fiiiic.
Been marathoning my mother through Farscape season 3 -- well, everything from Relativity, minus most of Moya!Crew and Meltdown (it's all sex. She can see the sex later). And then we watched up through What was Lost... with dad. He said Farscape might be better than Blake's 7. ;)
Anyway.
This is just an introspective Aeryn piece from, uh... after PK Wars, but inspired by watching Infinite Possibilities.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Set: post-Peacekeepers Wars, but only mainly spoilers for seasons 1-4.
Notes: just a bit of introspection that wouldn't go away while I marathoned my mother through the last half of season 3.
It Ain't No Big Thing
by ALC Punk!
It's always the moments she remembers. The little touches, the glances, the way his eyes would search for her in a crowded room or during a battle. The casual glances that skimmed her figure, not quite distracting him, but giving him something to notice.
This one is different, he's more scarred, more uncertain of her. Of himself. Harder. She doesn't think about the differences in his glances and touches.
She is *his*. He is hers. And yet, there is more of him invested, less of her.
Maybe she is learning from her losses, adapting and adjusting as they change and turn. And the wheel, as D'Argo would say, turns again.
At the core, he is the same man. She can find the same pieces of him if she looks hard enough. But he is fractured, tipped sideways from the man she loved. He asked her, once, what he tasted like.
'Death' she wanted to say. 'Loss'. She didn't say either.
He tastes like death and fate and loss and love all rolled into one, skimming around her mouth and making her remember bittersweet days and stolen moments.
When he pulls his fingers through her hair, it's an echo of the past. When she tips her head to the side and settles against his shoulder, it's a promise of the future.
She's tried not to deal in such simple terms, tried not to invest them with so much meaning.
But she fails.
Sometimes, she thinks, that he will never be whole. She knows she could be whole without him, but it was a lonely existence. Lonelier still being so near him she could smell him and taste him, and still not hold onto him. She prefers all of him.
He didn't deal in huge gestures. No big speeches, no massive firepower, no grandiose schemes. No mania, none of the manicness that underlies this John's every move. As if he can't stay still or he will break apart at her feet leaving her nothing but mist and space.
This one does.
She misses the small moments.
-f-
Anyway.
This is just an introspective Aeryn piece from, uh... after PK Wars, but inspired by watching Infinite Possibilities.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Set: post-Peacekeepers Wars, but only mainly spoilers for seasons 1-4.
Notes: just a bit of introspection that wouldn't go away while I marathoned my mother through the last half of season 3.
It Ain't No Big Thing
by ALC Punk!
It's always the moments she remembers. The little touches, the glances, the way his eyes would search for her in a crowded room or during a battle. The casual glances that skimmed her figure, not quite distracting him, but giving him something to notice.
This one is different, he's more scarred, more uncertain of her. Of himself. Harder. She doesn't think about the differences in his glances and touches.
She is *his*. He is hers. And yet, there is more of him invested, less of her.
Maybe she is learning from her losses, adapting and adjusting as they change and turn. And the wheel, as D'Argo would say, turns again.
At the core, he is the same man. She can find the same pieces of him if she looks hard enough. But he is fractured, tipped sideways from the man she loved. He asked her, once, what he tasted like.
'Death' she wanted to say. 'Loss'. She didn't say either.
He tastes like death and fate and loss and love all rolled into one, skimming around her mouth and making her remember bittersweet days and stolen moments.
When he pulls his fingers through her hair, it's an echo of the past. When she tips her head to the side and settles against his shoulder, it's a promise of the future.
She's tried not to deal in such simple terms, tried not to invest them with so much meaning.
But she fails.
Sometimes, she thinks, that he will never be whole. She knows she could be whole without him, but it was a lonely existence. Lonelier still being so near him she could smell him and taste him, and still not hold onto him. She prefers all of him.
He didn't deal in huge gestures. No big speeches, no massive firepower, no grandiose schemes. No mania, none of the manicness that underlies this John's every move. As if he can't stay still or he will break apart at her feet leaving her nothing but mist and space.
This one does.
She misses the small moments.
-f-