Farscape: a minute, an hour...a lifetime
Author: pdxscaper
Spoilers: Peacekeeper Wars, although it's decidedly AU.
Rating: Hetch 2, [a few bad words.]
Pairings: John/Chiana
Words: 1,460
Disclaimer: Am not, never have been, affiliated with Henson, etc. Characters are not mine...I wish.
Story Notes: Written for kazbaby1's John Angst-a-Thon...and the brilliant kernezelda, who requested among other things, one of my favorite pairings--John and Chiana. As always, I think I'm long on John, and a little short on Chiana.
Acknowledgements: Many thanks to simplystars and kixxa for the ideas you gave me. As you both will see, I stole some of your lovely, lovely words. Thanks to kixxa for the second round beta. Any remaining mistakes are mine, and only mine.
Enjoy!
*~*~*
You stand in the background until D'Argo looks up, and pins you with his dark eyes. His voice is a little breathless as he says, "Rygel has the baby. He's on his way to the transport pod as we speak. You have to go, John. Take Chiana, now!"
With a quick motion, you drag the back of your hand across your eyes; try to wipe away the blur. When it doesn't work, all you can do is press one last kiss to Aeryn's cool forehead and go to kneel in front of D'Argo. Placing your hand on the Luxan's heaving chest, you try to say something that encompasses what you feel. Failing with words, all you find to give is a tremulous smile, and a shaky, soft laugh. It's not much, but at least it's something. He knows, he understands.
D'Argo's voice rumbles fierce as he promises, "I'll watch over her body, my friend. Neither the Scarrans nor the Peacekeepers will survive my wrath."
"Tell 'em D. Tell 'em who their Daddy is." The words choke out as you scoop up Chiana, and carry her away, pressing her head to your chest to muffle the keening because you don't want to leave D'Argo with the anguish.
She doesn't fight. Just clings, hands clasped around your neck, holding tight to D's Qualta blade the whole way back to the pod. It isn't until you're inside that your knees buckle and you sink to the deck.
When the baby cries, you rouse yourself. Rygel's doing his best to comfort the little guy, but it's up to you to make everything okay for your son. So, you take D'Argo into your arms, talking softly to quiet his tears, holding onto him so you can hold onto yourself.
With concussions from the explosions shaking the pod at an ever-increasing rate, sparks and bits of metal rain down around you, and you know it's only a matter of microts before it'll be too late to save the only hope you have.
Your voice grates out, hoarse and harsh, "Pilot, we have to go. Now!"
You shudder at the thought of leaving, close your eyes to the picture of Aeryn and D'Argo, lying in a heap--forgotten, alone.
The luxury of grief isn't something you can afford.
*~*~*
Even in the dim light of your quarters, you're able to see the rusty brown crust of blood on your shirt, under your fingernails, turning to powder, falling into dust. You don't know if it's Aeryn's, or yours, the baby's, or D'Argo's, and you don't have the heart, or the strength, to wash it away.
For days, Pilot and Moya face a constant barrage of activity trying to stay one step ahead of the Scarran and Peacekeeper pursuit. But you aren't focused on that, instead you frantically try to locate a diagnosan who can heal little D's injuries.
When the baby dies, you finally...
Just.
Stop.
You give Scorpius, Staleek, and Grayza what they want, and when your one-man dog and pony wormhole show scares the holy shit out of everyone, Larry, Curly, and Moe all beat a hasty retreat to parts unknown.
You and Chiana, Pilot, Moya, Stark, and Rygel are left with nothing more than flimsy documents stamped with pretentious wax insignias. Empty promises that make no difference to you now.
*~*~*
Pilot's voice, filled with things unspoken, floats hesitantly over the comms. "Commander, Moya wishes you to know that one of the transport pods is being readied for take off."
When the statement gets no response, he speaks more briskly. "The pod is powering up now."
Your eyes drop closed as your shoulders sag.
You just need a minute, an hour...a lifetime to recover.
Pilot tries once more, his voice edged with shrill urgency. "Commander!"
"Son of a bitch!" The words burst out hard and short as you push up off your bunk. Before you're even out the door, the regret sets in. Softly, you continue, "Sorry Pilot. I'm on my way."
There she is, mouth set in concentration, pale hair back-lit by the pod lights. She sways sideways to flip the take-off sequence, watches the array cascade down the console. Absorbed in the process, she hasn't heard you climb the stairs.
"What're you doing?" Your voice sounds soft, worn-out, weary.
"I...I'm going Crichton." She won't look at you. Her opaque eyes skitter around the interior of the damaged transport pod, never still, never focused.
As you scrub your hands over your face, you lean a shoulder against the doorway, and take a deep breath. She's been close to the edge for days...weekens. Christ, it's getting to where you can't remember a time when you both weren't a heartbeat away from shattering.
Softening your voice so it comes out easy, calm, you ask, "Pip, where you gonna go?"
She hunches one shoulder up against her ear. "Don't know. Don't...don't much care." Tears sound in her voice, though none slip through her inky lashes to track down soft gray cheeks. "Maybe I'll go with Rygel. Check out the little frellnik's home world. It's where D'Argo wanted to go."
"You're just gonna leave me?"
Her laugh has a hollow ring to it. "You left a long while ago, old man...what's a little more space between us."
"Been here all the time Chi."
"If you can call it that. You disappear for arns, don't talk to anyone."
"So, you're running away because I'm not talking to you enough? Been a little busy darlin'."
"It's time to move on. Stay too long in one place and bad things always happen." She looks at you then, eyes glistening, head angled, the ghost of a sad smile quirking the corner of her mouth. "You can come with us. Yeah, come with us."
"And do what?"
"I don't know. We'll...we'll think of something. We're good at that." When you don't respond she turns away. Her shoulders lift, staving off the hurt, walling away the pain.
"Pip, c'mon. Just give it another couple of days. We'll figure something out. Like you said, we'll make a plan."
You won't tell her you don't want to leave Moya even though it would give the leviathan, not to mention Pilot, the peace they finally deserve.
"Two more days Crichton." She powers down the transport pod, and pushes past you silently.
You wonder how long she can stay mad at you for making her stay. Probably not long, cuz, as much as she wants to go, she has to stay the same as you. There's too much history, too many memories that neither of you is ready to let go of just yet.
Thing is, you're not sure how you'll ever be able to let go, not sure if you even want to.
*~*~*
You wake to feel her pressing close against your back; her hand snaking its way around you, sliding soft under your t-shirt. If you don't open your eyes, don't turn over; you can almost make believe it's Aeryn. Except...you know better--from the length of her body, the warmth of her hand, the silkiness of the material that warms the spot over your heart.
Every night, after you lose the others, she comes to your quarters in the middle of her sleep cycle, crawling into bed with you like Livvie used to do when she was 9 years old, and scared that UFOs were going to come and steal her away.
The first time you think Chiana wants sex, and when you find out you're wrong you breathe a sigh of relief. All she does is hold onto you while you both pretend to sleep. In the dark of space she twitches, startles wide-awake in a microt. Her breath shudders out, long and whisper soft, before she settles back into the hollow you've carved out for her.
In the hours between dreams, she roams the ship, the rustle of her feet along the cold corridors wearing down the edges of her grief. Even though neither of you says the words, you know how the other feels. You carry the scars, the lives, and loves you've shared, and lost. There's always been something easy and familiar between you--a bond that goes deeper than most you've made in your lifetime. You never look too hard at it, afraid that somehow you'll spoil it, lose it, fuck it up beyond all recognition. You've been known to do that...more than once.
There's a chance that she could make a place for herself, find some peace and have a life while she's young if you'd just let go. But, you can't, so, because it's the only thing you know how to do with any aptitude, you hang on.
For a minute...
For an hour...
For the lifetime you have left.
End
Spoilers: Peacekeeper Wars, although it's decidedly AU.
Rating: Hetch 2, [a few bad words.]
Pairings: John/Chiana
Words: 1,460
Disclaimer: Am not, never have been, affiliated with Henson, etc. Characters are not mine...I wish.
Story Notes: Written for kazbaby1's John Angst-a-Thon...and the brilliant kernezelda, who requested among other things, one of my favorite pairings--John and Chiana. As always, I think I'm long on John, and a little short on Chiana.
Acknowledgements: Many thanks to simplystars and kixxa for the ideas you gave me. As you both will see, I stole some of your lovely, lovely words. Thanks to kixxa for the second round beta. Any remaining mistakes are mine, and only mine.
Enjoy!
*~*~*
You stand in the background until D'Argo looks up, and pins you with his dark eyes. His voice is a little breathless as he says, "Rygel has the baby. He's on his way to the transport pod as we speak. You have to go, John. Take Chiana, now!"
With a quick motion, you drag the back of your hand across your eyes; try to wipe away the blur. When it doesn't work, all you can do is press one last kiss to Aeryn's cool forehead and go to kneel in front of D'Argo. Placing your hand on the Luxan's heaving chest, you try to say something that encompasses what you feel. Failing with words, all you find to give is a tremulous smile, and a shaky, soft laugh. It's not much, but at least it's something. He knows, he understands.
D'Argo's voice rumbles fierce as he promises, "I'll watch over her body, my friend. Neither the Scarrans nor the Peacekeepers will survive my wrath."
"Tell 'em D. Tell 'em who their Daddy is." The words choke out as you scoop up Chiana, and carry her away, pressing her head to your chest to muffle the keening because you don't want to leave D'Argo with the anguish.
She doesn't fight. Just clings, hands clasped around your neck, holding tight to D's Qualta blade the whole way back to the pod. It isn't until you're inside that your knees buckle and you sink to the deck.
When the baby cries, you rouse yourself. Rygel's doing his best to comfort the little guy, but it's up to you to make everything okay for your son. So, you take D'Argo into your arms, talking softly to quiet his tears, holding onto him so you can hold onto yourself.
With concussions from the explosions shaking the pod at an ever-increasing rate, sparks and bits of metal rain down around you, and you know it's only a matter of microts before it'll be too late to save the only hope you have.
Your voice grates out, hoarse and harsh, "Pilot, we have to go. Now!"
You shudder at the thought of leaving, close your eyes to the picture of Aeryn and D'Argo, lying in a heap--forgotten, alone.
The luxury of grief isn't something you can afford.
*~*~*
Even in the dim light of your quarters, you're able to see the rusty brown crust of blood on your shirt, under your fingernails, turning to powder, falling into dust. You don't know if it's Aeryn's, or yours, the baby's, or D'Argo's, and you don't have the heart, or the strength, to wash it away.
For days, Pilot and Moya face a constant barrage of activity trying to stay one step ahead of the Scarran and Peacekeeper pursuit. But you aren't focused on that, instead you frantically try to locate a diagnosan who can heal little D's injuries.
When the baby dies, you finally...
Just.
Stop.
You give Scorpius, Staleek, and Grayza what they want, and when your one-man dog and pony wormhole show scares the holy shit out of everyone, Larry, Curly, and Moe all beat a hasty retreat to parts unknown.
You and Chiana, Pilot, Moya, Stark, and Rygel are left with nothing more than flimsy documents stamped with pretentious wax insignias. Empty promises that make no difference to you now.
*~*~*
Pilot's voice, filled with things unspoken, floats hesitantly over the comms. "Commander, Moya wishes you to know that one of the transport pods is being readied for take off."
When the statement gets no response, he speaks more briskly. "The pod is powering up now."
Your eyes drop closed as your shoulders sag.
You just need a minute, an hour...a lifetime to recover.
Pilot tries once more, his voice edged with shrill urgency. "Commander!"
"Son of a bitch!" The words burst out hard and short as you push up off your bunk. Before you're even out the door, the regret sets in. Softly, you continue, "Sorry Pilot. I'm on my way."
There she is, mouth set in concentration, pale hair back-lit by the pod lights. She sways sideways to flip the take-off sequence, watches the array cascade down the console. Absorbed in the process, she hasn't heard you climb the stairs.
"What're you doing?" Your voice sounds soft, worn-out, weary.
"I...I'm going Crichton." She won't look at you. Her opaque eyes skitter around the interior of the damaged transport pod, never still, never focused.
As you scrub your hands over your face, you lean a shoulder against the doorway, and take a deep breath. She's been close to the edge for days...weekens. Christ, it's getting to where you can't remember a time when you both weren't a heartbeat away from shattering.
Softening your voice so it comes out easy, calm, you ask, "Pip, where you gonna go?"
She hunches one shoulder up against her ear. "Don't know. Don't...don't much care." Tears sound in her voice, though none slip through her inky lashes to track down soft gray cheeks. "Maybe I'll go with Rygel. Check out the little frellnik's home world. It's where D'Argo wanted to go."
"You're just gonna leave me?"
Her laugh has a hollow ring to it. "You left a long while ago, old man...what's a little more space between us."
"Been here all the time Chi."
"If you can call it that. You disappear for arns, don't talk to anyone."
"So, you're running away because I'm not talking to you enough? Been a little busy darlin'."
"It's time to move on. Stay too long in one place and bad things always happen." She looks at you then, eyes glistening, head angled, the ghost of a sad smile quirking the corner of her mouth. "You can come with us. Yeah, come with us."
"And do what?"
"I don't know. We'll...we'll think of something. We're good at that." When you don't respond she turns away. Her shoulders lift, staving off the hurt, walling away the pain.
"Pip, c'mon. Just give it another couple of days. We'll figure something out. Like you said, we'll make a plan."
You won't tell her you don't want to leave Moya even though it would give the leviathan, not to mention Pilot, the peace they finally deserve.
"Two more days Crichton." She powers down the transport pod, and pushes past you silently.
You wonder how long she can stay mad at you for making her stay. Probably not long, cuz, as much as she wants to go, she has to stay the same as you. There's too much history, too many memories that neither of you is ready to let go of just yet.
Thing is, you're not sure how you'll ever be able to let go, not sure if you even want to.
*~*~*
You wake to feel her pressing close against your back; her hand snaking its way around you, sliding soft under your t-shirt. If you don't open your eyes, don't turn over; you can almost make believe it's Aeryn. Except...you know better--from the length of her body, the warmth of her hand, the silkiness of the material that warms the spot over your heart.
Every night, after you lose the others, she comes to your quarters in the middle of her sleep cycle, crawling into bed with you like Livvie used to do when she was 9 years old, and scared that UFOs were going to come and steal her away.
The first time you think Chiana wants sex, and when you find out you're wrong you breathe a sigh of relief. All she does is hold onto you while you both pretend to sleep. In the dark of space she twitches, startles wide-awake in a microt. Her breath shudders out, long and whisper soft, before she settles back into the hollow you've carved out for her.
In the hours between dreams, she roams the ship, the rustle of her feet along the cold corridors wearing down the edges of her grief. Even though neither of you says the words, you know how the other feels. You carry the scars, the lives, and loves you've shared, and lost. There's always been something easy and familiar between you--a bond that goes deeper than most you've made in your lifetime. You never look too hard at it, afraid that somehow you'll spoil it, lose it, fuck it up beyond all recognition. You've been known to do that...more than once.
There's a chance that she could make a place for herself, find some peace and have a life while she's young if you'd just let go. But, you can't, so, because it's the only thing you know how to do with any aptitude, you hang on.
For a minute...
For an hour...
For the lifetime you have left.
End