(First posted August 7, 2004)
Rating:  G
Category:  As soon as the mini-series airs, I assume it will become AU.  
Disclaimer:  The characters and vision of Farscape belong to the Henson company and all those wonderfully
talented members of the cast and crew.  If I made any money off this, I’d write them a check as a thank you for
all their exceptional efforts.  
Spoilers/Time Frame:  Sometime after the end of Season 4.  If you read something that you think is a spoiler
for the mini-series, you’re mistaken.  This is pure conjecture based on where we were left after Bad Timing.
Beta-reader:  PKLibrarian gave it the all important once over to make sure it had accomplished what I had
intended.  She doesn’t know it yet, but she helped me get over a pretty severe case of posting-anxiety.    

Gestation:  One evening I was talking with ScaperRed about a couple of different stories that involved either
John or Aeryn getting … well … if I tell you what we were talking about, it kind of ruins the story.  But I think
you’ll figure it out pretty soon.  Anyway, the Youses Muses Gang showed up, ate all the food in my refrigerator,
took over all the comfy furniture in my livingroom, and told me this tale.  They didn’t provide a lot of direction, or
even purpose behind the story (in writerese, I believe that would be called plot and/or theme), but I had fun
writing it down for them anyway.  

This one is for
scrubschick -- for the miles and miles and miles and miles of fics that she has more than
willingly betaread for me over the past two years, and all the exceptional advice she provided.  Since the story
is for her, it probably should have had smut, but the Youses Muses Gang wasn’t willing to go that route this
time.  Hopefully it will provide a laugh instead.  


*  *  *  *  *

“Damn it, Aeryn!  I thought we had a plan! … Will you stand still?”  Standing behind Aeryn, Crichton tossed her
holstered pulse pistol to one side and reached around her a second time; this time in order to unfasten her

“We did have a plan.  It was my plan; it was a simple plan; and it worked perfectly, just as all my plans do.  
Throw the explosives at the bad guys, count to three, run like scared drannits while the natives are worrying
about the bomb, and dive for cover.  We got away.  It was a great plan.”  She twisted to one side, trying to look
behind her.  

John grabbed her shoulders and pushed, forcing her to face away from him.  “Except you missed the dive for
cover part.”

“I did not.  I know I dove for cover because you screamed when my knee landed on your--”

“Stomach,” John said.

“--mivonks,” Aeryn finished.

“Stomach. That sound was every last molecule of air leaving my lungs all at once.”  He ducked to one side in
order to see what he was doing, still struggling with the fastener at the top of her pants.  “Did you rivet these

“It was your mivonks that I landed on, and you scream like Jool.  High pitched girlie scream like this …”  She
took a breath to demonstrate.  Under the combination of the added strain and John’s efforts, the fastener on
her pants popped open with a loud crack.

“You don’t need to repeat it.  I know how it sounded.  Let’s talk about the diving for cover part of this so called
plan.”  John sucked his thumb for a moment, peered at where the metal had slapped against his knuckle, and
then reached around Aeryn to undo her zipper.  When she tried to help, he grabbed both wrists and placed her
hands firmly on the top of a cargo container.  “Stand still.  You could barely stay on your feet by the time we got
you in here, so you just hang on to something stable and let me see how bad this is.”  

“I think I’m capable of unfastening my own pants!”

“We tried that … plan,” he said, placing his lips a half dench from her ear for emphasis.  “You almost fell down.  
You work on staying upright; I’ll work on this frelling zipper.  You’re not going to be able to lie down any better
than you dove for cover.”  

She resumed the argument.  “Stop saying that!  I was on top of you, so if you were behind cover, then so was
I.”  One hand made a fast, frustrated gesture.  

“You were not.  Your ass was sticking up like Kilimanjaro rising above the Serengeti.  It was a perfect target.”

“I was as far down as I can get with … this … this bulge in the way.”  She gestured at her protruding belly.  
“There isn’t any way for me to get any further down unless we dig a pit for this … monstrosity!”  There was
another frustrated gesture at her midsection.

“Be careful how you talk about that bulge, woman.  That’s our munchkin inside there that you’re insulting.  Next
time just get your ass down.”  John had managed to unfasten her pants and was carefully peeling them down
her hips.    

“I tried!” she said, putting all the emphasis on the second word.  “Sebaceans don’t get this large when they’re
pregnant.  This must be something to do with it being your child.”  

John stopped what he was doing and moved closer.  He wrapped both arms around her and ran a hand over
her stomach.  The tactile inspection stopped at a point to one side of her naval.  Two fingers gently stroked the
skin there, rubbing against an underlying bulge.  “No, it’s because she’s got a pulse rifle in there.  Feel that?  
That is definitely the muzzle of a weapon.  That’s pure Peacekeeper in there.”  

“That your son’s elbow.  He puts it there whenever he’s not jabbing me in the spine with it.”  She snatched his
hand away.  “Will you please concentrate on where I’ve been shot!  I’m bleeding.”

John kissed her lightly on the side of the neck, and then knelt behind her and resumed his effort to remove her
pants without aggravating her wound.  “My son,” he said in a hushed whisper.  

“Your spawn,” was muttered under her breath.  

The leather pants finally fell free, and he contemplated her underpants.  “These are soaked with blood and
they’re stuck to you.”

Without a word, Aeryn fumbled a knife out of a pile of supplies near her elbow and handed it to him.  Two
microts later he tossed the ruined remains of her black under-shorts into a corner.

“How does it look?”  This time she tried peering over her shoulder instead of twisting.  It was no more successful
than her first effort.  

When he answered, his voice was a reverent hush.  “Gorgeous.”  

“The wound, John.  There will be time to look at my ass later.”

“There’s never enough time to …”  He glanced up in time to see the glare aimed in his direction, and quickly
changed the topic.  Leaning in closer for a better look, he provided a commentary as he inspected the wound.  
“It’s deep, ugly, right down to the muscle but not into it, and you’re going to have one hell of a scar.  You’re
lucky it was just a slug of some sort and not a pulse weapon.  Anything with more wallop, and you’d be sitting
like the Tower of Pisa for the rest of your life.”  He placed a finger beneath the worst area, bringing little
pressure to bear, and peered at the damage.  “It tore through nothing but padding.  Missed everything


He accepted the clean rag Aeryn was holding out to him, and began wiping away the trickles of blood.  “But
what fantastic padding.”  

“Do you think you could possibly keep your mind on the job for just a few microts?”

“I am.  That’s what’s causing the problem.”

“Can we come in yet?” D’Argo yelled from the cockpit of the transport pod.

“NO!” John and Aeryn yelled in unison.

“What about me?  I already know what that portion of Aeryn’s body looks like,” Chiana called.

“NO!” the synchronized voices yelled again, even louder than before.  

“I won’t even bother asking if I can come in,” Rygel said next, sounding dispirited.  


“Who’s flying this crate?” John called.  

“No one,” D’Argo answered.  “We voted, and it was unanimous that we should wait to make sure Aeryn doesn’t
need medical help before continuing back to Moya.”

“I didn’t vote …”  Rygel’s complaint ended in a muffled gargle, as though someone had slapped their hand -- or
perhaps their entire arm -- over the Hynerian’s mouth.  

Aeryn selected a flat packet from the jumble on the top of the cargo container, and tossed it over her shoulder.  
“Put a bandage on it before they smash down the door.”  

Catching the package, Crichton ripped through the protective casing with his teeth and extracted the contents,
careful to keep his fingers away from the center of the sterile area.  He examined the self-adhering bandage
more closely.  “Jesus, Aeryn!  This is one of those fast clotting things that will stop the bleeding in a matter of
microts.  It’s going to hurt like hell.”

“Just get it on there before we have an audience.”

“Let me get one of --”

Standing with both elbows propped on the cargo container, hunched over awkwardly because of her bulging
stomach, the injured portion of her body jutting out inelegantly so John could tend to the wound, Aeryn turned
her head and looked over her shoulder at him.  She had her teeth clenched together, bared in an overly wide,
forced smile.  “John, dearest,” she said, the syllables distorted by the mockery of a pleasant expression, “would

“Okay, okay!  You don’t have to yell.  I’ll do it.”  He wiped away more of the blood with the already soaked rag,
and then lightly blotted the gash.  “Get ready.”

“Just put it on there.  I’m not a sissy like you.”  She switched to English long enough to make the accusation.  

“Don’t be bringing that up again,” he said.

D’Argo pounded on the door.  “Aren’t you done in there yet?”  

“NO!” they yelled in tandem.

Aeryn picked up where she left off.  “Higher pitched scream than Jool, and almost as loud.  Like this …”  She
took in a breath.

John tossed the bloodstained rag to one side and got to his feet.  “You don’t need to provide a surround-sound
reproduction, and I had an animal chewing through my pants!  It wasn’t a nice quick impact like this.  That thing
was doing its best to reach an artery!”  

“And whose fault was that?”

“How was I to know that a Brindiss hound puppy looks like an overgrown furry footstool?  The adults don’t have
fur.  There has to be a rule somewhere that says an animal doesn’t get to shed its coat entirely when it
matures!”  Aeryn started to open her mouth for a reply.  John jabbed an index finger at her, stopping a mere
dench from the tip of her nose.  “And before you say it, I did not try to sit on it.  It leaped up and nailed me
before I knew what was happening.”

“It looked like you had grown a bushy tail.”

“Not funny, Aeryn.”

“You look good with a tail.  It was kind of cute wagging around back there while you were jumping around and

“Not funny, Aeryn,” he warned again.  

“It left a wonderful scar.  It looks just like …”  Shuffling with her pants rumpled about her ankles, Aeryn turned
the rest of the way around to face him, her hands forming the shape she had described for him all too often
since the wound had healed.  John stepped in close to her, his belt buckle brushing against her stomach,
reached around her with his right hand, and slapped the bandage into place.  

Aeryn’s eyes opened wide.  The cargo bay of the transport pod was silent except for the hushed howl of air
being sucked into her lungs.  There was a moment when every bit of movement and sound came to a stop, and
then she leaned forward and sank her teeth into the thick, reinforced leather shoulder of John’s vest.  Her
higher-pitched, muffled shriek was drowned out by his bellow of shock and pain.  

“YOU BIT ME!  Damn, woman!  Tell me you’ve had your rabies shots!”  John bounded across the cargo bay,
alternating between bending over in pain and standing up straight with one hand digging under his shirt and
vest, questing for an injury.  

“Sweet Cholak, save me,” Aeryn moaned.  She was bent over the cargo container, lightly banging her head
against its surface, one hand gingerly massaging the now bandaged wound.  After several microts in that
position, she straightened up and turned toward John.  He had his head tucked inside the collar of his t-shirt,
still searching for signs of physical damage, a beheaded hunchback.  “You did that on purpose,” she said.

“Of course I did it on purpose,” the muffled voice said from inside the shirt.  “You told me to put a bandage on
it.  I put a bandage on it.”  His head popped into view.  “Next time warn me so I can have my tetanus shot first.”  

“You are such a …”

“Why is Crichton doing the screaming in there?” Chiana yelled from the cockpit of the transport pod.  

“He’s going to live,” Aeryn called back.  “And I don’t need a medical facility.  Get us under way and head for

Aeryn started to bend over to pull up her pants … and went pale.  One hand flailed for something to grab on to
and she stumbled.  John was beside her in a microt.  He grabbed her above the elbows, helped her straighten
up, and guided her to one side so she could lean on a waist-high container.  “That wasn’t a good idea.”  

Eyes half closed, lips clamped firmly together, still ashen, she nodded.  “I may need to sit down.”  

“Worse idea.  Trust me on this point; you do not want to sit down for a while.”  John hovered until some of the
color returned to her face, and then knelt down and began wiping some of the blood off the back of her leg and
the inside of her pants.  “Just tell me that was your backside, and not the tadpole.”

“It was the wound,” she said.  “The baby is fine.”  She smiled down at the top of his head, and idly fingered his
hair while he worked.  “It is a fun scar, you know.”  

“So you’ve told me too often.  That thing had the bite radius of a Tyrannosaurus Rex.”

“What’s that?  A very small rodent about this big?”  Aeryn’s hands indicated a fist-sized animal.  

John ignored her teasing.  He got to his feet and pulled her pants into place, taking extra care getting them
over the bandage.  It took nearly as long to get them fastened as it had to get them off.  When they were done,
he stepped back, spent several microts staring at the expansive evidence of her pregnancy, and finally asked
more seriously, “Aeryn, are you absolutely sure the scans didn’t show any sign of twins?  You’re kind of … big.”

She peered down at her own stomach.  “Definitely.  One child, healthy, all the appropriate bits.  Four arms,
vestigial legs, cranial shell …”  

She returned John’s look of shock with what initially appeared to be a calm, impassive stare.  The
well-suppressed laughter lurked, however, and began to make its way out from behind the façade, appearing
first in the lift of her eyebrows, then in the  quivering of her nostrils as she fought to keep the laughter
contained, and finally in the nearly imperceptible twitches of the muscles at the corner of her mouth.  

John tried to glower.  The best he could manage was a look of amused disgust.  “Funny.”  

Aeryn gave in to a full-fledged smile.  “I thought so.”  She turned and hobbled toward the hatch leading to the

“Are you ever going to let me live down that Brindiss puppy incident?”

Glancing back over her shoulder, she gave him a look that he could only term ‘diabolical’.  “No.”

“I did not scream like Jool,” he said.

Aeryn didn’t even pause.  She said, “Loud enough to melt metal,” and crossed the remaining distance to the
doorway.  “Big bushy tail.”  She began unlatching the pressure hatch.  

John remained where he was, standing in the middle of the cargo compartment idly scratching the side of his
neck with one finger, and watched while she finished opening the cockpit hatch and made her way slowly over
the raised lip of the doorway.  The projectile -- they would never know if it was some kind of alien bullet or a
piece of shrapnel from the explosion they had deliberately set off -- had laid open the seat of her pants far
more thoroughly than it had cut into Aeryn’s butt.  Despite the large bandage on her rump, there were still
adequate portions of Aeryn Sun gleaming through the rent for him to observe and admire.  The muscles flexed
and tightened as she raised her foot to cross into the front of the transport pod.  It was a magnificent sight.  

“You’re sure I can’t change your mind?” he yelled after her.  

“Positive,” Aeryn called back.  

Grinning, John headed for the cockpit.  He decided not to remind her about the gaping hole in her pants.  With
a little luck, by the time they got back to Moya he would have enough leverage that he might never again have
to hear Aeryn’s version of the time he had a small carnivore latch on to his butt.

                                                                            * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
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