
his eyes wandering from her face down to her breasts, then back up again. He ran his fingertips along her
shoulders, let them trickle down her upper arms, then stepped forward to embrace her. She rested her chin on
his shoulder, using the pressure of his arms as a gauge to guide how firmly to hold him. He ran his hand up
her back and she copied the movement.
“How you doing?” she asked, kissing him on the side of the neck.
“Not bad,” he admitted.
“Ready for a little more?” She didn’t have to reach for the coveralls hanging off his hips. His hands
disappeared from her back and the garment slithered down around his feet. He needed to be in control, she
realized. Grayza had taken complete control of him. From psyche to physical reactions to the ability to resist
mentally, the Peacekeeper commandant had ripped every bit of self-control away from John, turning him into an
unwilling but compliant slave. The one thing he needed most was the sense that he had a choice before taking
each step.
Aeryn turned her head toward his, inviting him to kiss her. They’d kissed dozens of times over the past days,
but never with her standing naked before him. He pulled away and she changed her target, caressing him
gently on the cheek, lips barely brushing across the rough stubble of the day’s growth of beard. He eased
back toward her, and she invited the touch again, waiting through his hesitation. John turned his head and
brushed his lips across hers, returned for a little more, and finally kissed her. He took a half step forward, his
bare chest touching her breasts and the kiss deepened, the increments combining until he hugged her to him,
warm bare skin against warm bare skin, tongues flickering and finding each other in increasing enjoyment.
“Not bad,” he pronounced, pulling away. “Just like that morning?” he confirmed.
“Only if you’re comfortable with it.” She gave him the opportunity to keep his shorts on, leaving it up to him.
John bit his lower lip for a microt, then slid them off. For the first time in all the cycles she’d know him, he
looked self-conscious about being naked.
“I do love you,” she told him, seeing once again that he had truly put every bit of his being into her safe
keeping. He had trusted her with his life, his heart, and now his very soul. “Come on. We can just get some
sleep together. Get in bed the way we were that morning.” She moved aside, giving him room to crawl into the
bunk ahead of her.
Aeryn followed him under the covers, reaching up to dim the lights further, turning them down until she had
trouble making out small details. She lay down with her head on his shoulder, one arm across his chest, and
decided that the best thing to do would be absolutely nothing.
“Now what?” he asked from out of the gloom.
“Go to sleep,” she recommended. His hand wandered up and down the back of her shoulder, fingertips drifting
across her skin in a ghostly pattern, but he didn’t seem to want to do much else than be together. Aeryn kissed
his chest where her head rested against him, and closed her eyes, following her own advice.
She was all but asleep when his other arm wrapped around her hips and pulled hard, lifting her up on top of his
body. “What’s this?” she asked, nuzzling the side of his neck.
“I think this is how we were lying that morning when you turned down the lights. I was trying for historical
accuracy.” He was rubbing her back again, with longer, firmer strokes than before.
“Now what?” she inquired, mimicking his tones.
“Want to go to sleep?” John kissed her forehead, all he could reach from their current position, and she raised
her head to meet him, shifting up his body so he could relax back into the pillows.
“Going to sleep wouldn’t be historically accurate,” she whispered. The next kiss lacked vigor. “We don’t have
to, John,” she assured him. “You tell me what you want.”
“I don’t like this,” he said suddenly, struggling to sit up. She’d seen it herself, Aeryn realized, and pushed away
quickly, freeing him from her weight. She’d seen Grayza pin him down, forcing him back into the sheets to be
used in whatever manner the twisted officer desired, the drug compelling him not only to submit, but to
participate willingly.
John sat up, the sheen of sweat across his chest visible despite the dimmed lights, the fast shiver felt rather
than seen. “I’ll go,” Aeryn decided. He could sleep here alone tonight, clinging for the last time to the more
pleasant memories.
“No, don’t,” he objected. “I don’t want you to leave. That was just too much like … ”
“I’m sorry,” she said into the ensuing silence, apologizing for being in Grayza’s quarters and knowing about the
moment he hadn’t bothered to describe.
John jammed the pillows against the wall and leaned back against them, rearranging things several times
before reaching for her. “Same idea as before,” he instructed, pulling her into his lap. Aeryn straddled his
legs, easing closer as he remained relaxed, and leaned against his chest. He tilted her chin up with one hand,
and kissed her once again. She dove deep this time, tongues sparring for an instant before bursting past his
to stroke the myriad textures, breathing deeper as he relaxed and welcomed her, finding the smooth surfaces
and testing them until he let out a small moan and pulled her against him tighter. She broke away then, taking
a deep breath before letting him attack, allowing him to make the advance this time; tasting and smelling John
Crichton, aware of a mild thrusting against her body where she sat on his lap.
“Nice,” he breathed, pulling away. John ran his thumbs carefully across her cheekbones, watching her eyes
from a distance of barely six denches, and then kissed her more gently, warm and soft, his mouth loving hers in
a slow waltz of lips.
“Very nice,” she agreed. “What next?”
John’s hands stroked her arms several times as he looked her over from top to bottom. “So much Aeryn to
choose from, so little time,” he mused quietly. “I think … God, I love these,” he declared, and leaned forward to
kiss her breast, his fingers stroking the underside, his tongue barely brushing against the nipple as he took it
between his lips and pulled at it gently.
Aeryn watched for the first few microts as he nudged and caressed the soft mass with both fingers and tongue.
She cradled his slowly nodding head with one hand, fingering his hair, using her other hand to begin
massaging a small circle beneath his ear. He tilted his head to the side, allowing her to press harder, no trace
of tension in his body as he took more of the nipple into his mouth and ran his tongue against it more firmly.
She sighed, feeling the first pulling of muscles between her legs, arousal beginning, and took his head in both
hands, guiding him to the other breast.
Desire uncoiled deep within as he began working at the second nipple, nerves lighting up all the way from her
chest to the top of her skull to the tips of her toes. John sighed and raised his head, smiling in the half-light,
kissed her once, and descended back down her chest, hands beginning to massage her buttocks. He shifted
beneath her, adjusting her position on his legs, then nuzzled her between her breasts. “You are beautiful,” he
murmured into her chest.
Aeryn rubbed the back of his neck with both hands, her arms resting on his shoulders, fingers working hard
against the thick muscles at the top of his shoulders, and he came up for another kiss. “I love you,” she told
him, running her hands through his hair.
“Hadn’t noticed,” he smiled. She started to say something about that retort, but one of his hands suddenly
snaked between their bodies, rubbed her belly once, and then quested lower, diving between her legs.
“That’s not …” she began, meaning to stop him, but the protest died out on a sigh as his fingers moved
between her legs. “Don’t,” she tried one more time, expending a single microt thinking about his needs, and
control, and whether this was too soon before all her thoughts dissolved under the wave of sensation.
His legs slid apart, forcing hers wider, and then one careful digit probed inside, separating the folds gradually,
opening her up so the other fingers could join in. “Oh … frell,” she gasped as he opened her further, fingering
her own moisture outward, lubricating the inner and outer lips both, and continuing the slow arousal that the
touch of his lips on her breasts had begun. John wrapped his other arm around her, cradling her shoulders as
he touched the rapidly swelling knob of tissue for the first time, merely brushing his thumb over the slick
rounded surface. A finger circled her increasingly wet opening, carried the moisture forward to lubricate the
smooth collection of nerves, then delved inside, wandering deeper as his thumb continued its orbit.
She grabbed at his shoulders to steady herself, fingers digging in to hold herself in place, and John rumbled a
quiet laugh before ducking his head to stroke one nipple with his tongue, adding to the quickly expanding
excitation of her nervous system.
“Ohhh, no,” she sighed as the flood of warmth and pleasure expanded, taking up her entire chest and
abdomen. He tilted her upper body to one side, spreading her thighs wider, and another finger joined the
coaxing between her legs. John switched to the other breast, pulling it back to rigid arousal, sucking in time
with the slow massage going on far below, and she drew in a shuddering breath, using one hand to hold on to
the back of his head, encouraging him to continue. He probed deeper, stroking her internal muscles, and she
drew in a breath with a small cry.
“That okay?” he whispered into her chest as she rounded her back and pressed against the questing hand. He
was rubbing more insistently now, drawing out the first trembling spasms of delight, urging the internal muscles
to pull her further open, to make way for the massaging digits. She rocked against the insistent motions,
thrusting against him, wanting even more.
“Must be doing something right,” he whispered and raised his head to kiss her.
The nearly silent hiss of air circulation and her own small guttural noises faded away, drowned out by the sound
of her own pulse in her ears, and John’s breath moving warm against her cheek as his tongue moved inside her
mouth in cadence with the motion of his fingers. He spread his own legs wide, carrying hers with them, and
stroked the smooth muscle walls deep inside, his arm crushing her upper body tight against his chest. There
was a noise like a whimper somewhere near his cheek that might have come from her, then he rubbed his
thumb in a slow circle around the engorged nub, and pressed harder.
“Now?” he whispered into her lips.
“Yes,” she demanded on a gasp, thighs trembling, hips thrusting, hands clutching at his shoulders and back.
John buried his face in her chest, and cupped her entire crotch, fingers working inside and out, ensuring that
no portion of the swollen opening went unattended, his entire thumb stroking the bundle of nerves more
quickly. He rubbed across it several times, then pressed harder, rubbing fast and vigorous the way she’d
taught him she liked, and the result was instantaneous, the orgasm nearly painful in its intensity. Aeryn cried
out as she came, every internal muscle seeming to implode at once, drawing her consciousness down to where
John’s hand continued to work.
There might have been a pleased laugh from him as she bucked against his hand, sighed, let out a series of
small cries, and embraced the wave of energy that burst out from between her legs to infuse her entire body. A
chill exploded deep inside, fizzing outward to divorce her from everything else, leaving nothing but his fingers
moving inside her and the faster motion against the one spot of her body that controlled her every breath.
John’s lips were on her breast, his hand holding her safely in his lap, the warmth and solid heft of his body
close against her as she surged in time with the rhythms he was creating, the frenzy abating slowly.
“Frrrell,” she sighed at last. The small twitches and quivers faded slowly, finally expending themselves as he
rubbed her more firmly, drawing out the final response from her body. “That part works,” Aeryn whispered into
his ear, leaning into his upper body with more force. “Did you enjoy yourself?” she asked him after several
microts.
“I love doing that to you,” John smiled happily, brushing her hair away from the side of her face. “It’s like you go
somewhere else completely.”
Aeryn rested both hands on his shoulders and looked down at him from her vantage point, sitting slightly higher
than him by being in his lap. He looked so pleased with himself, relaxed and assured. But she’d already seen
how little it took to destroy that confident demeanor -- a touch, a gesture, a fleeting caress, and it would be
gone. Grayza had been too thorough, ensuring that there was no part of his body or action on her part that
would fail to summon a bad memory. She considered that challenge, searching for some way to bestow the
same ecstasy on him that he had just given her.
“You’re thinking about something,” he surmised, bending his head to kiss her between her breasts.
Aeryn slid away from him, dropping her butt onto the mattress between his knees in order to look at him. He
was partially erect, obviously aroused but not to his full extent. She ran two fingers up his length, caressing the
semi-hardened flesh, then carefully ran a single fingertip around the head. He caught her hand, stopping her
from doing anything more, a crease appearing between his eyebrows. “What next?” she asked, recognizing
that her touch had set off an unpleasant memory.
“Get some sleep maybe.” John pulled her securely back into his lap. She squirmed in place, rubbing herself
on the semi-hardened shaft now trapped between their bodies. “I don’t feel much like doing anything else.”
“Lean back,” she urged, remembering at the last microt to make it a choice, not an order. It was far too soon to
expect a complete recovery, but they’d accomplished so much in this one night, due in part to their
surroundings, that she was unwilling to give up without at least trying. She pressed him into the pillows where
he could relax, partially inclined, and then began a slow exploration of his body with lips and tongue, pausing
frequently to check on his reaction.
She began at his temples, testing the smooth skin with her lips, drifted to the corner of one eyebrow then the
other to plant warm kisses there, cupping his chin in both of her hands. She worked her way down his cheeks,
alternating sides until she arrived at his lips. They lingered there, tongues meeting, touching, the warmth of his
breath on her cheek a familiar gusting whisper. She tasted his lips several more times, fingers rubbing him
beneath the ears, then stroked him beneath the jaw until he raised his head, and continued the journey
downward. Beard stubble prickled against her lips and fingertips as she moved down his throat, fell behind as
she ran out along one collarbone then the other.
He took a deeper breath to say something, the intent seen out of the corner of her eye, and she admonished
him, “Hush. No talking.” She returned to his lips to kiss him again, maintaining the contact as she eased off
him, kneeling alongside his body instead of straddling him. “You keep your eyes on me,” she instructed.
“Nothing but me.”
The blue eyes watched as she ducked down and touched one of his nipples, working at it with lips and tongue
until the tissue tightened, then sucking at it more wetly. She switched sides, leaning across his chest, one hand
rubbing his stomach as she attended to the other nipple, bringing it to the same tautened pucker as the first.
John’s hands followed her progress -- caressing her hair, her back, or simply riding along as she moved down
the center of his body to the hard planes of his stomach, tracing the ridges between the muscles with the tip of
her tongue, her fingertips bumping along each hard ridge of his ribs until he sucked in a deeper breath. A
glance upward confirmed what his fast inhalation had already told her. His eyes were half closed as he gave
himself over to the increasing arousal, but they were still fastened intently on her, keeping Aeryn Sun in sight
every microt.
She touched his genitals for the first time, merely running her fingers into his crotch to nudge at his balls, and
there was a longer, deeper intake of breath. At first she thought it was revulsion, but his cock stiffened and
expanded, the slow, gentle inducement having the desired effect. His hand rubbed harder between her
shoulder blades, telling her to continue, and she returned to the soft mass of his balls, fondling them, sliding
her fingers across the loose skin until one of his legs slid out to the side, giving her more access. She felt
beneath the tightening sac to rub lightly at the supremely soft skin there, and his free hand tightened into a fist,
grabbing at the rumpled covers.
“Shall I stop?” she teased him, taking a microt to tickle his thighs with her fingertips. He groaned long and
deep, a sound of inexorable excitement and desire. He was still watching though, his jaw hanging open as his
breathing became faster and deeper.
Aeryn turned back to his engorged shaft, stroking the hardened cock back against his belly, then leaned over
him and ran her tongue across the very tip, stopping to burrow into the depression before beginning a slow
orbit around the outside edge, teasing at him with her entire tongue. His stomach muscles flexed into sharp
relief, the tendons in his thighs standing out as arousal took over from reason and began to control his
reactions. She fingered his erection upright, stroked him firmly several times, and then took him into her mouth,
working at the hardened flesh with her cheeks and tongue until she felt his body shudder beneath her for the
first time, signaling the beginning of his struggle for restraint.
She sucked at the tip, firmly massaging his balls in time with her efforts over his cock, waiting and watching out
of the corner of her eye until she saw his head fall back and his eyes close, entirely caught up in the signals
emanating from between his legs. Aeryn released him then, maintaining a firm stroking of his length, but
without the more sensuous efforts.
“Love me,” she whispered, running her thumb over the tip of his cock.
“Beyond hope,” he groaned, beginning to strain his hips upward into her grasp.
“No. Love me,” she repeated, changing her intonation to an order. Aeryn laid down alongside him, gave the
engorged shaft one more pull to ensure that he was still excited and erect, and kissed the parted lips, delving
deep with her tongue. “Love my body,” she urged one more time, whispering into his lips.
John took her into his arms and rolled them over, the warm, hardened flesh rubbing against her belly where it
was pinned between their bodies, and kissed her with increasing fervor, his breath whistling through his nose
as his hands traveled from her hips to shoulders and down again.
“Now,” she invited him, wrapping her legs around his hips. He lifted his upper body away from her, looking
down with something far stronger than love in his eyes -- something that embodied trust, faith, and an almost
spiritual reverence for the sight in front of him. Then his hands were nudging her thighs further apart,
massaging the tendons and muscles to relax her, gently fingering the slick tissues open, in every way the
gentle caring lover she’d come to cherish.
He positioned the tip of his erection against her, probing incrementally, seeking out her own dripping moisture,
and her hips lunged toward him, an involuntary motion seeking penetration. John smiled with something
resembling glee, and gently rubbed the slick head of his stiffened penis across her swollen mound of nerves,
the two bundles of excited tissue sliding across each other without friction until she grabbed at his hand, forcing
him to redirect his attentions elsewhere, on the verge of another orgasm. He smiled more widely this time,
strong hands supporting her hips as she quaked and shook, waiting for him to join her on the brink of climax.
The massage of her hips and belly resumed -- firm, deep strokes urging her muscles to relax and stretch.
Aeryn sighed with pleasure, feeling the loosening deep within, her entire body preparing itself for his arrival.
And then he slowly entered her, nudging gradually at first, then driving harder and deeper, burying the resilient
thickness in her depths, accompanied by their twin sighs of delight. He leaned down to kiss her, his hips
shoving hard against her pelvis, the warmth of him inside her thrusting hard against the limits of her internal
spaces.
Aeryn let out a sigh of combined pleasure and joy -- pleasure at her own sensations of fullness, love and
warmth, and exploding joy that John was able to find his way to this particular moment. The happiness that he
was here with her, doing this so soon, ignited a thrill within, a catalyst adding to the existing physical excitement
and she nearly came, fighting to keep her body from taking over too soon.
She kept her eyes closed as he began to move within her, letting her awareness travel outward to encompass
the entire range of tactile inputs, resisting the urge to come too soon. Stretch of tendons and muscles internal
and external; small sharp ache deep within as he thrust harder, serving to accentuate the vibrating riff as the
head of his cock slid across the thick muscles inside; the rasping draw of John’s breath; the radiating warmth of
his body as he hovered over her; his hands roaming across breasts, belly and thighs, moving over every dench
of her with deliberate care. The rise to final excitement surged again, blossoming and spreading outward,
urging her nervous system to begin its crazed exuberance. Her breaths were becoming more desperate now,
gasps and moans escaping with increasing frequency as the glow ignited somewhere inside near the base of
her spine.
But John’s small voiced exhalations, the warning of his impending climax, had faded instead of growing
stronger. She opened her eyes, dragging herself back from the edge to wait for him. Head thrown back, lips
parted, eyes closed, he was immersed in his own efforts. But there was a small furrow between his eyebrows
that didn’t belong there, a hint that something was lurking just outside this moment of delight, threatening to
destroy it.
“Love me,” she whispered. She fingered the thick, dark mat of hair above where they were joined, running her
fingers up his belly to stroke the flexing stomach muscles, moved on to rub his chest. “Love me, John.” He
opened his eyes, returning from wherever he’d strayed, buried himself to his limits, and looked down at her,
supporting his weight on his arms, all motion suspended. “Just me,” she urged, pushing the sweat-soaked hair
off his forehead.
The furrow disappeared, light returning to the blue eyes, and he lowered himself onto her, burying his face in
the side of her neck, enveloping her in his arms. “I love you,” he murmured into her skin, and then did the one
thing she never would have expected. He held her tight and rolled them over, putting her on top …
surrendering all control to her.
Aeryn rearranged herself carefully, getting comfortable with her weight on his hips, and then leaned down to
kiss him, knowing how much strength it had taken for him to do that, understanding that he was giving himself
over to her care one more time. Her breath caught for a microt as he cupped her breasts and ran his thumbs
over the erect nipples, the small, sharp intake fusing their lips together and deepening the kiss. “Again,” she
whispered into his lips, and he rubbed the taut nipples harder, rolling them between his thumb and finger.
Her internal muscles spasmed in response to the nervous jolt traveling outward from her chest, and John
snorted and gasped in turn as his buried cock was treated to a fast, desperate massage. “Now,” he asked, his
hips surging beneath her, seeking out her depths. “Please.”
It was even sweeter and more exquisite as it began again, a mutual tango of moving bodies and drifting hands.
She closed her eyes, moving against him with her hips, the burrowing thrust within accentuated by the feel of
his hands stroking her thighs, her ribs, her breasts. His stomach muscles flexed strong and taut beneath her
touch as he matched the cadence of her movements. She freed one hand, exploring up his chest to find his
head driving back into the pillows, the underside of his throat exposed as he too closed his eyes and gave
himself over to the moment.
He was within her and without her, every bit of her body possessed by him, his small exclamations filling her
ear, the thickened cock expanding even further until her entire internal space pulsed with the warmth and
slickness of him. The ache for release was back. She panted and tried to wait, but it threatened to overwhelm
her. The first frissons of climax shuddered through her, setting every nerve from heels to skull quivering in
preparation for orgasm. Aeryn stroked him from belly to throat trying to bring him closer to his own orgasm,
watching this time as John arched up into her body and her touch, warm skin glistening with sweat, his breath
increasingly ragged as they moved faster.
“Aerrryyyynnn,” he whispered in a long jerking exhalation. And this time it was a quiet cry of healing, longing,
love and passion. She leaned forward to rub his chest, running her thumbs across his nipples, rolling across
them hard, and he let out a small cry and thrust into her descent harder.
John was looking up at her but had the far away, distracted look that preceded his climax. His hands wandered
up her thighs, thumbs moving to the joint of hip and leg to press deeply into the hollows that he knew excited
her, magnifying the internal sensations. She gasped and threw her head back, the explosion igniting for the
final time, unrestricted as it billowed outwards, inflaming every nerve ending. Aeryn cried out as she came, the
desperate, delighted sound echoing slightly off the walls of the small room.
She thought she’d left him behind, but his voice was joining hers, blending and winding around it in a deeper
harmony, the warm pulsing within spurred on by the grabbing and clenching of her own muscles. Aeryn threw
herself into the moment, abandoning the last remnants of her self-control and giving herself over to her own
orgasm. The rippling nervous explosion divorced her from everything except her body’s reaction, aware of little
more than the clenching of muscles around his pulsing erection, the spasming delight radiating out from her
pelvis, and John’s own cry of excitement. She began to spin down, breaths coming more regularly, awareness
returning.
The hard pressure was undiminished within her, John’s orgasm not quite fulfilled, leaving him teetering in the
throes of impending climax. Aeryn clenched her muscles hard and drove against him, fingers returned to his
chest to massage the small nubs of tightened nipples, pinching them lightly as she ran herself onto him, feeling
the resurgence of her own pleasure expanding outward in response to the motions. John sucked in a huge
breath, every muscle in his body springing out into tautened relief, and froze there, motion destroyed by
release. He was calling her name then, syllables garbled in his ecstasy, fingers digging into to her waist to hold
her tight and there was a second, less frantic marriage of their orgasm, depleting them both this time.
John let his breath out and sagged back into the tangle of covers, opening his eyes long enough to find her
hand, tugging for her to lie down on top of him. She lowered herself into place, working her pelvis against his
one last time, generating the last, sweet residual pang and relaxed against his chest, her chin on his shoulder,
waiting while he caught his breath.
“Oh my god,” he groaned after several microts.
“If you didn’t like it, you should have said something.”
He made a tiny snorting sound, amusement finding its way out on a breath of air. Aeryn ran a finger along the
edge of his jaw, watching with pleasure as he made his way back to the here and now.
“Wow,” he proclaimed at last.
“And you wanted to go to sleep,” she teased him. John yawned, stretching beneath her then relaxing more
completely than she’d felt him since they’d returned to Moya. He turned his head to peer at her, a small smile
appearing, albeit a sleepy one.
“What?” she asked, unable to read his expression. “What are you thinking?” He shook his head, letting it
settle back into the pillows, and she turned her head to the other side, mildly disappointed that he wasn’t going
to explain.
“When I was working with Gallenn, I had considered moving to a different spot on that planet, one where I could
see a particular star,” he began.
“The one you named ‘Aeryn’?” She placed an elbow carefully against his shoulder and propped her head on
her hand so she could watch him.
He glanced at her, comprehension replacing surprise after the first shock of her response. “He would have told
you about that,” he said slowly.
“You told me about that. You. John Crichton.” There were some things they still needed to work out, but they
seemed minor after the hurdles they’d already cleared.
John nodded once, accepting her proclamation this time. “Even after you showed up, I’d decided it would be
better to stay where I was -- where I would never have to look at that star again. I’d convinced myself that I was
better off without it.”
Aeryn watched him, puzzled by his decision to bring the topic up at this particular time and place, mildly hurt by
the confession. But he was starting to grin again, watching her as she watched him. “And,” she prompted,
realizing there was more to the explanation.
“And I was wrong. There isn’t anyway I’d chose to go through life without my one constant ever again.” He
pulled her down against him, rocking slowly from side to side as he hugged her. “That was survival, not life,
because I can’t live without you, Aeryn.”
She closed her eyes, feeling John above and below her, strong arms holding her tight against his chest, and
admitted for the first time that she’d only been surviving for the last two cycles as well. “I love you,” she told
him, knowing that he was her life.
“I love you, too,” he murmured.
Together they pulled the covers over their joined bodies, working as one until they were both warm and
comfortable, and stayed in the small metal-walled refuge for the rest of the night.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Chapter 10
Aeryn woke abruptly, a sound from her dream lingering as though it had been a real noise disturbing the
silence of her chamber. She pushed the thermal sheet down around her knees and sat up, waiting for her
heart to slow from its wild pounding and for the clammy layer of sweat to dry in the cool air of the cell. There
had been so many deaths over the cycles, so many bodies left behind, each one dead as a result of her
actions -- she wasn’t sure why this one continued to invade her dreams. She never dreamed about the man or
his face. It was the sharp crackle of bone breaking that crept out of her memory at least once every night to
disturb her sleep, a small sensory leftover that had the power to leave her shaking and mildly nauseous when
she woke.
She slid out of bed, pulled on a pair of loose-fitting insulated pants, wrapped the thermal sheet around her
shoulders and padded barefoot through the corridor, headed for the one sight that would remind her that killing
a unarmed tech had been worthwhile.
“Pilot?” she called quietly over her comms. The doors to Crichton’s cell swung open slowly, the usual metallic
grinding muted to a hushed grumble as the bars slid into their recess at a fraction of their usual speed. Aeryn
looked up at the golden bulkheads surrounding her, taking a microt to appreciate the maternal concern of ship
and pilot. It was the fourth night in a row that she’d made this small journey from cell to cell, but just the same,
Pilot’s anticipation of her request was unexpected. “Thank you, Pilot,” she whispered, and gently patted Moya’s
bulkhead, trusting that the leviathan would understand the silent thanks.
She stepped cautiously to the side of John’s bed, moving just as silently as she had aboard the command
carrier, working hard not to wake him. Sitting on the floor brought her to a level where she could stare at him
face to face, watching the tiny flutter of his eyelids as he dreamed. She’d stolen into his cell the third night
she’d had the small nightmare, originally intending to wake him so they could talk for a while. Instead, she had
ended up simply observing him for almost two arns, then returned to her own chamber and slept soundly
through the rest of the night. Watching John had turned out to be all she needed in order to banish the small
nightmare for the rest of the sleep cycle.
Tonight he was lying on his side, one hand resting near his chin, his hair standing up in disheveled tufts along
one side of his head. She was close enough to make out small details -- the curl of his eyelashes, a scar along
one thumb, the soft gleam of his teeth between slightly parted lips, each seam and wrinkle of his knuckles.
They were all well known now, studied and catalogued during their few peaceful days about the small transport
ship, and carefully reviewed over the past few nights.
Aeryn looked down at her own hands clutching the thermal sheet around her shoulders against the mild chill of
the chamber, reflecting on what those two hands had done in order to bring him back safely. It was the same
introspection she had indulged in the preceding three nights, and she wondered how many times she would
have to repeat this ritual, reminding herself each time of the reward gained by her actions, before the dreams
left her alone. When she looked back up, John was awake, silently staring back at her.
“Hey,” he greeted her calmly in a whisper, only his eyes moving as he inspected his midnight visitor.
“Hey.” She provided the ritual answer, then reached out to touch his cheek, driven by an irrational but
overwhelming need to verify that he was real, alive, and lying there safe and sound. It had taken so long to find
him. Even when he was right in front of her, it sometimes seemed like a dream. There were times when she
would look away from him while doing something completely routine, and half expected him not to be there
when she looked back, as if he were some sort of imaginary wraith that would dissipate if she didn’t keep her
eyes on him.
“Going to sit there all night?” he asked.
“I’ll go back to my quarters in a few microts,” she’d assured him, not quite ready to return to the emptiness of
her own cell.
He shook his head, a brief side-to-side twitch. “Actually, that was an invitation to join me,” he offered in a
hushed voice.
“Are you sure?” Despite some improvement since their talk in the starburst chamber, physical contact was still
something that he endured rather than enjoyed. But he lifted the covers without another word, welcoming her
into his bed. Aeryn left her own thermal sheet rumpled on the floor and slid into the trapped warmth beneath
the covers, something cold inside her chest seeming to melt and flow away as John lowered the covers over
both of them.
“You okay?” she asked, trying to leave a little room between them.
“Come here,” he murmured, pulling her close against his chest. There was one shuddering lurch as she made
contact, then he relaxed again.
“You don’t have to,” she assured him.
John pulled his head back on the pillow to look at her; another tiny smile appearing that suggested she was
missing something for the second time that night. “I still love you, Aeryn. That hasn’t changed. Come here.”
He burrowed an arm beneath her, and enfolded her in the warmth radiating from his body. She sighed with
relief and did her best to merge her body into his, wrapping an arm around him in turn and tucking her head
carefully against his shoulder.
“Anything hurt?” she verified as they got comfortable. Pilot had finally located a medical facility that could treat
his broken shoulder. A short flight in her Prowler and three hundred crendars later he’d been released from
the restriction of the bandages and undergone several regeneration treatments which had resulted in the
bones healing in a matter of arns instead of days. Despite the medical technician’s assurances that everything
was healed, two solar days later John continued to favor his right arm.
“My shoulder is stiff, that’s all. I’m fine,” he told her. “Getting better by the microt.” John laid his cheek against
her head, slowly rubbing her back with his right hand. “See? It works perfectly.” The hand traveled down to
her buttocks and pressed her against him more firmly.
“I’m glad.” She inhaled deeply, filling her senses with the smell of soap, the hint of leather that they both
carried with them, the fragrance of the shaving lubricant he used, and the smell that she’d come to identify
simply as John Crichton. Closing her eyes allowed her to concentrate on the feel of his arm holding her tight,
the firmness of his body against hers, and the warmth pouring off him, enveloping her with something that felt
like security.
“Want to talk about it?” he murmured into her hair.
“About what?”
“About what?” he mimicked deprecatingly. “About why you were sitting beside my bed.”
“No.” He was still coping with his own set of nightmares, specters and haunting memories; John didn’t need to
share her traumas as well … at least not yet. “This is enough.”
“Bad dream?” he tried one more time.
“I wanted to be closer to you. That’s all.” He returned to rubbing her back, his hand traveling along her spine
in time with the slow cadence of his breathing, lulling her into the same measured pace of breaths. “Nice,” she
breathed into his chest.
He hummed an agreement and several microts later the stroking stopped as he fell asleep. Aeryn stayed
awake almost another arn, just listening to his breathing and the muffled thud of his heart, letting the two
sounds drive away the specters that haunted her sleep, hoping that this time it would be for good.
* * * * *
John wrestled a component loose from its fixture inside the engine and slid out of the crawlspace, taking care
with the stiff muscles in his shoulder as he made the awkward transition into the cargo space of the transport
craft. He wandered over to a storage container, placed the bit of circuitry on the top and picked up a large
wrench, taking several microts to wrap his fingers securely around the knurled grip of the tool. The
regeneration had taken care of the bones, but it couldn’t restore the strength and mobility he’d lost by having
his arm bound in one position for nearly twenty days. Given time and exercise it would return to normal, he’d
been assured by the medical technicians, but until then every motion was a conscious effort.
“Time,” he muttered under his breath. The wrench came down on the rhotarri component, flattening the metal
tongue that had held it in place and chipping off some of the ceramic matrix encasing the fragile circuits. “Give
it time. More time.” He hit the unit again and again, the wrench landing harder with each blow. “Time … and …
pa … tience,” John grunted with each ringing impact, smashing the debris into smaller fragments until there was
nothing but glittering shards scattered across the top of the cargo bin. He tossed the wrench into the wreckage
and stood looking at it for several microts, working his left hand against the aching muscles in his shoulder.
“John …” Crichton jumped at the bass noted summons, whirling around to face the intruder while he scrambled
to pick up the wrench. D’Argo stepped through the doorway from the cockpit, stooping slightly to pass through
the opening. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Circuitry abuse, but nothing important,” Crichton returned, looking sheepish at his momentary alarm. He
tossed the wrench back into the debris and wandered slowly toward the access hatch to the engine.
“This doesn’t look like repairs,” his friend suggested.
“I’m destroying the rhotarri engines,” John explained, worming his way into the crawlspace. He yanked out a
fistful of cables and slid back into the cargo space trailing the twisted cord of wires behind him. He braced
himself, wound the mass around one hand and heaved, yanking the entire length lose at once. “There’s
nothing I can do to get rid of wormholes, but I can try to make sure this technology doesn’t fall into the wrong
hands.”
“You built other ships like this, though,” D’Argo suggested.
John selected a single strand of wire and pulled it out of the bundle, crumpled it into a tangled mass and tossed
it to one side. “I can’t do anything about those. If they keep using the engines, they’ll eventually all get lost and
disappear.” He continued to rip the cable down to its constituent parts, adding to a growing heap of discarded
bits in one corner, barely glancing at his friend until the last strand was added to the pile. “What’s up D?” he
asked, turning to face the fidgeting luxan.
“John, we’ve had little time to talk since you returned,” D’Argo began tentatively. “I hesitate to say anything …”
“D’Argo, let it all hang out,” John encouraged him as he faltered and paused uncertainly. “Nothing’s changed
between us in the last couple of cycles. Say what’s on your mind.”
“I am worried about you, my friend,” D’Argo rumbled, stepping forward to put one hand on John’s shoulder.
“When Rygel and Pilot told me that you and Aeryn had escaped and were docking, I thought everything was
going to be all right between the two of you.”
John began shaking his head, smiling at his friend’s concern. “No, D’Argo. It’s okay between us.”
“But … this!” D’Argo objected, waving a hand at the carpet of shattered components that surrounded the cargo
container John had been using as an anvil. “And ‘time and patience’. I assumed you were …”
John cut him off before he could fumble his way through more of the awkward explanation. “That’s not about
Aeryn. I promise. But I don’t really want to talk about it either.” He thumped the luxan’s heavily muscled
shoulder with the heel of one fist, trying to reassure D’Argo that all was well.
D’Argo eyed him for several microts, watching as John went back to the maintenance crawlspace and reached
in to retrieve another component. He continued to stare, looking both anxious and mildly confused as John laid
the next victim on the block and picked up the wrench. Crichton glanced between him and the object to be
destroyed several times, the bashing suspended for the moment.
“Give us some time, D’Argo,” he finally offered. “Some … things happened aboard the command carrier, and
both Aeryn and I need some time. It’s …” The wrench rose and fell, smashing the hardened ceramic that had
been designed to withstand the extremes of cold and heat inside the engines of a space-going craft. “… just …
going … to … take … some … time!” Crichton finished, punctuating each word with an impact. He took a deep
breath and tossed the wrench into the most recent layer of shards atop the container.
“John.” The small sound managed to carry every bit of affection the two men had formed over the cycles --
worry, concern, and the offer of understanding wrapping themselves around his name.
“Leave it alone,” John warned him with finality. D’Argo nodded in resignation and turned to leave, wending his
way around the few containers remaining in the otherwise empty ship. “D’Argo …” John called after him. This
time his voice was the one full of hesitation and uncertainty. “When you go into hyper-rage … luxans, I mean.
Do you remember what happens? Afterwards.” He looked down at his hands, turning them from palm up to
palm down several times.
“Some luxans suffer blackouts during the height of their rage, others remember every detail,” D’Argo offered,
scowling slightly at the question. “As we get older the rage lessens, and we learn to control it instead of letting
it control us. Did you encounter another luxan while you were gone?”
“No.” John continued to examine his hands, as though looking for something in the grime that coated his
fingers and palms. “Aeryn said I did something during a fight on the carrier, but I don’t remember it. I’m missing
the last part of the escape.”
“Crichton,” D’Argo nearly laughed. “When we came on board this excuse of a ship, the cockpit floor was
covered in blood, as was much of the living quarters. You and Aeryn both looked like the losers of a Maxilian
grudge battle, and you slept through the moment when I accidentally dropped you down the steps while getting
you out of here.” He shook his head, smiling down at Crichton as he moved back to stand in front of him. “It is
not surprising that you don’t remember some of that day.”
“That’s not what I mean,” John objected.
“You are worrying about something that is understandable, expecting too much of yourself. This time it is you
who should leave it alone.” D’Argo gave him a small snort of amusement, turned away, tanktas flying with the
force of his spin, and left John alone in the nearly empty cargo compartment.
John watched his friend leave then crawled back into the access tunnel, intending to continue his
self-appointed task of dismantling the rhotarri engines and restoring the systems controlling the hetch drive to
their original condition. He lay in the gloom, staring up at the familiar patterns of components, and for a
moment it was almost as if he were back inside the engine cowling the first day that Aeryn had found him. He’d
been content but empty that day, satisfied with his life but feeling as through he were holding his breath, waiting
for something to happen. The sound of Aeryn’s voice that afternoon, saying ‘I’m looking for someone named
Latgah’ had just about knocked him out with surprise, and was the beginning of a return to his usual, hectic life
in the Uncharted Territories.
So much had happened since that moment, the interval of days feeling far longer than the cycles that had
separated his abrupt departure from Moya and Aeryn’s arrival at the repair facility. Every moment, every
emotion, every look from her since that moment was clear in his memory, as yet unblurred by the passage of
time. Even the fog of exhaustion hadn’t diminished his recollection of the events on the command carrier,
although he would have willingly forgotten much of that experience. The one missing piece of recall --
beginning the moment he’d seen Aeryn get shot -- was an annoying anomaly to the pattern, a hole that begged
to be patched over.
John reached into the tangle of machinery and pulled more of his invention loose, tossing it past his feet to land
in the cargo area with a clatter, continuing to ponder those missing moments. He’d chased down elusive
memories plenty of times before, but the last microts in the command carrier hangar refused to be recaptured.
It felt as futile as trying to dredge up the falsely remembered event triggering a case of déjà vu -- always
chasing something that wasn’t really there. He closed his eyes, replaying the gut-wrenching sight of Aeryn
being flung across the hangar by the force of the pulse blast, remembering the noise, the smell of chakan oil
plasma and smoke, and the feel of the deck plates beneath him. There was a glimpse of a startled face as he
scrambled past Gallenn … and then his memory came up empty once again.
“D’Argo’s right,” he muttered to himself. “Stop trying to drag the memory out, John-Boy. It’s not there to be
found.” Crichton focused on the job waiting above his head, resigning himself to the reality that he would
probably never fill in this particular gap in his memory.
* * * * *
He stands beside the pair, watching as the taller figure in black leather holds the young Peacekeeper up by the
front of his uniform, turning his head to one side so he won’t have to look into the dying eyes. Dispassionate
curiosity is his only emotion as the taller of the two figures stands hunched slightly to one side, the stolen fuel
cell tucked precariously inside his jacket, threatening to slide loose if he moves too far in any direction. The
dying young one reaches up with one fumbling hand and pulls at a sleeve, crying in fear as his training deserts
him, too young and inexperienced in the cruelties of battle to hang on to his indoctrination, even though it has
been instilled since his recruitment as a child.
“I’m sorry,” the tall one whispers, and pulls the knife out, blood washing over fist and hilt, the black jacket pulling
tight around his upper arm as he tenses for the second drive into sebacean flesh.
“Not again,” Crichton groaned, waking chilled and soaked in sweat. His toes clenched involuntarily as his bare
feet touched the cool smoothness of Moya’s deck plates. Waking had truncated the familiar nightmare before
its usual deadly ending, but it had unlocked the recurring feelings of guilt and anger. John pulled off his damp
shirt, mopped his face and chest dry with it, then pitched it into the corner while considering whether he wanted
to try sleeping again.
The images of the dream hovered on the edge of his consciousness, drifting along beside him with ghostly
inaudible whispers, convincing him that if he went back to sleep the nightmare would recur. He grabbed his
pants, intending to get dressed and find something to do for the rest of the sleep cycle. The feel of the heavy
leather in his hands triggered a wave of surreal recall, as though he were holding that young Peacekeeper up
by the jacket here in Moya’s dim-lighted cell. John hurriedly hung them up, ridding himself of the tactile
reminder, and looked around for something else to wear.
So many of his worst memories seemed to involve black leather. It was as though the substance magnetically
summoned the hideous moments and the anguish. Crichton stood staring at the meager collection of
possessions on the shelves and hooks, trying to remember when his life in the Uncharted Territories had first
gone so bad. The very first day had been pretty traumatic, from the moment he’d arrived right through
encountering Crais and his black-uniformed subordinates for the first time, but things hadn’t gotten really
miserable until he had insisted he could emulate a Peacekeeper captain and donned leather for the first time.
He spun away where his pants hung next to the new pulse pistol -- christened ‘Winona II’ earlier that evening --
looking for something else to wear.
His threadbare orange flight suit peeked at him from its place the corner, but after five cycles it was barely
hanging together, and he didn’t want to risk damaging or destroying it. It was a link to his home, a last reminder
of something he had once been. John fingered the bright nylon, considering the eager, naïve astronaut who
had worn that garment for the first time.
“How would you have handled it?” he inquired of the person who no longer existed, trying to imagine how he
would have ever survived if he’d fallen directly into Grayza’s clutches instead of facing Crais when he’d first
arrived. He had grown stronger over the cycles, capable of coping with the humiliation and the sense of
violation, but the rawest emotions, those closest to the surface, were anger and desperation. Fight or flight, a
portion of his mind acknowledged the ancient reactions. His instincts were insisting that he either destroy
something, possibly himself, or get away from this place.
“Agh,” John growled at himself, shaking his head vigorously. “Shake it off. You’re alive and in one piece.” He
spun away from the reminder of his comfortable past on Earth, and scanned his quarters, looking for something
else to wear for the rest of the night. Old possessions and new were intermingled, his life prior to the moment
Moya disappeared into the wormhole and his more recent history beginning to blend into one. D’Argo, Chiana
and the others had kept his cell as he’d left it, clinging tenaciously to the hope that they would eventually find
him. They’d added to the clutter by unpacking his gear bags while he and Aeryn had slept away almost two
entire days, lying side by side in the medical bay, recovering from their wounds and exhaustion.
John smiled thinly, remembering something he’d seen in one of the bags, and dug through the pile of clothing
stacked along the shelves. He yanked out one of the tan coveralls -- his ‘uniform’ from the repair facility -- and
held it up by the shoulders, considering that alternative.
Slim, pale fingers slide the cloth of the overalls off his shoulders, allowing the one-piece garment to fall away all
at once. Grayza kisses the center of his chest, slowly running her tongue across one nipple. Her hand travels
downward to slide under the waistband of his shorts, reaching between his legs as though she owns his body.
John dropped the coveralls and bent over, pressing one hand against his stomach, on the verge of vomiting.
He fought the nausea back, stilled the shuddering of his body by force of will, and slowly straightened up. Four
deep breaths helped quiet his stomach and steady his nerves, and he once again considered his options. Tan
coverall, black leather, or wander Moya’s tiers undressed.
“Think good thoughts. Find a happy thought,” he chanted briefly. John picked up the two pieces of clothing,
weighing the choice mentally as he fingered first the smooth, heavy leather, and then the slightly rough surface
of the canvas-like cloth. “Find a happy thought,” he repeated absently, admitting that there had been good
times associated with both items. He was simply ignoring them, too caught up in his lousy memories to focus on
the pleasant ones. The memory of Gallenn firing a particular series of hand signals across the repair facility
planted itself firmly in his mind, the smiling sebacean somehow managing to tell a joke in the limited mechanical
language they’d developed. John tossed the leather pants into the corner and pulled on the coveralls.
* * * * *
The dreams had left her alone since the night she’d wound up in John’s bed, but her nights were no more
restful for that improvement. Too often she woke in the middle of the sleep cycle and lay for arns, considering
John’s slow recovery or her own lingering sense of guilt. Physically he was nearly back to normal, the work on
the transport providing the exercise that his shoulder required, but her concern over his mental state was
keeping her awake night after night.
Aeryn tucked one arm behind her head and stared up at the ceiling, considering the conversation she’d had
that evening with D’Argo. He’d been recounting in a general way, the discussion he’d had with Crichton earlier,
merely amused by John’s suggestion that he should be able to remember the last moments of the battle aboard
the command carrier. She’d smiled along with him, and agreed that the combination of injury, exhaustion and
the chaos of battle was an adequate excuse for the blank in John’s memory, keeping her own knowledge of the
missing information to herself. It was beginning to look as if John was going to remember what he’d done, and
she wasn’t sure how to handle it if he asked her straight out what had happened.
She closed her eyes, firmly directing her thoughts toward getting some rest, and tried to go back to sleep.
There was no guarantee that John would remember. Trying to decide now how to handle an event that might
never take place was a waste of time and energy.
The first floating sensation of sleep had begun to drift over her when there was a small shuffling noise outside
the doors to her cell. She laid still, eyes closed, listening intently for several microts, sorting out the small
noises filtering through the background rhythms of Moya. There was a small sigh and another quiet rustle as
the person shifted, and she knew it was John, standing irresolutely just outside the heavy bars of the door.
Aeryn sat up and turned toward the door, meaning to invite him inside, but he was already gone, disappearing
more silently than she could have managed.
She tended to forget the honed reflexes and new capacity for fighting that she’d discovered during their trip
back to Moya, the abilities unneeded and therefore hidden since their return. It was a subtle reminder that he
had changed in the past cycle and a half, similar to the John Crichton she’d known, but occasionally
unpredictable because of the adaptations he’d been forced to make in order to survive. Aeryn watched the
empty corridor for several microts, vainly hoping he might return to tell her why he was wandering the tiers at
this arn. He didn’t reappear.
“Pilot?” she commed quietly, getting out of bed.
“Yes, Aeryn?” came the more informal address. Pilot seemed to use it whenever he was performing a personal
favor, as opposed to ship’s business when everyone’s interests were involved.
“Do you know where Crichton is right now?” She found the loose pants that she liked to wear if she was up in
the middle of the sleep cycle, and grabbed a long-sleeved, insulated top to protect her from the slightly cooler
air that circulated throughout Moya during the leviathan’s version of night.
“He was last seen entering the hangar bay where his ship is parked,” Pilot answered. “Would you like me to
comm him?”
“No. Thank you, Pilot. I’d prefer to talk to him myself, face to face.” Aeryn tugged the top into place, took a
single microt to consider whether she ought to leave John alone, and then went after him. If he’d come as far
as her quarters, it meant that there was something troubling him enough that he was tempted to talk about it. It
was unlikely that she’d get back to sleep until she knew what was bothering him, so she might as well go find
out.
* * * * *
After a small amount of searching, she finally found John sitting on the bunk in the living quarters of the
transport ship, leaning against the wall with his head tilted back, staring at the ceiling. He was wearing the
coveralls, she noted with an unpleasant tightening of her stomach. John was wearing the clothes from his
temporary life with Gallenn, sitting in the deserted quarters aboard the ship that he’d modified himself, perhaps
regressing to a life he would prefer to continue.
Aeryn stepped silently through the doorway and waited for some sort of response, looking for a sign as to
whether she was welcome here, feeling like an intruder. John rolled his head to one side to look at her, then
patted the mattress next to him, inviting her over. She slid the short distance across the mattress to sit beside
him, copying his slouch against the wall.
“Problem?” she asked after several microts.
“Trouble sleeping.” He tilted his head to the other side so he could look at her face. “Like some other people
around here lately. What are you doing up?”
“Looking for you.” The silence lengthened as they sat together, neither one eager to continue the
conversation.
John sighed, and sat up straighter. “It was so nice being here for those few days,” he finally started. “No one
else around, no bad guys, no panics or disasters or crises. It was probably the nicest nine days I’ve had since I
wound up on this side of the universe.”
Aeryn squirmed sideways on the bed, sidling up next to him. John looped an arm around her shoulders and
pulled her securely against his side.
“Is that why you’re sitting here in the middle of the night? Replaying every microt of those days?” she asked,
trying for a hint of levity.
“Not exactly.” John rubbed her back for a microt, staring at the ceiling. “I was thinking that if I hadn’t been so
pig-headed and tried to cut our trip short, we would have gotten back to Moya six days sooner, and we would
have avoided the Peacekeepers completely.”
“And you wouldn’t have been interrogated by Grayza,” she added.
“I was thinking more of you,” he contradicted her. “It’s my fault that you had to do the things you did.”
“I was the one who asked to take an extra two days to get back to Moya at the end of the trip,” she pointed out.
“So it must be my fault.” John started to shake his head, the precursor to an argument. “We could sit around
smacking ourselves with a dead drannit if it would help with the guilt.”
John’s laughter rumbled quietly alongside her. “You spent too much time with Gallenn.”
“Maybe,” she agreed. “But it gets to the heart of the issue quite nicely. We can’t change what we did or what
happened. It’s no one’s fault. We did what we did, and it turned out badly.”
“History of our lives.” John scowled for a microt, then gave his head a small, vigorous shake.
“What was that?” she demanded, not recognizing the intent behind the gesture. John squirmed beside her, a
whole body wriggle that meant he didn’t want to explain. “Never mind,” she said, releasing him from any
requirement to answer.
John shrugged and took his arm away from her shoulders, taking one of her hands in both of his instead.
“Aeryn? What happened after you got shot on the command carrier?”
This was exactly what she’d been dreading, lying awake worrying about her answer and its effect on him. “How
do you mean?” she asked, trying to determine how much he’d remembered.
“You said that I covered for you and Gallenn while he got you on board. You also said I went berserk. What
did I do?” He was staring intently at their joined hands, not even glancing at her face, making it impossible to
read his thoughts.
“Provided cover for us, among other things.” She felt mildly chilled despite her thick shirt, uncertainty robbing
her of her usual confidence. “Why are you worrying about this? It’s over.”
“I … had that dream again tonight. I don’t understand why it’s back.”
“You killed several of the soldiers,” she tried, attempting to ease the truth by minimizing what he’d done in his
frenzy of grief.
John let go of her hand and examined his own instead, rubbing at an abraded knuckle with one thumb. “I keep
thinking I’ll remember at some point. It’s like the memory is right here.” He grasped at thin air just behind one
shoulder, indicating a spot very close behind him. “But there’s nothing there … except the dream.”
“Could something else be causing it?” She tried to aim him in another direction, unhappy with the idea of
deliberately deceiving him, but convinced that telling him the truth was the wrong thing to do. “It started up
again when I came back because you weren’t sure about the cost of survival. Maybe it’s because of what
happened in Grayza’s quarters. I’d understand if you were still angry at me.” Having him vent his anger on her
seemed a small price to pay if it led to his peace of mind.
“I’m not angry at you anymore,” he objected. “Not that way, at least. I don’t think that’s it.” He flapped his
hands in frustration and tilted his head back against the wall, returning to the position she’d found him in,
staring at the ceiling. “So all I did was kill some Peacekeepers,” he reiterated.
She weighed the cost of telling him the truth against the cost of lying to him, taking too long to answer. John sat
up and turned to face her, attention focused sharply on her face. “That’s not all, is it?” he demanded
forcefully. “Is it, Aeryn? What the frell did I do? You said I went berserk. How many of them did I kill?”
Here was the John Crichton she knew best -- the man of principles who had a regard for life that often
endangered his own. This was the man who had felt obligated to save millions, and had paid for it by sacrificing
a single life on Dam-Ba-Da -- his own. She made a fast calculation, and gave him the piece that she thought
he might be able to live with.
“All of them.”
John sagged back, staring at her with his mouth hanging open in shock. “How many were left at that point?”
“I’m not sure. They were still trying to get to us, and Gallenn was busy trying to save me. You held them off,
John. We would have all died or been captured if you hadn’t kept fighting.” Aeryn reached for his hand, but he
pulled away this time, looking upset.
“When were you going to tell me, Aeryn?” he said angrily. “Ever?”
“I hadn’t decided. You seemed to be coping with enough at the time.” He brushed away another attempt to
touch him. “Look at yourself; look at what it’s doing to you right now, John. This is why I was waiting.”
He wasn’t listening to her anymore, caught up in his own guilt and remorse. “There had to be at least a dozen
soldiers still alive in there,” he agonized. “God. I hate what I’ve become. How do you stand this?”
She heard the crack of breaking bone, the sound of the tech’s neck breaking that had invaded her dreams for
so many nights, and the impact of the memory broke down the carefully constructed barricade that had been
keeping her feelings from getting loose. Aeryn spun off the bed and stood in front of him, barely in control of
her physical reactions, let alone her emotions.
“You bastard!” she yelled at him. “You selfish bastard! I gave that life up. I never wanted to do that sort of
thing again, but I did it willingly to get you out of there.”
“It’s what you were trained for, Aeryn.” He looked shocked at her reaction, surprised but not upset. “I’d never
deliberately injured anyone in my life until I got to this place, and now I’ve turned into the type of person who
can kill that many people and just block it out of my mind.”
Aeryn turned her back on him, hiding any sign of the emotions that were tumbling out of control. She kicked at
the wall, guilt transforming into anger, and turned back to face him. “You killed them in the heat of battle, with
your opponent trying to kill you. I had to sneak up on them one by one, kill them with my bare hands, and then
hide the bodies. This wasn’t combat or even a fair fight against an equally armed opponent.”
She held her hands out toward him, fingers spread wide. “You asked me at one point how to get the
bloodstains off your hands. You tell me, because this time I did the killing so you would survive. I stand it
because I don’t have a choice. I did it to save your life, John, and I don’t regret that decision.” John slid to the
edge of the bed, a new form of remorse appearing, guilt that he’d triggered this reaction.
“I hear them in the night, John. I hear them die, and they won’t leave me alone until I remind myself why I did
it.” She took two steps away from him, the explosion fading as fast as it had started. “I don’t regret paying the
price … but you do.” There were tears where she didn’t want them, stinging and flowing despite her efforts to
stop them, all the worry and pent up concern of the past days flooding out uncontrollably.
John was off the bunk in an instant, reaching for her, but she slapped his hands away, angry that his words had
goaded her into the accusation that he regretted saving her life; angry at herself for lashing out, but equally
mad at him for triggering it.
He tried again, catching the blows on his arms and shoulders, driving through the flurry of ineffective strikes to
grab her, stopping the defensive attack by hugging her. “I’m sorry,” he said into the side of her head, holding
her tight. “I don’t regret it, Aeryn. You know I would never regret anything that kept you safe. I didn’t know. I’m
sorry.”
She leaned into him, letting the weakness run out with her tears, trying to find strength and control as the hurt
flowed away. It was as though she’d begun holding her breath the moment they’d been pulled onto the
command carrier, and she’d only just begun breathing again, rediscovering the miracle of oxygen. His arms
were around her, comforting her for a change, instead of seeking out his own security. Part of her would have
preferred to remain strong for him, but the portion of her psyche that enjoyed the tight embrace was insisting
that this moment was long overdue.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” she mumbled into his shoulder.
“You should have said it days ago,” John countered immediately. “Gallenn warned me that I was too caught up
in my own stupid problems. You should have told me sooner.”
He freed one arm from the hug and picked her up, relocating them together to the bunk, sitting on the edge
with her in his lap. They stayed that way for several hundred microts, simply using the contact to heal the
bruised feelings.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked at last.
He squeezed her tighter for a brief moment, answering with the suggestion of a laugh. “You didn’t kick me in
the mivonks this time. I’ll take that as an improvement over our last battle.”
She sat up straighter, still resting her head on his shoulder, but looking at his face to find the haunted look
gone for the time being. Somewhere in her furious accusation he’d found what he needed to accept what he’d
done, the detail of how he’d killed them still hidden, perhaps forever. It hadn’t been her intent to divert his
attention away from that last fact, but the outcome was worth the brief argument.
“Had enough for one night?” She twisted to glance at the timepiece in the corner, surprised to find that little
more than an arn had passed. Most of the sleep cycle still remained, more than enough to get some rest.
“I think I’m going to stay here tonight,” John admitted. “One last night pretending none of that happened.” He
smoothed her hair back from her face and wiped her tears away with one thumb.
“John --”
“I can’t go back,” he cut her off. “I can’t and I don’t really want to, but it would have been nice to just stay here
for the rest of our lives. A little boring maybe, but nice.”
Aeryn thought about the way he was dressed and what had brought him here in the middle of the night,
comparing the way she felt now and the way she’d felt that last, wonderful morning they’d shared here. It
seemed like a dream now, an imaginary moment that could never be recreated, and understood his desire to
stay in the room for a few more arns. She slid out of his grasp, pulling away incrementally so he would know
that she was simply getting up, not withdrawing from him, and pulled off her top.
“Aeryn, I … ” he started to object.
“I don’t want to do anything,” she assured him. “I only want to lie under the covers the way we did that last
morning here. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” She finished undressing and slid into bed, reaching over
her head to dim the lights to the same twilight setting they’d been set at that last idyllic morning. John
continued to sit on the edge of the bed, watching uncertainly as she made herself comfortable. She waited for
over a hundred microts, then closed her eyes and resigned herself to getting some more sleep. The night he’d
invited her into his bed they’d both been clothed and their companionship had not progressed beyond hugging
and sleeping. When she’d pulled off her clothes this time, she’d hoped he was ready for the next step. It
seemed that she was expecting too much from him too soon.
The thump of a boot dropping to the floor pulled her back from the floating edge of sleep, echoed an instant
later by its mate. She rolled over to check on him. John was standing with his hand frozen at the top of the
coverall zipper as though the fastener was stuck. His eyes flickered toward her then back down at his
motionless hand, indecision apparent. Aeryn sat up, the covers falling away from her body, and reached for
the zipper. Rather than taking over the task herself, she placed her hand over his, leaving the final decision up
to him, and pressed down. There was a microt of resistance, then their joined hands lowered the slide until he
came to a stop at his waist.
Aeryn stood up, gradually easing the coveralls off his shoulders and letting them slide down his torso, pausing
when they reached his hips. He shivered, looking ill, and she tried to think of something that might distract him
from whatever memory had triggered the reaction.
“May I have a hug?” she whispered into the stillness of the small space. John gazed at her for several microts,
his eyes wandering from her face down to her breasts, then back up again. He ran his fingertips along her
shoulders, let them trickle down her upper arms, then stepped forward to embrace her. She rested her chin on
his shoulder, using the pressure of his arms as a gauge to guide how firmly to hold him. He ran his hand up
her back and she copied the movement.
“How you doing?” she asked, kissing him on the side of the neck.
“Not bad,” he admitted.
“Ready for a little more?” She didn’t have to reach for the coveralls hanging off his hips. His hands
disappeared from her back and the garment slithered down around his feet. He needed to be in control, she
realized. Grayza had taken complete control of him. From psyche to physical reactions to the ability to resist
mentally, the Peacekeeper commandant had ripped every bit of self-control away from John, turning him into an
unwilling but compliant slave. The one thing he needed most was the sense that he had a choice before taking
each step.
Aeryn turned her head toward his, inviting him to kiss her. They’d kissed dozens of times over the past days,
but never with her standing naked before him. He pulled away and she changed her target, caressing him
gently on the cheek, lips barely brushing across the rough stubble of the day’s growth of beard. He eased
back toward her, and she invited the touch again, waiting through his hesitation. John turned his head and
brushed his lips across hers, returned for a little more, and finally kissed her. He took a half step forward, his
bare chest touching her breasts and the kiss deepened, the increments combining until he hugged her to him,
warm bare skin against warm bare skin, tongues flickering and finding each other in increasing enjoyment.
“Not bad,” he pronounced, pulling away. “Just like that morning?” he confirmed.
“Only if you’re comfortable with it.” She gave him the opportunity to keep his shorts on, leaving it up to him.
John bit his lower lip for a microt, then slid them off. For the first time in all the cycles she’d know him, he
looked self-conscious about being naked.
“I do love you,” she told him, seeing once again that he had truly put every bit of his being into her safe
keeping. He had trusted her with his life, his heart, and now his very soul. “Come on. We can just get some
sleep together. Get in bed the way we were that morning.” She moved aside, giving him room to crawl into the
bunk ahead of her.
Aeryn followed him under the covers, reaching up to dim the lights further, turning them down until she had
trouble making out small details. She lay down with her head on his shoulder, one arm across his chest, and
decided that the best thing to do would be absolutely nothing.
“Now what?” he asked from out of the gloom.
“Go to sleep,” she recommended. His hand wandered up and down the back of her shoulder, fingertips drifting
across her skin in a ghostly pattern, but he didn’t seem to want to do much else than be together. Aeryn kissed
his chest where her head rested against him, and closed her eyes, following her own advice.
She was all but asleep when his other arm wrapped around her hips and pulled hard, lifting her up on top of his
body. “What’s this?” she asked, nuzzling the side of his neck.
“I think this is how we were lying that morning when you turned down the lights. I was trying for historical
accuracy.” He was rubbing her back again, with longer, firmer strokes than before.
“Now what?” she inquired, mimicking his tones.
“Want to go to sleep?” John kissed her forehead, all he could reach from their current position, and she raised
her head to meet him, shifting up his body so he could relax back into the pillows.
“Going to sleep wouldn’t be historically accurate,” she whispered. The next kiss lacked vigor. “We don’t have
to, John,” she assured him. “You tell me what you want.”
“I don’t like this,” he said suddenly, struggling to sit up. She’d seen it herself, Aeryn realized, and pushed away
quickly, freeing him from her weight. She’d seen Grayza pin him down, forcing him back into the sheets to be
used in whatever manner the twisted officer desired, the drug compelling him not only to submit, but to
participate willingly.
John sat up, the sheen of sweat across his chest visible despite the dimmed lights, the fast shiver felt rather
than seen. “I’ll go,” Aeryn decided. He could sleep here alone tonight, clinging for the last time to the more
pleasant memories.
“No, don’t,” he objected. “I don’t want you to leave. That was just too much like … ”
“I’m sorry,” she said into the ensuing silence, apologizing for being in Grayza’s quarters and knowing about the
moment he hadn’t bothered to describe.
John jammed the pillows against the wall and leaned back against them, rearranging things several times
before reaching for her. “Same idea as before,” he instructed, pulling her into his lap. Aeryn straddled his
legs, easing closer as he remained relaxed, and leaned against his chest. He tilted her chin up with one hand,
and kissed her once again. She dove deep this time, tongues sparring for an instant before bursting past his
to stroke the myriad textures, breathing deeper as he relaxed and welcomed her, finding the smooth surfaces
and testing them until he let out a small moan and pulled her against him tighter. She broke away then, taking
a deep breath before letting him attack, allowing him to make the advance this time; tasting and smelling John
Crichton, aware of a mild thrusting against her body where she sat on his lap.
“Nice,” he breathed, pulling away. John ran his thumbs carefully across her cheekbones, watching her eyes
from a distance of barely six denches, and then kissed her more gently, warm and soft, his mouth loving hers in
a slow waltz of lips.
“Very nice,” she agreed. “What next?”
John’s hands stroked her arms several times as he looked her over from top to bottom. “So much Aeryn to
choose from, so little time,” he mused quietly. “I think … God, I love these,” he declared, and leaned forward to
kiss her breast, his fingers stroking the underside, his tongue barely brushing against the nipple as he took it
between his lips and pulled at it gently.
Aeryn watched for the first few microts as he nudged and caressed the soft mass with both fingers and tongue.
She cradled his slowly nodding head with one hand, fingering his hair, using her other hand to begin
massaging a small circle beneath his ear. He tilted his head to the side, allowing her to press harder, no trace
of tension in his body as he took more of the nipple into his mouth and ran his tongue against it more firmly.
She sighed, feeling the first pulling of muscles between her legs, arousal beginning, and took his head in both
hands, guiding him to the other breast.
Desire uncoiled deep within as he began working at the second nipple, nerves lighting up all the way from her
chest to the top of her skull to the tips of her toes. John sighed and raised his head, smiling in the half-light,
kissed her once, and descended back down her chest, hands beginning to massage her buttocks. He shifted
beneath her, adjusting her position on his legs, then nuzzled her between her breasts. “You are beautiful,” he
murmured into her chest.
Aeryn rubbed the back of his neck with both hands, her arms resting on his shoulders, fingers working hard
against the thick muscles at the top of his shoulders, and he came up for another kiss. “I love you,” she told
him, running her hands through his hair.
“Hadn’t noticed,” he smiled. She started to say something about that retort, but one of his hands suddenly
snaked between their bodies, rubbed her belly once, and then quested lower, diving between her legs.
“That’s not …” she began, meaning to stop him, but the protest died out on a sigh as his fingers moved
between her legs. “Don’t,” she tried one more time, expending a single microt thinking about his needs, and
control, and whether this was too soon before all her thoughts dissolved under the wave of sensation.
His legs slid apart, forcing hers wider, and then one careful digit probed inside, separating the folds gradually,
opening her up so the other fingers could join in. “Oh … frell,” she gasped as he opened her further, fingering
her own moisture outward, lubricating the inner and outer lips both, and continuing the slow arousal that the
touch of his lips on her breasts had begun. John wrapped his other arm around her, cradling her shoulders as
he touched the rapidly swelling knob of tissue for the first time, merely brushing his thumb over the slick
rounded surface. A finger circled her increasingly wet opening, carried the moisture forward to lubricate the
smooth collection of nerves, then delved inside, wandering deeper as his thumb continued its orbit.
She grabbed at his shoulders to steady herself, fingers digging in to hold herself in place, and John rumbled a
quiet laugh before ducking his head to stroke one nipple with his tongue, adding to the quickly expanding
excitation of her nervous system.
“Ohhh, no,” she sighed as the flood of warmth and pleasure expanded, taking up her entire chest and
abdomen. He tilted her upper body to one side, spreading her thighs wider, and another finger joined the
coaxing between her legs. John switched to the other breast, pulling it back to rigid arousal, sucking in time
with the slow massage going on far below, and she drew in a shuddering breath, using one hand to hold on to
the back of his head, encouraging him to continue. He probed deeper, stroking her internal muscles, and she
drew in a breath with a small cry.
“That okay?” he whispered into her chest as she rounded her back and pressed against the questing hand. He
was rubbing more insistently now, drawing out the first trembling spasms of delight, urging the internal muscles
to pull her further open, to make way for the massaging digits. She rocked against the insistent motions,
thrusting against him, wanting even more.
“Must be doing something right,” he whispered and raised his head to kiss her.
The nearly silent hiss of air circulation and her own small guttural noises faded away, drowned out by the sound
of her own pulse in her ears, and John’s breath moving warm against her cheek as his tongue moved inside her
mouth in cadence with the motion of his fingers. He spread his own legs wide, carrying hers with them, and
stroked the smooth muscle walls deep inside, his arm crushing her upper body tight against his chest. There
was a noise like a whimper somewhere near his cheek that might have come from her, then he rubbed his
thumb in a slow circle around the engorged nub, and pressed harder.
“Now?” he whispered into her lips.
“Yes,” she demanded on a gasp, thighs trembling, hips thrusting, hands clutching at his shoulders and back.
John buried his face in her chest, and cupped her entire crotch, fingers working inside and out, ensuring that
no portion of the swollen opening went unattended, his entire thumb stroking the bundle of nerves more
quickly. He rubbed across it several times, then pressed harder, rubbing fast and vigorous the way she’d
taught him she liked, and the result was instantaneous, the orgasm nearly painful in its intensity. Aeryn cried
out as she came, every internal muscle seeming to implode at once, drawing her consciousness down to where
John’s hand continued to work.
There might have been a pleased laugh from him as she bucked against his hand, sighed, let out a series of
small cries, and embraced the wave of energy that burst out from between her legs to infuse her entire body. A
chill exploded deep inside, fizzing outward to divorce her from everything else, leaving nothing but his fingers
moving inside her and the faster motion against the one spot of her body that controlled her every breath.
John’s lips were on her breast, his hand holding her safely in his lap, the warmth and solid heft of his body
close against her as she surged in time with the rhythms he was creating, the frenzy abating slowly.
“Frrrell,” she sighed at last. The small twitches and quivers faded slowly, finally expending themselves as he
rubbed her more firmly, drawing out the final response from her body. “That part works,” Aeryn whispered into
his ear, leaning into his upper body with more force. “Did you enjoy yourself?” she asked him after several
microts.
“I love doing that to you,” John smiled happily, brushing her hair away from the side of her face. “It’s like you go
somewhere else completely.”
Aeryn rested both hands on his shoulders and looked down at him from her vantage point, sitting slightly higher
than him by being in his lap. He looked so pleased with himself, relaxed and assured. But she’d already seen
how little it took to destroy that confident demeanor -- a touch, a gesture, a fleeting caress, and it would be
gone. Grayza had been too thorough, ensuring that there was no part of his body or action on her part that
would fail to summon a bad memory. She considered that challenge, searching for some way to bestow the
same ecstasy on him that he had just given her.
“You’re thinking about something,” he surmised, bending his head to kiss her between her breasts.
Aeryn slid away from him, dropping her butt onto the mattress between his knees in order to look at him. He
was partially erect, obviously aroused but not to his full extent. She ran two fingers up his length, caressing the
semi-hardened flesh, then carefully ran a single fingertip around the head. He caught her hand, stopping her
from doing anything more, a crease appearing between his eyebrows. “What next?” she asked, recognizing
that her touch had set off an unpleasant memory.
“Get some sleep maybe.” John pulled her securely back into his lap. She squirmed in place, rubbing herself
on the semi-hardened shaft now trapped between their bodies. “I don’t feel much like doing anything else.”
“Lean back,” she urged, remembering at the last microt to make it a choice, not an order. It was far too soon to
expect a complete recovery, but they’d accomplished so much in this one night, due in part to their
surroundings, that she was unwilling to give up without at least trying. She pressed him into the pillows where
he could relax, partially inclined, and then began a slow exploration of his body with lips and tongue, pausing
frequently to check on his reaction.
She began at his temples, testing the smooth skin with her lips, drifted to the corner of one eyebrow then the
other to plant warm kisses there, cupping his chin in both of her hands. She worked her way down his cheeks,
alternating sides until she arrived at his lips. They lingered there, tongues meeting, touching, the warmth of his
breath on her cheek a familiar gusting whisper. She tasted his lips several more times, fingers rubbing him
beneath the ears, then stroked him beneath the jaw until he raised his head, and continued the journey
downward. Beard stubble prickled against her lips and fingertips as she moved down his throat, fell behind as
she ran out along one collarbone then the other.
He took a deeper breath to say something, the intent seen out of the corner of her eye, and she admonished
him, “Hush. No talking.” She returned to his lips to kiss him again, maintaining the contact as she eased off
him, kneeling alongside his body instead of straddling him. “You keep your eyes on me,” she instructed.
“Nothing but me.”
The blue eyes watched as she ducked down and touched one of his nipples, working at it with lips and tongue
until the tissue tightened, then sucking at it more wetly. She switched sides, leaning across his chest, one hand
rubbing his stomach as she attended to the other nipple, bringing it to the same tautened pucker as the first.
John’s hands followed her progress -- caressing her hair, her back, or simply riding along as she moved down
the center of his body to the hard planes of his stomach, tracing the ridges between the muscles with the tip of
her tongue, her fingertips bumping along each hard ridge of his ribs until he sucked in a deeper breath. A
glance upward confirmed what his fast inhalation had already told her. His eyes were half closed as he gave
himself over to the increasing arousal, but they were still fastened intently on her, keeping Aeryn Sun in sight
every microt.
She touched his genitals for the first time, merely running her fingers into his crotch to nudge at his balls, and
there was a longer, deeper intake of breath. At first she thought it was revulsion, but his cock stiffened and
expanded, the slow, gentle inducement having the desired effect. His hand rubbed harder between her
shoulder blades, telling her to continue, and she returned to the soft mass of his balls, fondling them, sliding
her fingers across the loose skin until one of his legs slid out to the side, giving her more access. She felt
beneath the tightening sac to rub lightly at the supremely soft skin there, and his free hand tightened into a fist,
grabbing at the rumpled covers.
“Shall I stop?” she teased him, taking a microt to tickle his thighs with her fingertips. He groaned long and
deep, a sound of inexorable excitement and desire. He was still watching though, his jaw hanging open as his
breathing became faster and deeper.
Aeryn turned back to his engorged shaft, stroking the hardened cock back against his belly, then leaned over
him and ran her tongue across the very tip, stopping to burrow into the depression before beginning a slow
orbit around the outside edge, teasing at him with her entire tongue. His stomach muscles flexed into sharp
relief, the tendons in his thighs standing out as arousal took over from reason and began to control his
reactions. She fingered his erection upright, stroked him firmly several times, and then took him into her mouth,
working at the hardened flesh with her cheeks and tongue until she felt his body shudder beneath her for the
first time, signaling the beginning of his struggle for restraint.
She sucked at the tip, firmly massaging his balls in time with her efforts over his cock, waiting and watching out
of the corner of her eye until she saw his head fall back and his eyes close, entirely caught up in the signals
emanating from between his legs. Aeryn released him then, maintaining a firm stroking of his length, but
without the more sensuous efforts.
“Love me,” she whispered, running her thumb over the tip of his cock.
“Beyond hope,” he groaned, beginning to strain his hips upward into her grasp.
“No. Love me,” she repeated, changing her intonation to an order. Aeryn laid down alongside him, gave the
engorged shaft one more pull to ensure that he was still excited and erect, and kissed the parted lips, delving
deep with her tongue. “Love my body,” she urged one more time, whispering into his lips.
John took her into his arms and rolled them over, the warm, hardened flesh rubbing against her belly where it
was pinned between their bodies, and kissed her with increasing fervor, his breath whistling through his nose
as his hands traveled from her hips to shoulders and down again.
“Now,” she invited him, wrapping her legs around his hips. He lifted his upper body away from her, looking
down with something far stronger than love in his eyes -- something that embodied trust, faith, and an almost
spiritual reverence for the sight in front of him. Then his hands were nudging her thighs further apart,
massaging the tendons and muscles to relax her, gently fingering the slick tissues open, in every way the
gentle caring lover she’d come to cherish.
He positioned the tip of his erection against her, probing incrementally, seeking out her own dripping moisture,
and her hips lunged toward him, an involuntary motion seeking penetration. John smiled with something
resembling glee, and gently rubbed the slick head of his stiffened penis across her swollen mound of nerves,
the two bundles of excited tissue sliding across each other without friction until she grabbed at his hand, forcing
him to redirect his attentions elsewhere, on the verge of another orgasm. He smiled more widely this time,
strong hands supporting her hips as she quaked and shook, waiting for him to join her on the brink of climax.
The massage of her hips and belly resumed -- firm, deep strokes urging her muscles to relax and stretch.
Aeryn sighed with pleasure, feeling the loosening deep within, her entire body preparing itself for his arrival.
And then he slowly entered her, nudging gradually at first, then driving harder and deeper, burying the resilient
thickness in her depths, accompanied by their twin sighs of delight. He leaned down to kiss her, his hips
shoving hard against her pelvis, the warmth of him inside her thrusting hard against the limits of her internal
spaces.
Aeryn let out a sigh of combined pleasure and joy -- pleasure at her own sensations of fullness, love and
warmth, and exploding joy that John was able to find his way to this particular moment. The happiness that he
was here with her, doing this so soon, ignited a thrill within, a catalyst adding to the existing physical excitement
and she nearly came, fighting to keep her body from taking over too soon.
She kept her eyes closed as he began to move within her, letting her awareness travel outward to encompass
the entire range of tactile inputs, resisting the urge to come too soon. Stretch of tendons and muscles internal
and external; small sharp ache deep within as he thrust harder, serving to accentuate the vibrating riff as the
head of his cock slid across the thick muscles inside; the rasping draw of John’s breath; the radiating warmth of
his body as he hovered over her; his hands roaming across breasts, belly and thighs, moving over every dench
of her with deliberate care. The rise to final excitement surged again, blossoming and spreading outward,
urging her nervous system to begin its crazed exuberance. Her breaths were becoming more desperate now,
gasps and moans escaping with increasing frequency as the glow ignited somewhere inside near the base of
her spine.
But John’s small voiced exhalations, the warning of his impending climax, had faded instead of growing
stronger. She opened her eyes, dragging herself back from the edge to wait for him. Head thrown back, lips
parted, eyes closed, he was immersed in his own efforts. But there was a small furrow between his eyebrows
that didn’t belong there, a hint that something was lurking just outside this moment of delight, threatening to
destroy it.
“Love me,” she whispered. She fingered the thick, dark mat of hair above where they were joined, running her
fingers up his belly to stroke the flexing stomach muscles, moved on to rub his chest. “Love me, John.” He
opened his eyes, returning from wherever he’d strayed, buried himself to his limits, and looked down at her,
supporting his weight on his arms, all motion suspended. “Just me,” she urged, pushing the sweat-soaked hair
off his forehead.
The furrow disappeared, light returning to the blue eyes, and he lowered himself onto her, burying his face in
the side of her neck, enveloping her in his arms. “I love you,” he murmured into her skin, and then did the one
thing she never would have expected. He held her tight and rolled them over, putting her on top …
surrendering all control to her.
Aeryn rearranged herself carefully, getting comfortable with her weight on his hips, and then leaned down to
kiss him, knowing how much strength it had taken for him to do that, understanding that he was giving himself
over to her care one more time. Her breath caught for a microt as he cupped her breasts and ran his thumbs
over the erect nipples, the small, sharp intake fusing their lips together and deepening the kiss. “Again,” she
whispered into his lips, and he rubbed the taut nipples harder, rolling them between his thumb and finger.
Her internal muscles spasmed in response to the nervous jolt traveling outward from her chest, and John
snorted and gasped in turn as his buried cock was treated to a fast, desperate massage. “Now,” he asked, his
hips surging beneath her, seeking out her depths. “Please.”
It was even sweeter and more exquisite as it began again, a mutual tango of moving bodies and drifting hands.
She closed her eyes, moving against him with her hips, the burrowing thrust within accentuated by the feel of
his hands stroking her thighs, her ribs, her breasts. His stomach muscles flexed strong and taut beneath her
touch as he matched the cadence of her movements. She freed one hand, exploring up his chest to find his
head driving back into the pillows, the underside of his throat exposed as he too closed his eyes and gave
himself over to the moment.
He was within her and without her, every bit of her body possessed by him, his small exclamations filling her
ear, the thickened cock expanding even further until her entire internal space pulsed with the warmth and
slickness of him. The ache for release was back. She panted and tried to wait, but it threatened to overwhelm
her. The first frissons of climax shuddered through her, setting every nerve from heels to skull quivering in
preparation for orgasm. Aeryn stroked him from belly to throat trying to bring him closer to his own orgasm,
watching this time as John arched up into her body and her touch, warm skin glistening with sweat, his breath
increasingly ragged as they moved faster.
“Aerrryyyynnn,” he whispered in a long jerking exhalation. And this time it was a quiet cry of healing, longing,
love and passion. She leaned forward to rub his chest, running her thumbs across his nipples, rolling across
them hard, and he let out a small cry and thrust into her descent harder.
John was looking up at her but had the far away, distracted look that preceded his climax. His hands wandered
up her thighs, thumbs moving to the joint of hip and leg to press deeply into the hollows that he knew excited
her, magnifying the internal sensations. She gasped and threw her head back, the explosion igniting for the
final time, unrestricted as it billowed outwards, inflaming every nerve ending. Aeryn cried out as she came, the
desperate, delighted sound echoing slightly off the walls of the small room.
She thought she’d left him behind, but his voice was joining hers, blending and winding around it in a deeper
harmony, the warm pulsing within spurred on by the grabbing and clenching of her own muscles. Aeryn threw
herself into the moment, abandoning the last remnants of her self-control and giving herself over to her own
orgasm. The rippling nervous explosion divorced her from everything except her body’s reaction, aware of little
more than the clenching of muscles around his pulsing erection, the spasming delight radiating out from her
pelvis, and John’s own cry of excitement. She began to spin down, breaths coming more regularly, awareness
returning.
The hard pressure was undiminished within her, John’s orgasm not quite fulfilled, leaving him teetering in the
throes of impending climax. Aeryn clenched her muscles hard and drove against him, fingers returned to his
chest to massage the small nubs of tightened nipples, pinching them lightly as she ran herself onto him, feeling
the resurgence of her own pleasure expanding outward in response to the motions. John sucked in a huge
breath, every muscle in his body springing out into tautened relief, and froze there, motion destroyed by
release. He was calling her name then, syllables garbled in his ecstasy, fingers digging into to her waist to hold
her tight and there was a second, less frantic marriage of their orgasm, depleting them both this time.
John let his breath out and sagged back into the tangle of covers, opening his eyes long enough to find her
hand, tugging for her to lie down on top of him. She lowered herself into place, working her pelvis against his
one last time, generating the last, sweet residual pang and relaxed against his chest, her chin on his shoulder,
waiting while he caught his breath.
“Oh my god,” he groaned after several microts.
“If you didn’t like it, you should have said something.”
He made a tiny snorting sound, amusement finding its way out on a breath of air. Aeryn ran a finger along the
edge of his jaw, watching with pleasure as he made his way back to the here and now.
“Wow,” he proclaimed at last.
“And you wanted to go to sleep,” she teased him. John yawned, stretching beneath her then relaxing more
completely than she’d felt him since they’d returned to Moya. He turned his head to peer at her, a small smile
appearing, albeit a sleepy one.
“What?” she asked, unable to read his expression. “What are you thinking?” He shook his head, letting it
settle back into the pillows, and she turned her head to the other side, mildly disappointed that he wasn’t going
to explain.
“When I was working with Gallenn, I had considered moving to a different spot on that planet, one where I could
see a particular star,” he began.
“The one you named ‘Aeryn’?” She placed an elbow carefully against his shoulder and propped her head on
her hand so she could watch him.
He glanced at her, comprehension replacing surprise after the first shock of her response. “He would have told
you about that,” he said slowly.
“You told me about that. You. John Crichton.” There were some things they still needed to work out, but they
seemed minor after the hurdles they’d already cleared.
John nodded once, accepting her proclamation this time. “Even after you showed up, I’d decided it would be
better to stay where I was -- where I would never have to look at that star again. I’d convinced myself that I was
better off without it.”
Aeryn watched him, puzzled by his decision to bring the topic up at this particular time and place, mildly hurt by
the confession. But he was starting to grin again, watching her as she watched him. “And,” she prompted,
realizing there was more to the explanation.
“And I was wrong. There isn’t anyway I’d chose to go through life without my one constant ever again.” He
pulled her down against him, rocking slowly from side to side as he hugged her. “That was survival, not life,
because I can’t live without you, Aeryn.”
She closed her eyes, feeling John above and below her, strong arms holding her tight against his chest, and
admitted for the first time that she’d only been surviving for the last two cycles as well. “I love you,” she told
him, knowing that he was her life.
“I love you, too,” he murmured.
Together they pulled the covers over their joined bodies, working as one until they were both warm and
comfortable, and stayed in the small metal-walled refuge for the rest of the night.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
