Title: LifeTime

Author: Birthsister

Author's Notes: Feel free to archive anywhere, just let me know where. Rated at least R

Author's Email: Birthsister

Ok, insert all the usual disclaimers here. They're not mine, I just like to play in their sandbox.

This story will read easier for you if you have already read "Love's Labor Lost", though it's not entirely a prerequisite. But LLL does detail some of the history of Kez'ryth's parentage, as well as some interesting Sebacean factoids that might come in handy to know in later chapters. I am doing my best to keep things within the Universe as Farscape has presented it to us, but if later developments make this AU, so be it. Feel free to email me with continuity errors and I will try to address them in later editions. Happy reading, and happy scaping.

Rated R

Please email me BEFORE you archive. I will most likely say yes, but please no snurching. Snurchers will be caught and fed to the pet keedva as an appetizer.

And thank you thank you thank you O brave beta reader.

Chapter One	Chapter Two	Chapter Three	Chapter Four
Chapter Five

LIFETIME

CHAPTER ONE: PASSAGES

***************************************

"Rain? Is that what you call this," she had asked.

She stared at the sky, her mouth gaping and her tongue hanging out to catch the water. He opened the door to the safe house.

"I like it." Rain. What a marvelous new word. She felt it mist her face and her hair dripped with it. John had rushed to get under cover, urging her to do the same but she had wanted to stay and, what? Explore it, swim in it? It was cool and warm and beautiful. It danced on her skin and crept down the back of her flight suit as though it had a life of it's own. When they made love that day she had listened to it splatter against the windows and patter on the roof adding its tempo to their own rhythms.

 When they had found this planet with it's vast forests and purple woods and blue hills they had stepped out of the transport into a thundershower and Aeryn had looked at John, knowing she was home.

***************************************

She labored quietly in the rain, fitting each stone carefully on the cairn. Her fingers were dirty and bruised, the skin chaffed away in some spots by the unfortunate shifting of one rock or another as she worked. The only break she had taken since she started this task was to go dig more rocks out of the ground. Beside her, her oldest son stopped with a stone resting in his lap and stared at her a moment.

"We don't have to leave him here," he said.

Aeryn stopped and looked at her son. "No, Kez'ryth, you and I were born in space and the universe willing, we will rest in space. But your father, he was born with his feet on the ground and so he will rest. It's what he wanted."

Kez'ryth paused a moment, then snorted his derision at the idea but continued helping his mother stack the heavy stones. Aeryn watched him, amazed at the man he had become.

Darker than the rest of her children, he favored his natural father in looks but his adoptive father in every other way. He kept his black, wiry hair trimmed short and close to his head, his face clean shaven. Over the years he had managed to temper his volatile nature with sharp wit and though still quick to anger, he had learned to fight with words before weapons.

They had feared for him when they first settled. Nearly feral in his intensity, he had thrived away from the Peacekeeper presence he had been born into. And John had never stopped amazing her with the amount of love he had shown for a boy who was not his own. In the shadow of John's love, Kez'ryth had grown to become a shining example of everything a man could want from his first born. Although John had helped her raise three other children that were his by blood, it seemed that this boy, her son from a life she had tried to put behind herself for the past 50 odd cycles, was the only one of her children who felt the loss as acutely as she did. And so they knelt knee to knee, building him his final resting place.

As they lay the last stone, the light drizzle became a steady rain. It was the beginning of their wet season and she turned her face skyward, feeling the drops against her closed eyes, in her hair, cooling the pain in her hands.

"Kez," she said, falling into her mate's nickname for him, "Go back to the house." He frowned at her, unsure if she should be left alone. She lay her hand against the head stone, "Go, we need some time alone."

Still frowning, his dark brow wrinkled and his full lips set in a grim line, he got to his feet and started back towards the house. Aeryn knew Kay would be there to comfort him. As for her other two surviving children, where she would find them and with whom would be less certain. Aeryn had her suspicions, none of them good. They were like their father in so many ways, and yet, in so many ways, not.

***************************************

"Officer Sun!" Pilot's loud and slightly panicked voice woke her out of a dead sleep. She fumbled for her comm badge.

"Yes, Pilot," she answered. Her tongue felt pasty with sleep, her words came thick. She already knew the answer in one variation or another. She reached for her clothes and had already pulled her pants on before Pilot spoke again.

"Your…'son'," Pilot seemed to spit out the last word, but Aeryn considered it an improvement from 'young savage' "is on tier 17 dismantling Moya's communications synapses."

"Thank you, Pilot," she sighed as she pulled on her boots. Not even bothering to fasten them, she tiredly palmed the door control and found John waiting for her in the corridor.

Shirtless, a heavy black Zenetan tattoo rippled across his right shoulder and circled a bicep. A price he had paid for helping her find her son in the first place. One of many payments taken out of flesh and spirit. Something inside her cringed every time she saw it. All he had ever said about it was, in that wry human way of is, "Well, it ain't 'Mom' but I suppose it'll do."

His short hair stuck up at odd angles and he looked barely more awake than she did. But he greeted her with a warm smile and said, "I'll go."

"He's not your responsibility," she answered, already starting off in the direction of tier 7.

"No," John fell into step with her, "he's everyone's responsibility."

"John," Aeryn sighed loudly, picking up the pace, "this has got to stop. It's been nearly a monen and he's still sabotaging this ship. It's not fair to Moya, it's not fair to us. I've got to get through to him."

John took two bounding steps forward and stopped in front of her, placing his hands on either shoulder and staring hard into her eyes. She tried to shoulder around him but he tightened his grip.

"Aeryn, take a look at yourself. You haven't slept since we brought him aboard. You're exhausted and you're not going to do him or yourself any good like this. I'll go take care of Dennis the Menace and you go get some rest." His pale blue eyes pleaded with her.

"I was trained as a soldier, Crichton, I can function with less than optimal sleep."

John ignored the use of his family name. He knew she only used it when she was feeling particularly cantankerous or was trying to get his goat. "Aeryn, that'd be great if you were going into battle here, but a pulse pistol is not going to solve this problem."

He put an arm around her, steering her back in the direction they had come from.

"Go back to bed and sleep. I can handle this. If you can't sleep, stare at the ceiling and count, well, count whatever quadruped comes to mind. Pilot knows the drill, no transmissions will get out and I'll repair whatever damage he's done in the morning."

Pilots voice came at them in stereo over both com badges "I don't care which of you go, just somebody restrain that boy!"

"I'm on it, Pilot," John answered, shooing her away with the back of his hand. John took a step forward and tenderly kissed her forehead. "Please, Aeryn, trust me."

And then he was gone, jogging down the corridor towards tier 17.

John would have missed the boy altogether if it weren't for the worried beeping of several DRDs in front of what appeared to be an air shaft. He ducked into an alcove and peered around the corner, waiting. "Where are you, you little ankle biter," he said under his breathe.

"Pilot, lose the DRDs," he whispered into his com. With the hiss and whine of gears the little yellow drones went off on more important business. A short while later John saw two small feet peeking out of the opening. They were followed by a skinny, pajama clad butt. Aeryn's son continued to back out of the confined space, great lengths of cables and wires in his small hands, Moya's more delicate filaments streaming from his mouth. He looked up and down the corridor, and satisfied that he was alone sat down and began making connections, tying them in with the filament, reaching back into the hole in Moya's internal skin for more cables. John could hear the small ticking sounds the boy made with his tongue when he was deep in thought. John was amazed at how fast the boy could work, connecting and splicing cables.

As Kez'ryth hauled hard on the cable, raising it over his head to give himself more slack to work with, he was startled to find his hands firmly entrenched in the grasp of the human male. John hauled him to his feet, keeping him at arms distance, knowing that this child's fury was something to be reckoned with.

"Watcha doin' Chucky?" he asked. The child squirmed in his grasp. His legs kicked out viciously, trying to connect with any body part on the larger man. When full frontal assault didn't work, he changed tactics and became dead weight. John was pulled off balance and took a step forward with an audible "Oomf!"

Kez'ryth didn't waste time and lashed out, a heel catching John in the knee. John hissed between clenched teeth, desperately resisting the urge to just cuff the kid upside the head and be done with it. His hold on Kez'ryth's wrists slipped and the child sunk his teeth into the soft flesh between thumb and forefinger. John howled while Kez'ryth hung on like a terrier. Blood dripped on the floor and ran down John's wrist. His other hand clenched and unclenched, his eyes darting wildly side to side as he tried to think of a non-violent way to disengage this miniature Peacekeeper commando. He finally reached under his assaulted hand and gripped the boy's jaw, slowly applying pressure until the teeth released. He held the boy like that, fingers forcing open the jaw, while he examined the wound on his other hand. He flexed his knee. Aside from some stiffness, there didn't seem to be any permanent damage.

"You just better hope this doesn't need stitches," he said as he turned the boy around and marched him back towards their quarters. Favoring his wounded hand, he held the boy firmly by the back of the neck, gripping a little tighter as he felt Kez'ryth tense in anticipation of flight.

"Y'know," John said, examining his hand as they walked, "I never believed much in hitting kids. Until I met you. The only reason you're not getting your backside tanned right now is because you're Aeryn's kid and it would probably hurt her more than it would you."

The boy said nothing. He stopped, applying enough pressure on the boy's neck to make him scrunch up his shoulders as John turned him to look him in the eye. "And yknow what, kid, I don't like seeing your mother hurt." The small dark face revealed nothing. John could see Aeryn in the shape of the eyes, but they were a dark chocolate brown and not her blue-green-gray. He thought perhaps he saw her in the set of the mouth, but decided the jury was still out on that one. All he had ever seen on this kid's face was blind fury or rigid stand-at-attention blankness.

Not getting any response, John took the last tactic he could think of. "Do I make myself clear, Cadet Kez'ryth Crais."

The dark eyes shifted from a point just over John's left shoulder and looked him in the eye. They were defiant, but he answered. "Yessir."

"Good," John said aloud, turning him back towards their quarters. Then quieter, under his breath, "Good, now we're getting somewhere."

Aeryn retreated deeper in to the shadows, watching them pass. She resisted the urge to smile. Her son was in good hands.

The next morning, John and Aeryn sat together trying to repair the damage her wayward son had caused.

"I'm impressed," John said as she handed him another cable.

"What?" She tried to peer over his shoulder into the tight space.

"Elbow room, Aeryn, elbow room," he said, flexing an elbow and accidentally knocking her in the jaw.

She sat back quickly, startled. "Aw Jesus," John said, extricating himself from the tight space, his brow furrowed in concern. "O man, that's going to leave a mark." He winced at her and reached out tenderly to the bruise already forming on her jaw just under the corner of her mouth. She stuck a finger inside her mouth and ran it along the inside of her cheek, pulling it out bloody.

Aeryn laughed uneasily, "Well, at least I still have all my teeth."

John found a workman's rag and shook it off before handing it to her. She wiped off her fingers and handed it back, grabbing his bandaged hand as he took it from her. "He did that."

John shrugged. "Yeah, well, at least I still got all my fingers." He mimicked her lack of concern.

After a brief silence John leaned back towards the small opening in Moya's internal skin and motioned for her to follow him.

"Look here," he pointed out the bundles of wires Kez'ryth had managed to rip free. Aeryn stuck her head in and looked.

"Yeah?" It just looked like a bundle of wires to her.

"You see these connections?" John pointed the fresh splices in Moya's circuitry. Aeryn nodded. "He was bypassing regular communications and trying to put a signal directly into Moya's language."

Aeryn frowned at him. "I don't understand."

John chuckled. "Aeryn, your kid's no dummy, that's for sure. Leviathans have their own language, they speak to each other…kind of like whale song on my own world. It's also what the Peacekeepers use to track Leviathans. He was trying to piggy back a signal onto one of her own."

Aeryn's frown deepened. "You mean he's a tech?"

John laughed outright. "Yeah, Aeryn, your kid's smarter than you are." John shrugged, "Hell, he's smarter than I am, the little shit…"

They spent the rest of the morning and the better part of the afternoon putting Moya's connections back in order. Aeryn didn't do much more than sit with John and feed him wires, cables, and filaments, but she was comfortable in his company and D'Argo had offered to babysit. Their years together had lent them an easy affection with each other and the hours were spent in idle chatter and pleasant silence.

"Aeryn! Crichton!" D'Argo's voice jolted them to attention.

"Yes, D'Argo," Aeryn answered. John stopped his work and looked at her worriedly.

"Come get this, this, offspring of yours before I put him out the nearest air lock!"

She was on her feet and half way down the hall before John managed to disentangle himself and follow her.

"That's not funny, D'Argo," John said into his own com badge.

"I wasn't joking," came the rough reply.

***************************************

Another two weekens passed in much the same way. Kez'ryth would destroy some part of the ship and John would put it back together. When he gave up on getting a signal out to the Peacekeepers, he settled for wanton destruction, trying to sabotage as many systems as possible before getting caught. He always got caught, but it never deterred him.

"Persistent, ain't he," John would say, hefting a coil of cable onto his shoulder, or tucking tools into his belt, or chasing down a DRD to assist him. But Aeryn could tell her son was testing the limits of even the human's good humor. She spent arns and days running back and forth between Kez'ryth's quarters or Pilot's den and any number of repair sites. She helped John, placated Pilot as much as she was able, and tried to control their miniature saboteur. She slept little, ate less, and felt like she was back in the early days of her commando training. Ship's day and night blurred together so that it seemed in her fatigued mind that she hadn't rested since she and John had returned with the boy.

Aeryn found herself in John's quarters after an evening meal, her nerves stretched to the breaking point. She had finally taken John's suggestion and locked Kez'ryth in his room, as much as it galled her to do so.

"Just for a little while," John said as he took her in his arms and held her, "just so you can get some R and R." He smoothed her hair back off her face. He sat with his back against the head of his bed and held her against his chest, making shushing sounds to try and comfort her ragged breathing. She felt she had been holding her breath for the past monen and a half.

"We shouldn't have brought him here," she finally said. She felt John's lips on the top of her head, followed by a hand slowly brushing through her hair.

"He belongs with his mother," he answered, kissing her again.

"His 'mother' is Peacekeeper Command. He's too old. All the time we spent wondering whether or not we could, we never stopped to consider whether or not we should." She bit her lip to keep her voice from cracking. John's steady hand continued brushing through her hair and she found it strangely calming. John's strength never failed to surprise her.

For all he had survived, for all he had endured, despite the fact she often rushed to his quarters in the middle of the night to find him sweating and screaming in his dreams, he managed to maintain his calm, his humor, and his tenderness. She envied him that. She felt a low rumble against her ear and realized he was chuckling.

"You're not the first mother who wanted to send her kid back where he came from," he said, his words light with laughter. She closed her eyes as he kissed her head again. He rested his lips there as he traced the line of her neck with his thumbs and slowly and absentmindedly started to rub that spot where her shoulder met her neck. "Except," he said after a moment, "those mothers usually send their kids TO military school to straighten them out, not kidnap them from it."

"John," Aeryn mumbled, lost in the warmth of unknotted muscles, "he can't stay here. It's not safe for Moya, it's not safe for us. And we can't make him a prisoner. What do we do with him?"

"Well," John said into her hair, "it looks like Bart Simpson's going to have to go planetside."

***************************************

Aeryn watched the retreating back of her eldest and most troubled child. Coming here had not been an easy decision to make. It had only been palatable to accept as a temporary solution, until Kez'ryth had calmed down enough to settle into a routine aboard the ship. She smiled, thinking how foolish they had been thinking anything was temporary in their lives. Even the most transitional relationships somehow became permanent. What was to have been a cycle or two moved into fifty. It was, as John would say, a drop in the bucket for her. It had been a lifetime for him.

She patted the head stone and stood up. "I hope we have done right by you, Old Man," she said, staring off into the fields, the camp, out towards the mountains and remembering how barren, how wild it had looked when they first settled here.

***************************************

It had been more difficult than they thought to find a suitable planet. It was made even more difficult by the fact they had enlisted D'Argo's help, and Luxan standards for livable were not nearly the same for human or sebacean.

John stood and stared at the hologram. He scratched the back of his head and looked at D'Argo out of the corner of his eye. The huge warrior looked terribly pleased with himself.

"It's perfect," D'Argo was saying, "it's entirely rural, it's off any kind of shipping lane, it has breathable atmosphere and not many inhabitants."

Aeryn stood on the other side of the table, her arms crossed, one foot rocking back and forth in agitation. She looked at John, waiting for him to say something.

"Uh, D'Argo, big guy…just out of curiosity, how hot does it get down there?"

D'Argo made a dismissive noise and shrugged, "O, not very. I mean, you yourself said that some continents on your home planet were…oh." He looked at Aeryn. Aeryn tilted her head at him and gave him a small humorless smile.

"Oh," she said, "oh, so all the synapses in that small Luxan brain of yours ARE capable of firing at the same time?"

"Aeryn…" John tried to think of some placating remark but Aeryn was already leaning over the table and deleting the data store for that planet.

"This is ridiculous," she said disgustedly, "Kez'ryth and I would be dead in an arn from the heat down there!"

"Well, not exactly dead," D'Argo started, but was cut off by Aeryn smashing her fist down on the final delete button before she stormed out of command.

John shook his head and patted D'Argo's shoulder. "Dude, you're killing me."

It had taken them nearly a cycle to find a suitable planet. It was outside of any shipping lanes, major or minor, the planet itself was low tech and rural, it's few inhabitants bipedal humanoid. Aside from it's odd weather patterns, the climate was warm enough to be habitable but cool enough for Aeryn and Kez'ryth to live comfortably.

John stood in command and stared at it. They had gone down the day before and purchased a large enough tract of land that they could live in the heart of it undisturbed. They had paid far more than it was worth, but such was the price of no questions asked. Bordered on one side by mountains, on another by a long valley, Aeryn had found it remarkably beautiful.

"It looks like Earth," John said as she approached him quietly from behind. "Except the colors are all wrong."

"You don't have to come with us," she said, suddenly wishing she could take back the words. She couldn't remember a time she had been without him, and was terrified he would take her up on the offer to stay behind.

He turned and looked at her and for the first time she noticed the fine etchings of scars and lines on his face. Each was a point in the progression of the cycles that they had spent together, and she could tell each story with absolute clarity. When had she ever shared a history like this with anyone? She closed her eyes as he brushed the back of his hand over her cheekbone, traced the outline of her jaw with his fingers.

"Then where should I go?" He asked.

"Stay here, with D'Argo."

John brushed his hand over her braid. It was reflexive, his fingers used to loosing themselves in her hair. She opened her eyes and he was smiling. "D'Argo's not my type."

She smiled back. "You're sure? You're sure you want to saddle yourself with an old soldier and a juvenile delinquent?"

"Yeah," John said, turning back to the forward port, "I'm just not into redheads."

Their first year planetside had been hard in many ways. They set up a farming homestead despite the fact they had enough currency to live comfortably without. It was another attempt not to attract attention to themselves. D'Argo, the only one of them who had any farming experience, helped them set up their fields. He stayed the first monen until even he was anxious to return to Moya. Their good-byes were hearty and cheerful, with promises of a return in a cycle, and D'Argo's assurances that their crop of vrolla fruit was a hardy species and would survive even the most inept farming methods.

Both John and Aeryn were hard workers and the farm thrived. But they were pilots. They would lay in the grass in the fields and stare up at the sky and point the stars out to each other. They would argue over where they had been and where they would go. They would lay there holding hands, using each other for a pillow until their clothes were covered in dew and their eyes would droop and the moon would get lower and lower in the sky.

It was on one of these nights that their wild and uncontrollable son silently crept up on them, using the trellis of fruit plants as cover. Aeryn gripped John's hand a little harder as she felt more than heard the stealthy feet against the ground. John's voice barely hitched as he continued with his story.

"I'm telling you Aeryn, you weren't there. She was stuck. S-T-U-C-K. It was like the whole bondage version of the Amityville Horror."

Aeryn shook her head. Her long hair rustled in the grass. "John, that's impossible. She probably had some sort of anti-grav device."

The boy continued to creep forward. He was nearly on top of them when two sets of blue eyes locked on his. He ignored their scrutiny and knelt beside John, examining the way Aeryn lay with her head on his shoulder. He hunkered down next John, touched him gently as though testing the firmness of a pillow, and mimicked her. John and Aeryn exchanged curious glances but continued to lay there, afraid they would spook the boy with further talk. When Kez'ryth's body slumped against his, John nudged Aeryn and she got up, searching for their flashlight. With Aeryn leading the way, John carried the boy back to the house and tucked him into bed for the first time.

When asked about it when he was older, all Kez'ryth would say was that he would hear their laughter and quiet words night after night ringing out through the fields, a sound so unfamiliar to him, that he thought he was missing something.

To their neighbors, what few there were, they were an odd family. The man, though ever well mannered, polite, and even jovial in his encounters, was a stark contrast to his wife who was tall, dark and taciturn. One look at the boy disproved any theory that he was any fruit of the husband's, and yet anyone seeing the two of them together could not fathom that he was anything but blood kin. Everyone felt it best to leave the offworlders to their own devices and for the most part John and Aeryn were left alone.

Nearly a cycle later, with two planting seasons gone by and a third coming quickly to an end, Aeryn sat with Kez'ryth finger knitting the fine line they used to weave the trellises for their vrolla vines. Her face grimaced with every knot she tied off and John could tell as he entered the house that the tips of her fingers were starting to blister. The boy sat in front of her, silent and solemn, feeding her the wisp thin filament for each knot.

John was loath to interrupt them. Aeryn's son spent arns few and far between in his mother's company and John wondered briefly what she had done to make him participate in such a tedious task as fingerknitting. Having had the experience himself, he knew her fingers would soon start to bleed. He shook the dirt and grime of the fields out of his hair and poured them each a flagon of water. He set one in front of each of them on the table. Aeryn smiled fleetingly in acknowledgement but did not look up from her work. Kez'ryth looked genuinely torn between wanting to drink and having his hands full.

"Boy," John almost smiled at hearing his father's voice in his own, "how long have you two been at this?"

"A couple, three arns," he replied, looking warily at his mother.

John put a gentle hand over Aeryn's fingers. "From the look of those blisters, I'd say closer to five or six."

Aeryn looked up, an unruly piece of hair falling out of its binding and into her eyes. "It needs to be done," she said, "and he needs to learn how to do it."

"Go get something to eat, Kez. We'll finish this." Aeryn opened her mouth to protest but John cut her off. "You feed me the line, I'll make the knots."

Kez'ryth hesitated a moment before laying the fine line gently across the table as he got up. The door clicked behind him and Aeryn frowned at John.

"You're not helping us any, John. I know you mean well," she shook her head, "but he has got to start becoming a contributing member of our…" she paused, searching for the right word and settled on "family."

John smiled at her and she stopped her work to stare up into his face. It was the same smile she had grown to love so many cycles ago aboard Moya. It was the same smile that kept her from feeling like she was missing a limb every morning she woke up without the gentle buzz and hum of a ship beneath her feet.

"What?" She finally asked when he continued to stand there, laughter playing at the back of his throat.

"I was wondering how long it was going to take you to say it."

He took the weave out of her hands and lay it on the table. He knelt in front of her and kissed each angry red sore. She started to pull her hand away, glancing nervously at the door.

"We don't have time for this," she whispered.

"We've always got time for a little TLC," he replied, lingering over her thumb. He turned her hands over and kissed the fine mesh of scars on her knuckles. The remnants of too much anger and pain taken out on a sparring post. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to enjoy his touch.

The next morning her fingers were bandaged, but they worked side by side hanging the metras of fine filament webbing until their fields sparkled like an enormous spider web caught in the morning dew. Too tired to cook, they ate food cubes for dinner and collapsed into bed. Shortly after the moon reached it's zenith, D'Argo found them, laying side by side, Aeryn's leg flopped casually over John's, their fingertips touching the only sign of intimacy between them. In a small bundle against John, pressed between him and the wall, was the softly snoring presence of Aeryn's only child. D'Argo quietly closed the door behind himself, took a brief stroll through their fields, and went back to Moya's transport pod to rest. His urgent news could wait a few more arns.

Aeryn woke to the smell of food cooking. Even before she opened her eyes, she grimaced. Though neither of them were grand chefs, she could stomach her own cooking better than she could John's. His answer to everything was animal fat. He had once told her "you can eat anything fried, " but it usually sat like a lead stone in her stomach for the rest of the day. She shifted her weight in the bed, trying to find any combination of movement that did not leave her muscles screaming at her in protest. She sensed a presence next to her and reached out a hand expecting to find the small form of her son.

She had no feeling in her fingertips, but she could still tell what was lying next to her was much too large to be a boy. She was wide awake in an instant, ripping the bandages off one hand and feeling for her pulse pistol at the head of the bed. John bolted awake next to her, and she put a finger to his lips. He reached for his own pistol. The boy did not move, except to blink his eyes and watch them with interest.

A massive body filled the doorway to their sleeping chamber and Aeryn jumped out of bed, her fatigue gone in an instant, training her weapon on the form. John moved his body in front of Kez'ryth's as he aimed.

D'Argo jumped back behind the doorframe, raising his hands in surrender. "Hey, hey," he said, "It's nice to see some things don't change."

John couldn't believe his eyes. "D'Argo?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's me." A wry smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he peered back around the corner. "I surrender, ok?"

Aeryn and John lowered their weapons in unison and looked at each other in surprise.

"Heavy D, how are ya man!?" John was off the bed and embracing his friend, clapping him heartily on the back.

Aeryn smiled. "Welcome back, D'Argo."

"C'mon," D'Argo said, motioning toward their galley. "I made you breakfast."

Aeryn motioned for Kez'ryth to follow her. "Not Luxan food, I hope," she said, holstering her weapon.

Most of their talk over breakfast was idle and friendly. D'Argo praised them on their flourishing fields, they begged him for news. He smiled warmly at Aeryn's son, remarking on how the simple life was good for him, how much he had grown in stature and manner. They hounded him for news of Chiana, Jothee, Moya and Pilot. D'Argo looked overwhelmed, but answered each question in turn. When all the food had been eaten and they stood up to clear the table, he reached across Kez'ryth to hug Aeryn warmly. John stifled a laugh in the back of his hand at the look of shock and discomfort on Aeryn's face. She had softened some in the past cycle, but not that much.

"You have a fine home and a fine son, and now I must borrow the man of the house for a few microts," he said as he motioned to John and walked towards the door. "We have much to talk about, my friend."

John glanced at Aeryn. "Well, I'm sure Aeryn would be interested in any news you might have."

"I bring news of the royal planet," D'Argo answered, "and your wife."

Aeryn's face turned stony. It was not a subject they talked about. Not much, not at all, not ever.

"Go," she said, her voice Peacekeeper cold.

In an effort to placate her, John paused at the door and said "Why don't you take the pod up and visit Pilot. I'm sure he's anxious to see you and Kez."

The look on D'Argo's face said otherwise, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

Aeryn raised her head and looked sidelong at him. John knew that look and didn't say anything more as he followed his old friend out into the fields.

As he jogged after D'Argo, she heard him say, "Dude, what are you trying to do to me? See, me. Bus. Throw me under the bus. You're killing me, man. The princess, she's not my wife." Their voices faded into the hum of insects and the chatter of birds.

***************************************

Aeryn stood at the brush line that separated the woods from the fields on their homestead. Homestead. Home. Aeryn was amazed at how much contentment she had found here, once they had moved into the rhythm of life. It had not been a 'normal' life as John and coined it, but it had been their life. She looked towards their dwelling, where Kez'ryth was greeted by his sister, tall, regal, doe eyed. They adored each other, these two siblings who were not of the same blood. Aeryn often thought that their love for each other excluded even the rest of their family. They had each found a kindred spirit in the other, and often Kay was the only grounding influence Kez'ryth had. In his youth the only way to his reason had been through her. Aeryn watched them turn in unison to stare at her, then Kay gently reached across her brother and pulled the door shut.

***************************************

Aeryn followed John into their sleeping chamber, leaving D'Argo to explain the mechanics of a qualta blade to her son. He brushed by her and pulled open a storage trunk. The trunk they kept their uniforms in. She frowned at him. .

"What are you doing?" She asked. His haste alarmed her and his silence left a sickening feeling in her stomach. She watched him shed his field clothes, a rough red tunic and brown pants, and pull on the leather pants of a Peacekeeper. He secured his holster before even putting on his boots. He was like a man going into battle.

"John, what the FRELL is going on?" she demanded. She suddenly felt underdressed in her own field garb. She longed for the feel of leather, the strength of a holster gripping her thigh. Working day to day unarmed had been one of the toughest adjustments of her life, and she still felt naked without a weapon.

"I gotta go, Aeryn," he said as he pulled his black shirt over his head. He cast one of her black vests aside for his own.

She planted herself directly between him and the door. "Then I'm going with you."

John sighed and sat on the edge of the bed as he put on his military issue boots. He shook his head. "Aeryn, it's not possible. You gotta stay here, tend the fields, look after Kez."

"John, I'm not a common laborer. I can't do this by myself. And he only responds to you."

John took her face in his hands. "We don't have time to argue about this." He kissed her. "D'Argo is going to arrange for some laborers before we leave orbit. You just worry about the little guy. I'll be back by the end of the growing season." He grabbed his coat out of the storage locker, its leather creased and soft from cycles of use.

He brushed past her. "John Crichton," she said at his back. "John Robert Crichton." He paused, not turning but cocking his head in her direction so she could almost see his profile. Pain and confusion made her want to say a hundred hurtful things, but she didn't.

"Be careful and come home," she reached forward quickly and kissed him, mumbling against his cheek, "I love you."

He turned away, but not before she saw the smile.

She stopped D'Argo at the door. "Bring him back in one piece, or whatever it is you're going to deal with will be the least of your concerns."

 She could see herself in his eyes, a woman in rough field clothes, dust in her hair and a child wrapped around one thigh. But she shared his warrior heart and he knew what it took from her to ask this, to acknowledge her need. He nodded and followed his friend.

True to his word, the laborers arrived two days after John's hasty departure. She watched their pale blonde heads bob through the fields as they followed the straight rows to her dwelling. She dressed in her leather trousers that day, so that her holster would not chafe her leg, but kept on her coarse planter's tunic. Her hair was bound back tightly off her face and she met them at the door, unsmiling and businesslike.

They were a distant cousin species, red skinned from days and cycles of work in various fields, unaffected by extremes of heat and cold, all thick skin, wild hair and pale eyes. There were only two of them, a male and a female, and all they carried were two rough satchels between them. The male tried to hide several fresh scars with a constant tugging at his tunic. Aeryn met them in the common room and discussed where they would camp (out behind the field, as far from her dwelling as she could get them without making it an inconvenient trek to the fields), Kez'ryth's peculiarities-"If you see him, leave him be, he always comes home eventually"-but when she got to the topic of wages they looked uncomfortable and said it had already been taken care of.

"The Luxan paid you already?" Aeryn asked.

The two laborers exchanged looks and the woman quickly said, "Yes, the Luxan. And if our services are required past the current growing season we can discuss it then."

"Well, then," Aeryn said, getting up from her place across from them, "we'll get along fine if you keep two things in mind: do your work and don't bother me or the boy."

The woman smiled a thin, tight smile. "Of course, Officer, we wouldn't dream of it."

Aeryn's hand instinctively slid to the weapon at her side. The man was already half out the door when she asked, "who told you I was an Officer?"

The woman laughed. It was a sharp, hard sound completely devoid of mirth. "My mistake, lady, I saw the weapon and assumed…"

"Never," Aeryn said, not taking her hand off the weapon, "never assume anything."

"Of course," and the woman gave a curt bow of the head and gently pushed her partner the rest of the way out the door.

There was something…not right…that Aeryn couldn't put her finger on. But it would have to wait for more thought later. Kez'ryth had disappeared into the woods the morning after John had left and she had some routine maintenance to do in the fields before she went looking for him again.

***************************************

Aeryn looked past the fields to the laborer camp. It had grown into an enormous, sprawling community since that day two strange laborers were sent to knock on her door. Nebari, Sykari, Sebaceans, and any number of other species lived and worked within its walls and in her fields. When she was not piloting, as she hadn't for several cycles now, it was her link to the rest of the universe.

After the first cycle, they had torn down all the tents and put up permanent structures. Every cycle they had bought more and more land, and hired more laborers to work it. The small town she saw nestled snuggly amidst rows and rows of black, clinging vrolla vines was not incongruous with the amount of land there was to be worked. They had been very careful of that. Very, very, painstakingly careful.

As she looked into the minute portion of the lives she and her mate had helped create for these people, she realized she knew where her youngest children were and changed direction from the path directly back to her home. Instead, she cut through the fields themselves towards the Nebari quarter of the township.

***************************************

The growing season came to an end and she and the two laborers gathered the fruit off the vines, repaired the fine trellises that the delicate plants needed to climb, and traded for supplies for the next growing season. As the pungent smell of the fruit faded from the air, Aeryn stopped searching the sky everyday and threw herself into the hard, dirty work of a lady farmer.

When the rainy season started, there was little to do but sit inside and brood. Kez'ryth continued to run wild, and she found she was alone too many hours out of every day. At night she dreamed, mostly of John, and the dreams were sometimes sweet but mostly haunting.

She was certain wherever he had gone he had managed to get himself killed. She was, what had John called her, his Guardian Angel? What good was any sort of guardian when not at the side of the one she's protecting? She was in the throes of one of these dreams, John bruised and bloody on the royal planet of the Breakaway Colonies. His blood seeping into the fine marble of the floors, staining the columns and walls. His voice cracking and echoing through every hollow chamber. And she was in her field clothes, dressed as she was when they first arrived on this planet, and weaponless. She could hear the thunderclap of heavy weapons fire and the world shook around her. She startled awake at the sound of heavy knocks on her door.

Kez'ryth would have just let himself in. The laborers never came up this far, taking her warning to heart that they were to never bother her or her son. Her weapon was in her hand without even having to think about it. She cautiously opened the door to see the female laborer, her spiky hair flat against her head in the rain, her clothes drenched. Aeryn stood aside to allow her to enter, but did not release her weapon.

"We located your boy," she said.

"Is he alright," Aeryn asked cautiously. She wondered what it was in her that wanted to dash out into the rain and grab him, check him head to toe, feed him a decent meal and give him dry clothes.

"O, he's fine. He's set himself up a camp down next to the stream on the far side of your property. Very resourceful for his age."

"Yes, he is that." Aeryn smiled at the compliment. "We have a stream?"

"Indeed, and if I may be so bold, it would be a prime spot to start an orchard. I came here to request your permission to start planting over there."

Aeryn reholstered her weapon and shook her head. "I need you in the fields we have now."

The woman cleared her throat and looked uncomfortable. "I have, uhm, kinsmen, who need a place to settle for a bit. They could plant and work the orchards."

"I can't afford anymore laborers. I don't even know how much D'Argo paid you for your time here, but I'm certain it wasn't enough for two whole seasons."

"Your planet has three planting seasons in a cycle, we have been paid for the whole cycle. And my kinsmen would be willing to maintain the orchard for perhaps a small percentage of its profit."

A whole cycle. Did John really know he was going to be gone that long and lie to her? She doubted it. He was always the optimist and whatever trouble was detaining him was just that, trouble. One of his plans had probably gone terribly awry. She wondered why he ever bothered trying to plan anything at all, really.

"Fine," Aeryn answered, distracted by her own thoughts, "but the same rules apply to them."

And less than a weeken later, more laborers joined her. The Sykari now buzzed with talk and Aeryn almost missed the quiet in her fields. Her son, disturbed by the planting going in his corner of the world, came back to the main dwelling and stayed.

"I don't like you," he had said one night as she cleaned her pulse pistol.

"Well, I suppose I don't expect you to," she had answered.

"You're a traitor," he had said again, raising his chin in a perfect imitation of his father. Aeryn frowned at the mannerism more than the words. The boy only spoke truth.

"To some, yes. But sometimes it's more important to do the right thing." She thought how self righteous she sounded when her true reason for flight had been one of self preservation and not higher morality.

"You're a cultural traitor," he pushed, "and you breed with non-Sebaceans." The last was said with more loathing than she thought a child capable of.

"John and I don't breed, boy," she used the word not in the affectionate way John did, but because she could not stand to use his name when he was acting like such a…Peacekeeper. "We're friends."

The boy snorted, a habit he would keep into adulthood whenever he heard something he didn't agree with. Aeryn wondered if it was a habit he had picked up from D'Argo. It certainly wasn't a Sebacean trait.

After Kez'ryth finally fell asleep in his own chamber, Aeryn lay awake in her bed. Despite the disturbing nature of his words, she knew he was only regurgitating what he had been told. She smiled. He had spoken to her.

It was the first sunny day after the monen of rain in the third growing season of the cycle and Aeryn was deepening a drainage ditch. Aeryn had reconciled herself to finishing the season, handing the reins of the farm over to her four laborers, and putting herself and her son on the first transport anywhere else. John had more than likely gotten himself killed, and D'Argo too, or else despite her threat he would have had the honor to come back to tell her.

She wore her thin laborer clothes again, having fashioned herself a holster that secured the weapon against the small of her back. In John's absence she absolutely refused to be weaponless. She would rather have tended the fields naked than without a weapon. Mud slopped against her boots as she wedged the shovel into the ditch and heaved. Mud flew up and sprayed her in the face, clung to her hair, dotted her clothes. Who was it, she wondered, who had despised mud? O yes, Rygel. The garbage disposal with feet.

She reached into the thick red water and found the problem. She heaved on the rock, wedging her fingers around it, trying to find its base, until she could feel the dirt ooze under her fingernails. She grunted and heaved, making little progress. If John were here, she thought…well, yes, if John were here…but he's not and won't be again so deal with it. She heaved again, tears starting to mingle with the sweat on her face.

No one bothered the Peacekeeper as he walked through the fields. Too warm for a full great coat, he wore his black and red officer's jacket open and a pistol holstered on each leg. His boots slogged through the mud and he fingered the fullest of fruits, snatching one off a vine and eating it without breaking stride. They watched him with wary eyes, but they did not disturb him.

She had been a sight when he came upon her. Covered head to toe in the red mud that reminded him so much of the red clay from home, she was up to her elbows in a drainage ditch panting and heaving against some immovable force. He knew it was her because only the woman he loved would tend the fields armed. Her boots lay in a heap just outside the ditch, covered in mud and baking in the sun. He heard the rolling syllables and tight clicks of curses that his translator microbes were unable to compensate for.

"So," he had said, loudly and officiously, "who does a guy have to sleep with to get some grub around here?"

She had tried to spin, her hand going for her weapon, but the mud sucked at her ankles and she found herself off balance and falling, her weapon drawn but completely ineffective because she couldn't point it in the right direction. She hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of her, but instinct took over and she lifted her feet out of the ditch and rolled. She saw his boots first, muddy but uniform issue. Her sight traveled up the standard issue trousers, two holsters, two weapons…it took her a moment to wonder why he hadn't drawn on her yet. The red and black coat unfastened and hanging open over the black shirt. A face, a smile, two blue eyes wrinkled in laughter. The hair a cycle longer and pulled back in a binding.

"Hey Sunshine," he said, moving forward to stand directly above her.

Her mouth moved but there was still no air to speak. Even if she could, she wouldn't have known what to say. Her pulse pistol was still aimed at his chest, but he ignored it as he straddled her, extending a hand. She looked at it warily, then quickly sat up and ducked between his legs. She elbowed him hard at the back of the knees, bringing him to all fours. She rolled to the right, still on her back, and leveraged him over onto his back with two heels judiciously applied to his rib cage. He landed with a thud and a grunt and she was straddling his chest, a hard right catching him square in the jaw.

"That," she said, finding her voice again, "is for not coming back when you said you would." He rolled his jaw, wincing and spitting blood, but he didn't try to extricate himself.

"And this," she said, leaning nose to nose with him, "is for coming back at all." She went from adversary to lover in the breadth of a microt. Her mouth firmly covering his, her tongue diving in, her hands on either side of his head as though he would dare break the connection. She could taste the blood mingled with the sweet juices of the fruit but didn't care. He was back. She could taste him. She could feel him. She could smell his sweat and hear his ragged breath. His hands came up and buried themselves in her hair, pulling her so close their teeth bumped together. He smothered her face with kisses, he licked at her mouth, nipped at her throat, they tumbled in the wet and the muck until he was on top of her and the world did not exist but for each other.

She felt his arousal between her legs and suddenly stiffened, realizing they were crossing boundaries they had set for each other cycles and cycles before. They were breaking rules that defined their relationship and despite her joy at his homecoming, she was unprepared to deal with the consequences.

"John," she said into one of his kisses.

"God, Aeryn, I missed you," he answered against the hollow of her throat.

"John," she insisted, "we have an audience."

John looked up the length of the field at the laborers trying to politely feign disinterest. "Right," he said, standing up. He offered his hand again and this time she took it, heaving herself upright. As she stooped to retrieve her weapon from the mud, John tenderly touched his jaw.

"That was a fine howdoya do, Aeryn. Man, I forgot what a nasty right hook you have"

"You deserved it," she answered scathingly, trying to ineffectually brush some of the muck from her clothes. "And it's amazing you came back at all considering the deplorable lack of reflexes you have."

"I did deserve it," John conceded, "I did. But c'mon, I need you to meet someone." He motioned for her to follow him back down the field.

"Let's get cleaned up first," she started back towards the dwelling, but John grabbed her arm.

"That's ok," he swiped at the mud on his pants, but only succeeded in smearing it into one thin coat. "I shouldn't have left her as long as I have. "

"Her?" Warning signals flashed in Aeryn's mind. Would he have greeted her so enthusiastically if he had taken a lover? Had he brought his wife back with him? John and Aeryn's relationship had never been definable, but she couldn't bring herself to seriously consider that he would breech her trust quite like that.

John smiled at her. She noticed his face had a few more scars than before he had left. She noticed his pale blue eyes were a little sadder. He looked weary and alert. "C'mon, you'll like her." He held out a hand. She ignored it but fell into step beside him. They walked in silence a few microts before he asked about Kez'ryth.

"How are you and the boy doing?"

"I drowned him," she answered, feeling malicious. John stopped, disbelief and horror and confusion twisting the handsome features of his face into a caricature she hadn't seen of him before. She wondered what he had seen to leave this sort of mark on him.

"It's alright," she assured him quickly. "He's set up a camp down by the river, in the orchard. But mostly he sleeps in the dwelling now."

"We have a river?" he asked, following as she turned back towards the path through the field. A second later he asked, "We have an orchard?"

"You've been gone a long while," Aeryn answered. "I made some improvements."

"Obviously," he replied. The rest of their walk was comprised of much the same idle chatter they shared with D'Argo nearly a cycle ago when he had come to take John away. How was D'Argo? Alive. How were the laborers working out? Was she getting a good trade price? They pointedly ignored any talk of where he had gone or what he had done. That would all come in due time.

An arn into their walk they mounted a hill and found one of Moya's transport pods in the small valley that marked the eastern most boundary of their land. The familiar site made Aeryn ache. It had been two long cycles since she and John had touched down here. Two long cycles that she had not spent in space. Even her dreams would not take her there, but rather focussed on John in his absence. She unconsciously picked the dry mud from under her nails. Her mind took her to thoughts of escape. Moya was up there, Kez'ryth nearly trusted her now, she could take them back to where they belonged. John touched her arm and snapped her out of her reverie as she neared panic. She wanted to desperately pilot again. She wanted the controls in her hands and the dizzying feel of a spin and a roll and the heart stopping lurch of take off and landing…

"Aeryn," John said, and she realized it was probably the second or third time he had called her name.

They were standing directly in front of the hatch now and she looked up into the heart stopping visage of a small girl, perhaps slightly younger than Kez'ryth, with amazing, piercing pale blue eyes. She turned and looked at John, silently asking for some sort of explanation. The same blue eyes stared back at her, just as silently begging for her indulgence.

"What," Aeryn searched for something to say, and finally settled on the most harmless question she could think of. "What's her name?"

John smiled a broad, warm smile. A father's smile. "I would have named her Aeryn," he said, putting his arm around Aeryn's shoulders and motioning for the small girl to come forward, "but her mother named her Kay."

The child shyly moved forward and came to John's side, taking her father's hand. "Is this the pretty lady you told me about?" She asked.

"Indeed it is, Kay. This is the radiant Aeryn Sun."

Those little blue eyes peered at Aeryn from around John's back, assessing her. "She looks kinda, common," the child said.

Aeryn gave John one of her "you have got to be kidding me" looks. He laughed nervously and scratched the back of his head. His ponytail bobbed up and down and he fingered it, as though still not used to its being there.

"Well, hon, we talked about that," he answered her, "we're all pretty common around here."

At least, Aeryn thought, she hasn't tried to remove any vital organs. Unlike Kez'ryth.

"We have to get back," Aeryn said, turning back the way they had come. The sun was starting to make its descent and Kez'ryth would be looking for his meal soon. Not that he was incapable of fending for himself, but she didn't relish the idea of having to clean up after his foraging.

"Agreed," John said, going inside the transport for two satchels.

He picked the girl up and put her on his shoulders, then picked up both bags. Aeryn silently took them from him and shouldered both, leading the way back to the homestead.

"I can't believe you left her here by herself," she muttered.

"What was that," John asked, catching up to her.

"Why didn't you bring her with you? I can't believe you left a child inside a transport by herself for 2 or 3 arns."

John's voice was serious when he answered her, "Things are getting pretty ugly up there, Aeryn. I had to make sure everything was the same way I left it down here before I risked her neck too." Then he laughed.

"What?" Aeryn didn't break stride, but frowned at him.

"You sound like a mother," he answered her, grabbing her arm to turn her towards him for a quick kiss.

The laborers had already returned to their camps by the time John and Aeryn slogged their way back through the fields. Kay wrinkled her nose at the vast ocean of mud, but wisely kept any comments to herself. John stopped and picked a handful of fruit for her, ignoring the juice dripped into his hair as she ate.

Kez'ryth greeted John coolly, but could not contain his interest over the new arrival. They eyed each other from across the common room, assessing each other, sizing the other up for friend or foe.

John left his daughter with a lingering kiss on her forehead and assurances he'd be back shortly. He joined Aeryn in the sleeping chamber, looking for clean clothes.

"They don't act like children," he said sadly.

"I wouldn't know," Aeryn answered, distracted by trying to extricate herself from her clothes. The mud had dried and hardened arns ago, making her clothes as pliable as wood.

John took off his jacket and released the fastener on his holster. Laying both weapons on the bed, he sat on the floor to remove his boots.

Aeryn touched the pulse pistols. They were newer issue than what he had left with. Wynnona had been lost. "When did you start wearing two?" Something inside of her started to mourn for the loss of her kind, gentle John. He didn't answer her.

"We've got a lot to talk about," he finally said, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it in a corner. There was the tattoo. She walked over and touched it lightly, tracing its line to a new scar on his rib cage. A long, jagged, angry line. Fresh. The bruise on the other side of his rib cage was from her. She knelt beside him and lay a cool hand over it and touched the other on his jaw. So much pain. He had seen so much pain and she had caused him more. Yet he still held her with affection, his eyes still regarded her with love. She would never understand this human. Her fingers traced his jaw line, pausing at each new scar and scratch, wrapped around his neck and found his new hair binding. He made a sound low in the back of his throat as she played with it.

"Ack, God, now THAT thing has got to go." He reached behind himself into the waistband of his pants and pulled out a small knife with a vicious looking blade. With one quick motion he cut the small ponytail off and threw it on the floor. Aeryn raised her eyebrows at him. He didn't answer any of her unasked questions, but found a clean set of clothes and silently went to shower.

Aeryn finished undressing and stuck her head out the door to check on the children. They sat where John had left them. Staring at each other from across the room, they were light and dark, silent and brooding.

Aeryn closed the door on her son and Katralla's daughter. She had no doubt it was Katralla's daughter. Aside from the remarkable eyes, her head was covered in blond ringlets and her face was her mother's moon shape. The child in her common room was the heir to the throne of the Breakaway Colonies. If there were still a colony to be heir to. Was that why John had brought her here? Was her mother's death D'Argo's urgent news? Or had John just learned of the child's existence and much like herself spirited his flesh and blood away to be raised by himself and not strangers a galaxy away? If that was indeed the case, the scars on his body and in his eyes showed that he had paid a heavy price for the privilege of fatherhood. In a rare moment of sentiment, she stooped and picked up the hair binding and tucked it away in one of her trunks.

That night, after a heavy meal-John had desperately wanted something besides food cubes-and more silence, they had put Kay to bed in Kez'ryth's room and the boy had assumed his place curled up next to John as he and Aeryn lay in bed together. She had watched John's eyes drift during dinner and so had decided to hold her questions until the morning.

They stared at each other across the small space of the bed, the heavy sound of Kez'ryth's breathing the only indication that anyone slept. A couple arns after the moon reached its zenith, they heard small whimpering sounds from the other room.

"She cries," John said quietly by way of explanation, getting up and searching for pants to pull on over his PK issue underwear. But Kez'ryth was already out of bed and half way to the other room before John had his first leg in them. They heard the soft click of another door opening and the tiny animal sounds soon stopped. John and Aeryn looked at each other, not sure exactly what they had just witnessed. John finished getting dressed and followed the boy. He found him lying in bed with Kay, holding her and wiping her tears away. It was the last night Kez'ryth spent in the same bed as his parents.

When he returned, he found Aeryn still wide awake, staring longingly out the window and into the sky.

"I need to go back," she said, hearing him approach behind her.

"It's," John searched for the words to describe how everything had changed. He put his hands on her shoulders and started rubbing that spot where her shoulder met her neck and she tilted her head to press her lips against his fingers. "It's not the same."

His voice wavered and she stood stock still, afraid she would spook him into silence again. "Every horror we experienced up there, every pain, every nightmare, every bad guy who had a hard on for us…it's spilled over to the rest of galaxy. It's Nazi Germany and the fall of the Roman Empire and Hiroshima all rolled into one." She didn't understand all of his words, his Earth references, but she understood the loss of which the spoke.

"Then I have all the more reason to get back up there," she answered, "what kind of good am I doing down here being a, a farmer? I spent the day up to my elbows in dren trying to move a rock that was stopping up a drainage ditch. If things are as bad as you say then we need to get back aboard Moya and do what we can to fix things."

He rested his chin on her shoulder and she reached around to hold his head. He nuzzled her neck and she closed her eyes, remembering when they had been lovers.

"Aeryn, we got bigger fish to fry than trying to flash bake some idiot who doesn't have the common sense to think for himself. If we stay up there, we'll both be dead in a cycle. We have Kez'ryth and Kay to think about now. Kay needs to stay alive long enough to ascend the throne when she's called for. We're safe here for the time being. Besides, I have a plan." John had a plan. That couldn't be a good thing.

While they stood at the window staring at the stars, John told her just how much things had changed since they came to this backwater little world. The Nebari resistance had become a full fledged civil war. The opportunistic Scarrans had hit the Peacekeepers hard, leaving them unable to defend vast tracts of territory and in some areas reducing them to guerrilla fighters. This was compounded by the fact Sykar was deep in revolt, and the Peacekeepers were trying to reign them in with an iron fist. With the supplies of tanot root dwindling, chakon oil was fast becoming a commodity on any market. Everywhere whole worlds were being crippled by the Nebari plague.

"The Sykari," she realized now why the woman was so unsettling when she first came here, and why they refused any wage she offered them, "That woman, the first one who arrived just after you left, she was there when we were. The one who cornered you." She felt him nod against her shoulder. "The one with the worm."

"Tenga," he answered, filling in the missing name, "and her brother Ezrel."

"They're political refugees." She felt John nod again.

"D'Argo set it up. He didn't go into the particulars, but he got them off planet and brought them here. He knew they'd be safe. It's the perfect cover, we have a farm, they're farm laborers. And more are willing to come. More need to come."

Aeryn scowled. "You didn't trust me enough to tell me your plan?"

"It was D'Argo's plan. I think he has a thing for the Sykari…"

"He was barely there for three days."

"C'mon, Aeryn, you know D'Argo. Two hearts, no waiting…Besides, I didn't even know what he was up to 'til we had broken orbit."

Giving her a moment to let her irritation settle, John told her his plan, which, though she didn't like it at the time, served everyone's interest.

"Every war breeds a thriving black market. They need pilots and lots of them. We're pilots, Aeryn, and we're damn good ones. Not only that, we can pass for Peacekeepers. People like us are paid a fortune for getting people off world, doing supply runs, ferrying troops."

"You mean spies and rebels." She was getting a bitter taste in the back of her mouth. She had made several adjustments to living outside the shadow of Peacekeeper command. She loved a human. She was raising her own child herself, if you could call chasing him down every few days and cleaning up after his messes 'raising'. But the thought of using her piloting skills to practice subterfuge and espionage…old habits died hard and it made her feel sick.

"What I mean," he turned her slowly, "is people who need help. Families out there are getting slaughtered because they are on the wrong side of the fence. Don't get all Peacekeeper on me, Aeryn. My father once told me we all got to be our own kind of hero. If you're content sitting on this rock rehashing some doctrine that you know isn't true just cause it feels better than the alternative, then by all means, do so. But I can't live like that. I can't live with myself like that." His voice was hard. She knew he meant every word he said. If there were people that needed help, John would be the first person to stick his neck out for them. The profit was secondary.

He brushed his lips over hers before turning away and going back to the bed. She stood at the window watching him in the moonlight. Last night she had slept alone. Tonight it looked like she would be sleeping with a ghost. He turned to lie down after removing his pants and she saw for the first time the large puckered scar of a pulse rifle blast along the ridge of his right hip. For the moment their conversation was forgotten. She made a long hissing sound as she tried to draw breath. Either she was sleeping with a ghost, or her human was very, very lucky.

"What the frell is that," she asked when she could speak again. She leaned on the bed and examined the scar in the dim light. Her fingers probed the tissue, feeling the integrity of bone underneath it as though doing field triage. He caught her hand and held it in place over the scar. She noticed it was large enough for her to still see its pale edges peeking out from around her fingers and under her palm. It had not been a glancing blast but full on, however bad the angle may have been. Even alive, he should have been paralyzed in that leg.

"Don't," he said, holding her hand. "Don't do that." But he didn't release her hand.

"Every day I was gone, Aeryn, all I could think of was you. Every time I heard a woman talk it was your voice. And the dreams…" his voice drifted into a sigh as he tucked his hands behind his head and looked up at the ceiling.

"I dreamed of you. I dreamt you were wounded," she pressed against the scar, "and I couldn't reach you. What's strange is how little we've been apart in the past 7 or 8 cycles. I don't think I was ever attached to a unit that long."

"Aeryn, we can't go back. You can't go back. Not to the way life was, drifting around the universe on Moya, picking up strays, fighting our private little battles. Either we stay here and stick our heads in the sand, or we go forward and do something right. Even Moya and Pilot have picked sides."

"D'Argo?" Aeryn asked.

"D'Argo has purpose up there. He's most likely going to get himself killed cause he won't listen to his own advice, but he really is brilliant. In a dumb luck sort of way. But he got me out alive. He got my daughter out alive. I owe him more than I can give him." John took her hand off his hip and brought it to his lips. He kissed each finger, lingering over the palm, then inhaled deeply.

"Y'know," he said thoughtfully, "do you know how Sebaceans smell to us humans?"

Aeryn shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. Her mind was in a state of chaos at the feel of his touch. "You smell like fruit. Back home we had this stuff called Juicy Fruit Gum, and you smell kinda like that. And there I was on a whole planet of you people, only it's not the paradise we remember. It's at war now, and people hunker where they find space, and not everyone gets to take a shower everyday, yknow. But there I was stuck in this space with so many people for far too long and I'm sure they were probably starting to seem pretty offensive to each other, and all I could think of was how they smelled like you." He pulled her towards him. "Sweet like syrup."

She moved to straddle him and they rested nose to nose. "Sweet, like candy." He kissed her. His tongue traced the outline of her lips and she opened to him, her tongue flicking out to tease him and then retreating. She kissed each new scar on his face, she kissed the angry purple bruise on his handsome jaw, she ran her tongue over the jagged line of tissue along his ribs. He buried his fingers in her hair as she nursed each injury with her mouth. She stopped at the large scar on his hip and looked at him.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, running her fingertips lightly over it. This time a lover's touch, not a medical examination.

"Not as much as being without you," he reached out and caressed her face. She closed her eyes and sighed, all the memories of their lovemaking coming back. Her breath hitched in her throat as she felt the familiar ache from her belly creep down her thighs. She wanted him again, more than she remembered wanting him in cycles.

"I thought you were dead," she said, suddenly aware of the tears sliding down her face. She felt like she had been holding her breath the whole day. The whole season. The whole cycle since he had left. She looked at him in the pale moon glow. He looked ethereal. She could hardly convince herself he was here.

"So did I," he answered, pulling her down to him again. They drank each other, relearning each texture and nuance. He wiped her tears away but would not part lips with her. He reached up under her tank top and both groaned as he found her nipple. John held her to him as he sat up, pulling the neck of her shirt down to expose one pale breast. He looked at her face, at her eyes half closed, at her mouth where she bit her lip to keep from crying out. He took her nipple in his mouth, gently licking and sucking. She locked her feet behind him and ground herself towards his erection, her breath coming in low moans. He pulled the shirt harder and there was a loud ripping sound. He paused, his eyes questioning her.

"That's alright," she breathed, tossing the useless garment in the corner, "it was one of yours anyway."

John chuckled as he traced the line of her breast up to her collarbone with his tongue, then nibbled gently at her throat. His hands traced her hair, her skin, her face. They gripped her hips tightly and pulled her forward and she found she was rocking against him, the thin fabric of their underwear the only thing in the way of their coupling.

She wanted him. She ached to feel him inside her. She felt wet and ready and like she would climax just from the feel of his mouth, his tongue, his hands. She reached down between them, feeling her own slickness through her underwear, and took him in her hand. His head rolled back away from her breasts, his breath coming in heavy gasps. She could see his pulse fluttering in his neck. He clutched at her hips so hard she thought it might bruise in the morning, but it was a fleeting thought among many more primal instincts.

His head rolled back around and his eyes locked with hers. A fine sheen of sweat covered his face as he reached up the leg of her underwear. It was as though his hand had a memory of its own as it found that spot that no one else but he had ever paid such devoted attention to. As soon as he lay his finger on it, barely moving, tentatively stroking, she felt the sensation rolling over her. It was like an electric current, a manic spasm that left her gasping and silently begging for more. As each wave grabbed her, she bit into his shoulder, conscious of the children only several footfalls away and trying desperately not to cry out. Amidst her own pleasure, she didn't notice his own sharp gasp until her hand was slick with his seed. They collapsed back on the bed, she still on top of him.

"Well," she said, when she could talk again. "That was…interesting."

John chuckled. "Not exactly what I had in mind for the next time I made love to you, but I suppose it'll do."

Aeryn feigned indignation and rolled to her side of the bed. Propping herself up on an elbow, she nudged him in the head. "It'll do?"

"Well," he said, rolling towards her, "I can do better."

She put a staying hand on his chest. "John, we can't and you know it."

"Details, details," he scoffed, taking her into his arms. "One little thing we can't do does not negate all the fun little things we CAN do."

It was like a dam had broke between them and the next several arns were spent being very, very creative. As they drifted off to sleep just after sun up, Aeryn wondered why, in the name of Cholak, they had been keeping each other at bay for so long.

 

Aeryn felt positively decadent sleeping until the sun was more than halfway across the sky. Consciousness came to her all at once, not in layers like her human. She lay still against his chest listening to his heart beat. When she could resist no longer, she played with tufts of his chest hair, curling them lazily around her finger. He didn't stir. She looked at him, the arm not holding her flopped across his eyes, his mouth slightly open. He slept the sleep of the dead. He slept like a soldier finding himself safe for the first time in, well, a cycle. But she knew John Crichton. It was only a matter of time before the dreams would come.

She shifted away from him to trace the scar that followed the line of his ribs. What was that, she wondered. It was too smooth to be a pulse blast. It was too jagged to be a clean knife wound. As she examined it further she found the thinner threads of it creeping up under his arm and down towards his back. As a prowler pilot, she'd had few scars, and those mostly from training accidents. But she'd known enough commandos to speculate that whatever had wounded John had very nearly filleted this side of his body.

He didn't move, but she sensed his breathing change. His arm around her tightened and she pressed herself against his body, her hand coming up to touch his face. He grabbed it and held it there. It wasn't a lover's touch, he was restraining her.

"Aeryn?" His eyes snapped open and moved wildly in his head.

"Were you expecting someone else?" She nipped playfully at his throat.

His whole body released its tension and he seemed to collapse underneath her. "God, I thought it was all a dream!"

Aeryn smiled. "Then we need to dream like that more often."

John kissed her hand and shifted his body to face her. He smoothed the mass of black hair out of her eyes and stared. She was starting to feel uncomfortable under the weight of his eyes when they heard it. It was a high pitched squealing, screaming. Loud raucous sounds coming from outside.

"Where's Kay?" John asked, his voice panicked and urgent. He bolted out of the bed, nearly knocking her over with his urgency.

"O frell!" Aeryn replied, recovering herself and following him. She ran to the window, still undressed. "I'm so used to Kez'ryth coming and going I forgot all about her."

The screams got louder and Aeryn looked around wildly for her clothes. John moved past her then reached out and grabbed an arm, pulling her to join him.

"Look," he said. She could see the two children standing in the deepest part of a drainage ditch splashing each other wildly. They were little mud twins, their darkness and lightness lost in the fine sheen of red mud that covered them both head to toe. And Aeryn heard it again, only this time it sounded celestial, the bubbling sounds of laughter.

"What are they doing?" She asked, perplexed. Unable to find her clothes, she had settled for her weapon. It hung slack and useless in her hand as she turned her attention from the window to John's face.

John's smile was broad and wonderful and spoke an encyclopedia of joy to her. "They're playing," he said.
 

Lifetime: CHAPTER TWO

Aeryn looked around her now. There were children everywhere. They darted past their parents in the fields as the laborers made the final preparations for the rainy season. They ran up and down the narrow streets of camp while their voices sang to her from the orchard and the stream and mingled with the animal sounds of the herds from further out past the camp. They ignored her as they played their games. She was torn between the feeling of peace it gave her to be so welcome in their community and sadness that an armed soldier walking in their midst was so common place as to not raise a single eyebrow.

The adults were a different matter. The ones who had been here the longest, the ones who had set up permanent homes and helped run the farm greeted her with smiles and polite words. News traveled fast and many wore their species color for mourning to honor the passing of her mate. She was greeted by red faced Sykari in yellow, Sebaceans in white, Nebari in deep lapis blue, even Venniks in bright glaring orange. The ones who had only recently arrived, the ones who were transient with flight still left in their bones cast their eyes away or skittered into a dwelling quickly. Some limped and favored limbs that were still mending. These were the ones who made Aeryn nervous. These were the ones that made her feel like a Peacekeeper again.

As Aeryn passed through the teeming central square, an old Vorcarian female approached her. Aeryn thought perhaps it was Rarg, but she hated to admit she could rarely tell any of them apart, in part because most of the Vorcarians inhabiting this camp were related. The woman took her arm and led her to a doorway, away from the bustle of workmen and laborers and the shuffle of animals. A pack of Sebaceans strolled past, obviously ex-Peacekeepers from their bearing and formation. Old habits died hard. As Aeryn watched them round the corner of the building, the woman touched her arm lightly again and she pulled some object out of a pouch at her hip. She nodded her head up and down, indicating Aeryn should take it. Aeryn held it gingerly in both hands, and realized it was a remembrance rope. Several brightly colored beads were knotted in a rough, leather mesh. Some were as big as her thumbnail, some significantly smaller. She knew the Vorcarians made them to honor their dead, and used them as prayer beads in their religious services. It was a deep honor for her not only to be allowed to view this family's ancestry, but to be allowed to hold it as well. She was being gifted with the opportunity to touch each soul this woman held close to her.

"This," the Vorcarian said, showing Aeryn a large red and yellow bead, "is for my mate. I chose it to honor his eyes. He had handsome eyes. This," she showed Aeryn a bead that was a deep, impenetrable green, "is for your mate. To honor what he most longed for. To honor what he gave us. Our family will remember his spirit." Her head bobbed up and down as she took the rope tenderly out of Aeryn's hands and pressed another, smaller one in it's place.

Aeryn examined the green bead, thinking of John and everything he had longed for. He had stopped needing Earth cycles ago, when this place had become his home. Their home. She looked questioningly at Rarg. Yes, she was certain this was Rarg now.

The Vorcarian made a snuffling, animal sound. "Life. Home. You. Everything he created he came back to. That," she tapped the bead in Aeryn's hands with a long gray claw, "is your life together. That is where your life began, Peacekeeper. It is the first," Rarg tilted the rope so that the bead swung down, "and the last."

Aeryn's fingers strayed to the tiny white bead underneath it. It was so small it was nearly lost in the knots of the weave. She did not need to be told who that was for. The old blood tracker had lived here long enough to know this much about her family, and Aeryn was almost thankful to have a tangible piece of her family history to carry with her.
 
Aeryn smiled and thanked the woman as she tucked the rope into her belt. She fingered the beads and they brought her comfort.

"Have you seen my daughter, the youngest?" Aeryn asked quickly as the small animal-like female started to turn away.

"Eartha, your baby." Rarg laughed, an uncomfortable snorting sound. "You do not need me to find her. Follow your ears, not your nose." She snorted again. "But, yes, she is…"the woman circled, sniffing in each direction. "She is in the Nebari quarter, but you knew that. She is with the one she calls Auntie." Rarg sniffed again, her face contorting into what Aeryn suspected passed for a frown in her species. "And he is with her. The brother."

Aeryn masked her surprise and thanked her again. She suspected that's where Eartha would be, but she hadn't expected Tarryn to be with her. The young woman had inherited the best and the worse from the whole family. Brilliant to a fault, she had excelled in all her endeavors more through the spirit of competition than hard work. Although she was a brilliant pilot and better than average shot-Aeryn knew if her daughter had been born into the Peacekeepers she would most likely already be a Senior Officer-Eartha enjoyed many arns in the brew house as her chief occupation. She had managed to pick up brewing from the Sykari and had become the homestead's brew master, a talent she had perfected in the company of her brother Tarryn, and her informal foster mother, Chiana.

 Aeryn and John blamed it on too many arns spent in the company of Sykari nannies, women who spent their days growing herbs and making concoctions that could put full grown Luxans to sleep in the space of microts. John had been convinced his two youngest were trying to make the closest approximation to Prowler fuel they could without actually landing anyone in their grave. Many a Peacekeeper who had come to investigate this "legitimate" farming commune were as likely as not to find themselves one microt sharing a drink with the attractive stake holder's daughter, and the next sitting bare bottomed in their ship. Set adrift in space, Aeryn could only imagine them trying to figure out how to best explain this particular situation to their commanding officer. Even the female officers were subject to Tarryn's quiet charms, and when they would not obligingly drink themselves into a stupor, Eartha was a clever girl who would find other ways to incapacitate them.

Her knack for herbs also made her the camp doctor and midwife when none other was available. Although she shared her father's compassion and would be the first to greet new arrivals with a smile and gentle gestures, checking over wounds and illness with a careful and skilled eye, she disliked the responsibility and preferred instead to run wild with her brothers. Despite the fact her talent and quick mind put her in high standing in the community, the only title she accepted with a smile was that of chief troublemaker.

Aeryn walked quickly along the street, noticing how the heavy drizzle was starting to turn the well packed dirt into a fine layer of red mud. She had wanted to pave the camp cycles ago, but John had refused, saying that if the time ever came for them to break camp and abandon their home, they would not leave a parking lot behind. She noticed the people around her, scurrying to finish chores before the heavier rains came. She was approaching the Nebari quarter, the concentration of gray skin and shocking black or white hair increasing as she neared. Most of the Nebari were transient, few staying long enough to work the fields, staying only long enough to rest, to birth a child, to exchange information and feel safe before they jumped back into the fray of their civil war. They had been a hard people to place, but at Chiana's insistence they had done the best they could by building their dwellings at the farthest edge of camp where their behavior could disturb as few other species as possible. Aeryn expected to find Eartha here, as she had found her so many times in the past. Eartha was willful and headstrong like her mother, and had a wild streak like her oldest brother. It was a bad combination at best, but one suited to sharing company with the Nebari who in their rebellion defied all homeworld tradition and were a loud and raucous bunch. Aeryn knew she would probably find the girl in Meelak's quarters, sharing a bottle of raslak with Chiana, and bitterly mourning her father's death. For as loudly as she lived her life, she took all the assaults the world threw at her deeply into her tender heart.

Both children had been indulged. First as babies by the Sykari women who cared for them, and then by parents who knew there would be no more children after them. As Aeryn approached the small dwelling Chiana shared with a handful of others from her home world, she wondered if a more regimental upbringing would have had any difference on her incorrigible daughter. She cocked her head at the door, listening to the loud voices of her daughter and the Nebari. No, she decided as she raised her fist to knock. Her other hand fingered the beads at her waist. Her soul was simply too big to be contained by such a small body.

Her son, however, was a quiet, thoughtful sort who liked the company of beast and tree. As her knuckles connected with the door, Aeryn wondered what level of grief had brought him to this corner of their world.

 
***************************************

Tarryn had come eight months after Aeryn returned from her first mission. In deference to her intense need to be away from the planet and in space again, and weary from his own adventures, John had sent her on what was to have been a simple and straightforward mission. Take all the Sykari except Tenga-she had opted to stay behind, finding a peace with the land -to a rendezvous point where they could pick up transport to another colony, and return with two Sebaceans and two Nebari. It should have been easy, but as John was so found of saying, it's never easy.

The cover story on the way to the rendezvous point was similar to the one they had used on Larraq cycles ago. Moya was an experimental ship bearing political prisoners destined for TerranRa. Moya wore no control collar because her Pilot did, and a 'dummy' collar was fashioned for him. He had initially balked at it, it's similarity to a Nebari control collar sending him into an anxiety attack the likes of which Aeryn had never seen before. He finally acquiesced to its use only after it was explained in great detail that he would not have to wear it permanently, but only when imminently threatened with being boarded. The collar ruse also served them on the return trip when they picked up their Nebari and Sebacean cargo.

If boarded by Nebari, it was to be made obvious Moya was a Nebari vessel commandeered from the Peacekeepers. If boarded by Peacekeepers, the gray skinned commandos were carriers of the plague and destined for further study by Peacekeeper High Command.

As it turned out, her Sebacean cargo was indeed ex-Peacekeepers. Despite her own defection she could not help but tolerate their presence with a barely contained loathing. What delighted her, though, was that their two prowlers came with the deal.

Unfortunately, what they did not count on was that Chiana was one of the two Nebari guerillas they had been contracted to transport and harbor. Not only had Chiana taken a place beside her brother, Neri, in the resistance, but Chiana had also become a rather talented and much sought after spy. As if this wasn't complication enough, Chiana was reinfected with the contagion from her homeworld and unlike her co-patriot, did not wait to arrive planet side to inject herself with the antidote, leaving her violently ill, dangerous to herself and the rest of the crew.

To further complicate matters, Aeryn found she was rather infamous among her people. When her ex-PK charges found out who captained their ship, it didn't matter which side of the political fence their loyalties rested. They tolerated her with only slightly less enthusiasm than she did them. They began refusing orders from her, or each other for that matter, a situation that had gotten everyone aboard Moya nearly killed on more than one occasion.

By the time D'Argo solved the problem by putting them in stasis for the remainder of the trip, he and Aeryn had another problem.

"What do you mean Moya's pregnant again, Pilot?" Aeryn had stood in Pilot's den in a state of manic shock.

"I mean, Officer Sun, that Moya is with child." Pilot had politely answered her.

Aeryn looked at D'Argo. He raised his hands in mock defense. "Hey, don't look at me, I had nothing to do with it."

"Well, how the frell did that happen? No," Aeryn verbally backpedaled, "no, don't answer that, I don't want to know. Just what do we do about it?"

Pilot frowned, then chose to answer her first question. "Officer Sun, Leviathans are a hermaphroditic species. What distinguishes male from female is simply their ability to carry and bear young. Although they do mate occasionally," he paused to clarify his thoughts and Aeryn turned her head away.

"O, that was not an image I needed right now," she muttered under her breath.

"It is not required for reproduction," Pilot finished.

"So what does that mean for us, Pilot?" D'Argo asked.

"That means," Pilot explained in that frustratingly patient way of his, "that we must get back to your homeworld, Aeryn. Soon. Before Moya is no longer able to starburst."

Aeryn and D'Argo shared their meal together that night. In a moment of rare humor, Aeryn smiled at him and said, "It seems almost like old times."

D'Argo smirked. "Indeed. All we need is Rygel sitting here farting and John talking to himself." He paused, the fork half way to his mouth, suddenly uncertain whether his joke had crossed a line or not. Aeryn only smiled and continued eating.

"Does John still talk to himself?" D'Argo asked quietly.

Aeryn nodded her head in a non-committal way while she chewed her food. "He does," she said when she finally answered, "but I don't know if he's actually talking to that thing he calls Harvey anymore, or if he just does it out of habit." She put another bite of food in her mouth and shrugged. Swallowing, she said "To tell you the truth, I don't know if he even knows anymore."

"All that aside, Aeryn," D'Argo said, his humor gone, "John is a man I would gladly call brother. You could not have done better. Unless of course," D'Argo got a gleam in his eye, "John were a Luxan."

Aeryn continued to eat her meal silently, trying to ignore where this conversation was going. She put another food cube in her mouth and promptly spit it out as D'Argo finally said, "Why have you two not mated yet? I mean," he shrugged as he continued eating, as though discussing little more than weather patterns on her planet or regular maintenance aboard Moya, "it's not like you two haven't frelled already."

"My….mating….is none of your concern!" Aeryn wagged her fork at him then pushed her food around on her plate, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. She remembered a time when she could not stand this huge brute of a man, when his presence was an abomination to her and such a personal question would not have been asked. If it had been it would have resulted in the butt of her pulse pistol applied with appropriate force to his cranium. Yet, this man had proven himself to be her loyal friend, a staunch advocate, and a deadly ally. The cycles had found him watching her back, protecting her honor, guarding her secrets. She wondered when things had changed to drastically but the more she thought about it the less she could put a finger on any one point in time. She trusted this man more than she trusted the Peacekeepers frozen in their cryo units. She trusted this man even when she could not trust her own lover.

Misunderstanding her silence, D'Argo asked quietly "do you regret your life with Crichton?"

"It has been…interesting," she answered. She raised her head and looked him square in the eye. She noticed for the first time that his eyes were nearly the same color as John's. Is this what John had been trying to tell her about his time on the royal planet when he said everyone around him reminded him of her?

"Do you regret yours," she asked.

"I have regrets about my life, but not about Crichton. It's taken me many cycles to admit it, but if it were not for that man I'd be dead, or worse, shackled to a wall somewhere still wondering where my son is. This war would still be going on, but I would have no purpose. John has given us purpose, Aeryn." D'Argo stood up and foraged in one of the storage units. He made a sound of triumph and pulled out a flask. Setting it between them he said, "what's it been, eight? Ten cycles? Someone superstitious might say he drains off all the bad luck of others onto himself, and so we are in a sense blessed by his presence. I say he's just the luckiest son of a flibisk alive, and so are we for knowing him."

D'Argo poured Aeryn a drink and a larger one for himself. She sniffed it. It smelled faintly like raslak, but stronger.

D'Argo lifted his cup in toast. "Here's to purpose."

Aeryn nodded, and quietly added, "here's to John."

They downed their drinks and Aeryn nearly choked as her throat constricted against the bitter taste. A burning sensation seemed to attack her from her stomach right up through her sinuses.

"That," she managed to say as she held out her cup for more, "is not raslak."

"Nope," D'Argo chuckled. "Something Chiana brought on board. But, I figure in her current condition she won't be needing it." He poured Aeryn another, topping her off after she looked suspiciously at his own full cup.

"Is it Nebari?" She asked, staring at the murky gray fluid.

"Yep," D'Argo answered, shaking the flagon for an estimate as to how much was left. "My guess is this stuff is the first step in their mind cleansing process."

"That," Aeryn said, grimacing at another sip, "or you've mistaken it's use entirely and we're drinking solvent."

D'Argo barked a short, hard laugh in reply and finished his drink in one shot. Hissing and shaking his head, he poured himself another.

Sipping the noxious intoxicant, Aeryn pondered her life for a moment. "Crichton once said I'd still be the 'happy little Peacekeeper oppressing the lesser species.' And you know what, it almost sickens me to think I could have become one of those officious asses in the cargo bay."

D'Argo laughed again. "Aeryn, you WERE one of those officious asses." He poured himself another drink. Before she could reply he continued, "speaking of officious, how is Crichton's daughter taking to you?"

"Mmmmm," she said into her cup, "better than our son took to me. But I doubt I was around long enough for her to have an opinion, really." She stopped, wondering when she had started calling Kez'ryth "their" son. Hers and Crichton's. It was a comforting phrase. Our son.

"And how is your son?"

"I'm surprised he hasn't tried to kill me in my sleep yet." D'Argo chuckled and Aeryn realized how much she had started to miss her warrior friend.

"He is your son without a doubt. I often had the same fear when we first brought you on board."

Aeryn smiled wickedly at him, holding out her cup again. "How do you know I didn't try?"

They finished the rest of the flagon of liquor sharing stories from their past. "I'm sorry D'Argo, he was wearing WHAT? Women's what?"

"Aeryn, you were wearing pink. Can you imagine a Peacekeeper in PINK?"

They shared their memories of friends gone and left behind, and looked to the future. But when Aeryn mentioned John's trip to the Royal Planet, D'Argo's face became deeply serious. He stood and started clearing their clutter of plates and cups.

"You had best ask him about that." He answered her.

"D'Argo, he has scars from wounds even a Sebacean wouldn't have survived."

D'Argo examined the empty flagon, turning it upside down to mournfully watch the last few drops leak out. He set it aside and began looking for another. He would not look at Aeryn. From inside a storage bin the hollow sound of his voice said "as much as we have criticized his species, he is amazingly resilient."

Aeryn frowned. She knew she would have to wait for John to tell her himself. But she tried one last time.

"John credits you for getting him and Kay out alive."

D'Argo said nothing as he stood upright. He weaved a little, but Aeryn thought that perhaps it was her own vision wavering.

"Credit yourself," D'Argo said, holding up another flagon. "He would not have lived long enough for anyone to have gotten him out alive if he didn't have you to live for. You and that boy are the only thing he lives for. You and your family. So…" D'Argo sat down heavily and Aeryn could see the question coming before he even spoke it, "when are you two going to frell again and get it over with?"

Aeryn took the flagon from him and took a long draw off the bitter fluid as she headed back to command. D'Argo followed her. She sighed. It was going to be a long night.

It was the first of many nights spent in much the same way in many rooms around the ship, from Aeryn's quarters to a worktable in a maintenance bay. Always a flask of the strong intoxicant between them, always D'Argo chipping away at her emotional armor. The last night they had spent together on command, with Chiana's last flagon of intoxicant on the table between them, had left D'Argo drunk and melancholy, talking mostly of his lost mate Lo'Lann now dead nearly 20 cycles.

"Aeryn," he had said, "though we dance at the door of death everyday, there is no reason we should not embrace life 'til we cross it's threshold." He had held her face in his enormous hands and for a moment Aeryn had been frightened that he saw Lo'Lann in her. But he had kissed her tenderly on the forehead, she supposed as one would kiss a sister, and retired to his chamber. With that thought in her head, she had made the decision that indeed, the man who had stayed by her the best and worse cycles of her life, who held her heart like a cherished treasure and not a possession, who had given her more living in 10 cycles with him than in the 70 she had spent without him, was her mate.

Much like John, Aeryn's estimate of only a few monens had been overly optimistic. Three quarters of a cycle later, she turned her face towards the rain, hitched her rucksack onto her back and started the arn long walk back to her home.

It had been agreed that there would be no transmissions between Moya and the farm. In keeping with the ruse they had decided to perpetrate, the farm itself was to be kept low tech with any messages being delivered physically, hand to hand or face to face. Scans from space could not show any greater concentration of technology on their homestead than anywhere else on the rural planet, or they would be inviting unwanted visitors. The walk between the valley they used as a landing field and the homestead itself became a time of thought and reflection. Any "guests" or cargo would be brought down the following day, after she or John secured the area.

Her first trip back found her stunned and amazed at the intensity of her feelings. She walked at the pace of a forced march, slipping in the mud and reveling in the warm rain anxious to see her son, her daughter, her mate. As the days slid into weekens aboard Moya, the rendezvous date came and passed. Unable to get word back to John, Aeryn had grown tense and ill tempered and although D'Argo joked that he often felt nostalgic, her foul moods were something he would gladly leave in the past. By the end of the trip, he had started avoiding her unless he carried a flagon of intoxicant to ply her with first. She could only imagine what John was going through, considering how she had felt in his absence and she had been trained to contain her emotions.

She felt a surge of adrenaline and resisted the urge to run as she mounted the last hill and saw the vast ocean of shiny black vrolla vines below her. She could see the distant speck of the dwelling just beyond the field and instead of stopping to eat as she had told herself she would do she kept walking, her heart hammering against her rib cage. She laughed at herself as some of her farming habits took over, thinking that ditch would need to be widened, that trellis needs to be repaired…she grabbed a fruit and bit into it, sucking the tangy juices out before gnawing the meat off the pit. She mentally catalogued that row of plants as needing extra time to ripen.

As she came upon the homestead, she would not have recognized it as hers had she not seen the two small figures, one light, one dark, both with curls plastered to their heads in the rain, bent over some unknown task in the main yard.

Their one, three room building had been lengthened into a large, L shaped structure. She could see Tenga working in a kitchen garden just to the right of the doorway. A bright green overhang regulated the amount of rain that fell on the vegetables and created a shade on that side of the dwelling. Tenga stopped her work and looked up. The children followed her gaze, shading their eyes against the rain. A chorus of voices went up at Aeryn's approach.

"Johryn!" she heard. "Johryn!" Their work was left forgotten as the children jumped to their feet and ran away towards the unplanted fields. Away from her, towards the stream and the river and the orchards that lay beyond.

The Sykari held her ground, but Aeryn was close enough now to see the weapon that lay on the dirt in the planting tray Tenga worked. Aeryn released the clip on her own weapon, but did not draw it. Where was John, she wondered. And who was this "Johryn?" The children were obviously safe. Tenga was still up to her wrists in a pile of dirt. The stake was flourishing. What was amiss here?

Aeryn stood just outside the yard, the mud from the field sucking at her boots and holding her unsteady and immobile. But she was reticent to move forward without some indication all was well. She glanced over to the fast retreating backs of her children and then back at Tenga. They eyed each other from opposite ends of the wide yard. Tenga picked up her weapon, the first time Aeryn had ever seen her hold one, and pointed it towards the ground as she moved towards Aeryn.

"Tenga," Aeryn called out. She took her own weapon in her hand.

"Officer Sun?"

"It's me, Sykari. Where is John?"

Tenga stopped several paces in front of her. She smiled. It was the thin, bitter smile of a woman whose lips remembered the movement but no longer felt the emotion behind it.

"You've been gone a long time." Tenga continued to eye her and Aeryn started to feel irritated and uncomfortable.

"Use the weapon or put it away, Tenga," she said moving out of the mud and onto the grass, "I'm tired and I want to know where John is."

Tenga looked at the pulse pistol in her hand as though uncertain how it got there. Then she tucked it into the waistband of her work apron along with her gardening tools and pointed in the direction the children had gone.

"The children went to fetch him. He's out in the orchard."

Aeryn offhandedly gave Tenga her rucksack. "Take this in the house, will you?" She put her own weapon away and headed towards the orchard at a trot. She had no desire to wait for John to be "fetched", she would find him herself. Aeryn sprinted across the field, her body trying to keep pace with her mind. Who was Johryn? And why did Tenga act like Aeryn was an intruder? Had she grown lonely in the empty camp and moved up to the house? Or had John grown lonely in Aeryn's absence and invited her?

He was perched in a tree when she found him. The children jumped up and down like hunting animals beneath him, both of their high voices clamoring for his attention at once. He watched them with a half smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, threatening to crinkle the corners of his eyes. The thin material of his black field clothes clung to his body in the rain and she could tell he had grown more muscular in the past cycle, his chest broader, the muscles in his arms more defined as he swung the short distance down the branches to meet her. As he shortened the distance between them, she saw Kez'ryth and Kay hang back, the small blond girl peering at her from around Kez'ryth's shoulder. She noticed the weapon that hung in its holster off a low branch of the tree, within arms reach of the boy.

She found herself smiling broadly as John approached and tried to force her face into a more neutral expression. She felt like an adolescent again, moved into a bi-gender barracks for the first time and finding the one soldier who piqued her fancy. But John was more to her than any soldier had ever been, the long monens spent away from him chasing any doubt of that fact from her mind. While she reverently stroked the controls of one of the prowlers, enjoying the familiar feel and enjoying the challenge of learning updated systems, she could not help but think about John. His place behind her, beside her, learning the controls, and, she was certain, trying to take them apart when she wasn't around. D'Argo, the frelling Luxan, had seen past her soldier heart into her warrior soul. Aeryn thought of his parting words as she and John walked towards each other.

Unfortunately, the greeting she received was far different than the one she had expected. The man she had chosen to call mate stood in front of her, unsmiling, blue eyes hard and dispassionate.

"You're late," he said.

"I ran into trouble," she replied, hand instinctually moving to her sidearm.

"Is the cargo intact?" He hadn't moved any closer and Aeryn wondered if her epiphany had come too little too late. Had he again drawn the lines between them? She remembered the children calling out for "Johryn" and the hair raised on the back of her neck. What had happened while she was gone, was she being held here in this inane conversation while a sniper drew a bead on her?

"What's going on, John?" She asked, searching the trees, the open space behind her. Her thumb nervously flicked against the release on her holster.

"Is everyone safe?" John repeated.

"Yes, John everyone-" and her feet were off the ground and the world was whirling in front of her and she was desperately trying to figure out how she had been taken off guard when she felt three resounding smacks on her bottom. She heaved her weight hard to the side and landed with her weapon in her hand, her shoulder aching from the impact and John above her, laughing. Completely unfazed by the weapon pointed at his chest he stood over her, much like he had that first day he had returned home a cycle ago, hands on his hips and the spark back in his eyes.

He knelt over her and she felt herself sinking into the wet soil as his weight settled on her.

"Welcome home, Officer. Should I give you the same kind of greeting you gave me?"

"Only if it involves," she grunted as she tried to pull herself out from underneath him, "slightly less bruising."

John laughed and moved into a crouch above her, extending a hand. "Welcome home Sunshine," he said, his tone going soft. Aeryn knew she had come home to the same man she left. She took the proffered hand and pulled herself to her feet. John draped an arm around her shoulders and motioned towards the children.

"C'mon kids," he yelled over his shoulder. "And Kez, don't forget the pistol."

Aeryn holstered her weapon and reached over to touch his face. He was happy, but she could tell his eyes were tired. He wasn't sleeping again. They stared into each other's eyes until the children raced pass them towards the homestead.

"They look…happy," Aeryn commented. Kez stopped only a microt long enough to hand John his holster before taking off after his sister again.

John nodded in agreement, bending to adjust the thigh strap without taking his eyes off the children running bare foot through the open field. Then he turned his attention back to Aeryn and graced her with a mock frown. "You never call, you never write…" They walked back towards the dwelling leaning into each other, their steps in perfect time.

"Who's Johryn?" She asked as they approached the dwelling.

John laughed. "Me."

Aeryn stopped and looked at him, puzzled. John continued to laugh, wiping some of the rainwater out of his eyes and slicking his hair back off his face.

"Your son said I didn't sound Sebacean enough."

"Well," Aeryn conceded, "you don't. But I wouldn't have named you Johryn." Aeryn started to laugh and it was John's turn to look at her puzzled.

"Why? What? Is it a girl's name or something?"

Aeryn shook her head and started walking again. "No, no, nothing like that. But a johryn is someone who's unlucky. Well," she struggled to find the right words, "someone who can't make rank no matter how hard they try. Actually," she said, laughing a little harder, "it might just be the right name for you."

"That little shit," John said, watching the fast retreating back of Aeryn's son. "They've been calling me that half a cycle now…"

Aeryn broke out into loud peals of laughter. "Colony born Sebaceans still use it as a name. I'm sure in their dialect it means something a little different. But Kez'ryth is ship born, so he can't use that excuse."

John was still shaking his head as they mounted the steps to the dwelling. Aeryn could sense Tenga watching her and stared hard into the other woman's eyes until she dropped her head and returned to her gardening.

"Tee," John called to her, oblivious to the wordless exchange between the two women. He opened the door and motioned Aeryn inside, "make up another plate."

"I can see that John," she snapped back, "I wasn't expecting her to sit out on the steps and eat ships rations."

Aeryn ate dinner in confused silence. The main room of their home had been increased to the size of the three previous rooms, with a larger kitchen area that had plants growing in pots along it's walls and herbs hanging to dry from the counter tops and ceiling. The smell of growing things did not stop at the door and mingled with their dinner, which was hot and well seasoned. She noticed John and Tenga often reached for more seasoning to add to their stew and she realized it had been cooked in deference to her own bland tastes.

She watched her son eat and was amazed at how much of herself she now saw in his face. He had grown nearly a hand taller in her absence, and his chubby face had thinned out revealing her cheekbones. He had cut his black hair in a style similar to John's and though she could still sense his intensity, he spent the meal quietly toying with some small piece of electronic equipment. Aeryn also noticed the girl, Kay, never left her stepbrother's side, peering over his shoulder at everything he did. When she did leave him it was only long enough to bring them both back some more food. Both barely spoke to her, though it seemed Kez'ryth's animosity had finally run its course. Her presence was an accepted curiosity and as she finished her meal she realized she felt like an intruder in somebody else's happy home. She had left a military style barracks, a space good for sleeping and living with only the bare necessities available. She had returned to…she struggled for some word, some phrase to help her understand her place in this space and could find none.

She looked up from where she was scraping her empty bowl to see John looking at her with a frown creasing his brow.

"You look beat, Sunshine. Go get some rest." He stood up and took the bowl from her. She looked at the children, who only regarded her with a passing glance as they set back to work on what she realized was some sort of tracking device. They seemed to speak to each other in their own language, their voices barely above a whisper.

Tenga was clearing the table, putting the left over food into storage containers and stacking them in the refrigeration unit

"Aeryn," John reached over her to hand Tenga the bowl and pulled her to her feet with his other hand, "c'mon, we got work to do tomorrow and you need some sleep."

He steered her towards the sleeping chamber, but she felt more anxious than tired. When she reached the door, her immediate urge was to bolt, to make as many excuses as necessary and spend the night back on Moya. In front of her, replacing the rough double cot she and John had shared together for a cycle was an enormous bed. It's four posts rose up well above her head and the golden red wood was polished to a brilliant shine. She was certain if she would reach out and touch a bedpost that it would feel like glass. Although the coverlet was still the same russet one they had taken off Moya, she could tell the thin bed cushion had been replaced by a thick mattress that still held the mold of John's sleeping form on the left side. His side. The right side was smooth and flat and untouched. Even in his sleep he still held a place for her.

The bare windows had been covered in cloth of a similar shade as the coverlet and their trunks had been replaced with storage shelves at the back of the room.

"John, I-" she didn't know what to say. She just stood in the doorway, taking everything in and not believing any of it.

John moved past her and flopped on the bed, arranging a pillow under his head and beaming at her.

"Do you like it?" He asked.

"I, uhm…John," she could see his face falling, the delight dwindling at her own unspoken criticism.

"You don't like it?" He sat up, taking his weapon out of his waistband and laying it on the table next to the bed.

"I, just…it just seems so…much," Aeryn fumbled over her words as she moved into the room and carefully closed the door behind herself. "John, I'm a soldier. I've never lived like this." She reached out and touched the bed. She'd been right, the wood was soft and smooth and cool to the touch like glass. "It seems so…wasteful."

"Aeryn, women dream about beds like this on Earth. I found this artisan in town and he built it to my specs. Now moving it here, that was a bitch and a half, but it was worth it."

"John, I'm not an Erpwoman. Besides, I thought we were going to manage our currency a little more, frugally."

"Not a problem. Did a little bartering. That's how we got this whole homestead refurbished…o, don't look at me like that," he said in response to her frown, "I didn't do anything illegal. And damn, the Amish don't have anything on these people, place came down and went up in the space of a day."

Aeryn, resigned to spending the night in this room started to take off her holster. Uncertain where to put it, she hung it from a clothes hook.

"What kind of bartering did you do, Crichton?" She hooked her thumbs in her waistband and stared at him. She knew she was acting like an ill tempered trelk, but she was nervous and tired and it was easier to fall back into old patterns than to pause a microt to deal with her errant emotions.

"Now don't be all pissy with me. Just some folks around here were happy to do a little business with a Peacekeeper in retirement. Especially one that has half a brain." Aeryn frowned when John chuckled.

"Your kid out there has the other half, by the way. I haven't found anything yet that boy can't take apart and put back together. The only problem is, he doesn't always put things back together in a timely fashion." John chuckled again. "If you've got any new weapons on you, I'd recommend you hide them unless you want to see their insides laid out like a field exercise."

John stood up as Aeryn started to get undressed. "I left your clothes in the trunks, I know how you like to find things where you left them. Get some sleep and I'll be in after Tenga and I balance the checkbook."

Aeryn didn't understand what he was saying, but she had to admit as she slipped her shirt off that the bed was starting to look damn good. John kissed her on the forehead and paused, slipping his fingertips into the waistband of her pants.

"Can I give you a hand with that?" He ran the backs of his hands casually back and forth over her belly. She couldn't help but smile. Without waiting for an answer he picked her up and sat her gently on the edge of the bed. He brushed her jaw line with his lips before bending over and unbuckling her boots. They slid off and landed with a solid thump on the wood floor and he kicked them out of his way. She braced her arms behind herself, wiggling her toes and waiting to see what he would do next.

He leaned over her, taking her hands in his and gently laying her back in the bed. He kissed her palms, her wrists, the inside of her elbows before moving his attention to the fastener on her pants. He moved slowly, tentatively, as though afraid she might stop him any microt. As she watched him, his eyes never left hers. He tugged at the trousers and she lifted her hips so he could slide them down her thighs. He pulled from the waistband, his fingertips brushing her skin as the leather joined her boots somewhere on the floor. Aeryn shivered, wondering when just getting undressed had ever been such an erotic experience for her.

Mistaking her shiver for chill, John leaned over her again and took her by her shoulders to right her in the bed. "You're cold," he said, pulling the blanket over her. Still wearing her undergarments, she felt naked. She rolled onto her side and smiled at him, nesting deeper into the creases and folds of the blanket. The bed seemed to support every aching part of her body at the same time.

"John," she said quietly as he turned from her.

"Yeah?" He paused with his hand on the door.

"I think this is one luxury I can get used to." She turned to fluff a pillow, then switched hers with John's, burying herself in his scent.

He was beaming when he opened the door just enough to slip his body out and left her alone.

Aeryn lay in the enormous bed alone, fatigue settling over her like a heavy blanket. She could hear John in the other room, settling accounts with Tenga and arguing with Kez'ryth.

"No, no Tee, that's not enough. Whether or not we need the money, we need to LOOK like we need the money," a pause, "Kez, put that down." The murmur of Tenga's softer voice with it's Sykari lilt, and John again, "Kez, no. We need that!"

"Tee, listen to me…Kez'ryth, what part of 'no' didn't you get? Go find a pulse rifle to disassemble or something…Tee, get market value at least. I understand there are people, your people even, who are starving because of the war, but we'll be worse than hungry, we'll be dead if someone bothers to question how we can afford to…KEZ'RYTH!" Aeryn's eyes snapped open at the sound of her son's name being bellowed from one side of the common room to the other. "Kez'ryth, goddammit, we need those sensors!"

She heard the clack and clatter of small parts hitting the floor and John's heavy step as he moved across the room to intercept. She could picture him holding the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger, trying to collect his thoughts.

"Ok," he said in more of a breath than a voice, "Ok, if you're that interested in them you can get up with me tomorrow morning and put them back together."

"But they're crap," she heard the boy say, and she smiled.

"I know they're crap," John answered, and she heard his footfall move back towards the middle of the common room and then the clatter of the sensors on the table, "but they only need to be marginally active. And DON'T try to upgrade them."

"Well, that's doing a job half assed," she heard Kez'ryth answer, then the lighter sound of his footsteps going outside.

Aeryn drifted in and out of sleep listening to John attend to the affairs of home, family, and homestead. She tried desperately to fall into a heavy sleep, but found herself piqued and keyed up and over tired. Her body still ached and burned from where John had touched her. She had heard soldiers who had lost limbs say they still felt their pain. Ghost pain. What did you call that last physical memory of desire?

She listened to the rain on the roof and wondered what had his relationship with Tenga become? They obviously had developed an easy familiarity in Aeryn's absence and she needed to know if it was one born of friendship or intimacy. What was it John had once said to her? Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to? But she needed answers before she could reconcile herself to her own decision.

She wondered why it should all matter so suddenly. But she couldn't remember a time in 10 cycles or longer when everything she did wasn't influenced by that human. Even doing what she loved best seemed somehow an empty experience without him to share it with her.

She was staring out the window into the night sky, looking for the bright spot of light that would be Moya moving in orbit when she felt the bed shift and John slid under the covers with her.

"You awake?" He asked softly.

She rolled to look at him. He lay on his side, propped up on one arm, twirling a strand of her hair between his fingers. She watched him for a moment, trying to decide how to answer.

"Too tired," she finally said.

"Too tired to sleep," he asked, edging towards her, "or too tired for anything else?"

He gently touched the side of her face and she noticed his hand had grown more callused than before she had left. Her man had been working hard. Her man. She wondered when that phrase had worked its way back into her vocabulary. She turned her face towards the touch, kissing his palm.

"Just tired," she said. She allowed him to hold her as he rolled onto his back.

"My favorite blanket," he teased, giving her a hearty squeeze and then holding her against him. "God! I missed you!"

She buried her head against his neck and felt more than heard his words. He was solid and dark beneath her, his muscles hard and his body tanned from three full growing seasons. She could smell the loamy scent of the soil in his skin and the sun had blanched his hair to a blond only slightly darker than his daughter's.

"I missed you too, " she mumbled against his neck. She felt him lightly running his fingers up and down her back. For a moment nothing existed but that sensation. She forgot about the two Peacekeepers D'Argo was bringing out of stasis, about Chiana, now thin and frail and ill, about Moya and her pregnancy and the war and her own uneasy decisions. Her universe shrank to the size of a man beneath her, the cosmic wind his breath on her neck, suns and moons and stars in the sound of his beating heart.

"You still with me, Sunshine?" His voice soft, playful against her ear.

"Mmmmm."

"You know," she could feel his lips fluttering against her ear as he spoke, "we could christen this thing."

Confused, she raised herself up and looked at him. "Christened?"

"It's