I'm lying with Aeryn all snug in our bed, and there are visions, but they're not the dancing candy variety. We should be sleeping. Instead, Aeryn's whispering, soft breath tickling my ear, and her back is cool under my arm where she's lying half on my chest, one leg over mine
( ... )
He falls asleep right in the middle of your whispered conversation, before he hears the particulars of how you procured the appropriate weapons parts to assemble at least a minimal defense, should your escape involve pulse fire.
It's probably better that he doesn't know.
Chiana would be proud of you, though. Pilfering had never been one of your strongest talents, but you'd watched and practiced and it's paid off. You've got components stashed in convenient locations, in a direct line toward the hangar bay. Just enough for two tiny excuses for pulse pistols, but they'll have to do.
Scorpius and Braca should never have granted you permission to walk about the ship.
You lay your cheek against John's chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. Even in sleep, he doesn't let you go; you can see the glitter of your ring where he holds your hand clasped in his, just below his sternum.
Braca nods, and the guard nearest the door slaps the controls. He slams through before it's finished sliding open, and is at the inner door before Braca activates the lights in the outer room.
Raised voices inside the bedroom answer the guard's gruff orders. Calmly, the Captain seats himself at the terminal station. A second guard hauls the chairs away from the small table across the room.
Crichton and Sun don't sound happy. Braca rests his ankle on his knee, clasps his hands in his lap, and lets a cold smile emerge as he waits.
I am not happy when someone jostles me out of a sweet, sweet dream of Aeryn, honey and a lazy summer day at Sawyer's Mill.
Bright lights glare into my eyes. "What the..." I stare up cross-eyed into the barrel of a pulse pistol, and my hand gropes for Winona before I remember she's back on Crais' boat. Beside me, Aeryn is cursing like a soldier.
"Get up." The words rap out, leaving no room for leeway, and the gun waves me toward the bedroom door. I make a grab for my pants and hope he doesn't shoot me for the delay.
The gun presses into my back when I stoop for the shirt on the floor. "Move. Now."
Aeryn meets me at the foot of the bed, but Miss Super-Efficient has pulled on pants, shirt and boots. "Showoff," I mutter, and she grants me a small smirk before the guard points us toward the door.
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It's probably better that he doesn't know.
Chiana would be proud of you, though. Pilfering had never been one of your strongest talents, but you'd watched and practiced and it's paid off. You've got components stashed in convenient locations, in a direct line toward the hangar bay. Just enough for two tiny excuses for pulse pistols, but they'll have to do.
Scorpius and Braca should never have granted you permission to walk about the ship.
You lay your cheek against John's chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. Even in sleep, he doesn't let you go; you can see the glitter of your ring where he holds your hand clasped in his, just below his sternum.
With a contented sigh, you close your own eyes.
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Raised voices inside the bedroom answer the guard's gruff orders. Calmly, the Captain seats himself at the terminal station. A second guard hauls the chairs away from the small table across the room.
Crichton and Sun don't sound happy. Braca rests his ankle on his knee, clasps his hands in his lap, and lets a cold smile emerge as he waits.
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Bright lights glare into my eyes. "What the..." I stare up cross-eyed into the barrel of a pulse pistol, and my hand gropes for Winona before I remember she's back on Crais' boat. Beside me, Aeryn is cursing like a soldier.
"Get up." The words rap out, leaving no room for leeway, and the gun waves me toward the bedroom door. I make a grab for my pants and hope he doesn't shoot me for the delay.
The gun presses into my back when I stoop for the shirt on the floor. "Move. Now."
Aeryn meets me at the foot of the bed, but Miss Super-Efficient has pulled on pants, shirt and boots. "Showoff," I mutter, and she grants me a small smirk before the guard points us toward the door.
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