dear_mun | From ten_fwd - TNG: Ten Forward/Multiverse

You don't have to make a production of it in front of me. I was there for the whole nauseating affair. All four frelling cycles of it. I ended up doing half the work, if you'll recall.

[His expression softens. He is a dominar, he is dignified, must not be sentimental, must not be sentimental, oh frell it.]

How is little D'Argo, by the way?

[His baby. He's got his nose.]

[Her glance slides sideways, eyebrows raising briefly, barely.] Good.

[There's a pluck at the edge of her mouth that doesn't quite make a smirk.] Still not green.

He seems to be doing fine.

[For his age. For an upbringing no Peacekeeper would recognize.]

Trying to eat everything not nailed down. Familiarly.

[Rygel stifles a deeply pleased chuckle.]

I should hope so. He's got good instincts. From both his mothers.

Have you counted his stomachs?

[ Aeryn pressed her mouth firm, even if the edges nearly pulled. ]

"Just the one. Still nested into all those other organs John says he needs."

[Things Sebecans had long since evolved from. Had changed when they were brought here.]

Ah. Of course. One wonders how they have room for anything else in there.

All worthwhile things have a cost, Officer Sun. The question is whether or not you are willing to pay that cost.

But damn, baby. If it isn't one hell of a ride.

[ John joins her, at her side, their bundle nestled safely in the crook of his arm. There's something about Aeryn that washes the weariness away, like sunlight breaking through a dark winter's twilight.

The Radiant Aeryn Sun, indeed. ]

I'd go through it all over again, with you. And this little guy. Say, "hi mommy, daddy thinks you're sexy when you argue." Yes I do, son. But I think your mother's sexy no matter what she does.

[It's not necessarily her expression, or her posture, but something relents.

In the hold of her shoulders. The severity of that expression. When she shifts toward them like a magnet.
Even as she rolls her eyes.Like a ship in free-fall of gravity. Smooth, but singular. Until their shoulders brush.

Until her head is bowed within an inch of his cheek, and she reaches out her finger to catch under the curl of D's fingers.]

I hate her already. [A statement, like an argument. Or an admission. Deepest truth. That she would do anything for them. Now. Then. Always.]

[ It's a crash landing they've mastered over the last five years, bleak and destructive in the beginning so it can be easy and natural now, two vessels pulled together.

He wonders if she could ever know how unabashedly happy it makes him any time she holds their son, that wide-eyed wonder D uses to look at her so much like his daddy's. ]

Of course you do. [ It's more fond than it is patronizing, but the tease is still in the words. ] You have to admit, we make a good finale.

You are still as full of yourself as ever.

[ It's low, without being quiet. Even ironic and insulting.
Because he isn't wrong. He so very often isn't. But especially about this.

Because John is still alive; and their son is looking up with quick, bright eyes, gurgling,
stealing her finger and starting to gnaw on it, entirely unaware of the ravages of the universe. ]

[ He chuckles, flashing her that Southern charm she finds equal parts interesting and infuriating. Hey, it worked on her once. A long time ago now. ]

Nah, I was just along for the ride. You did most of the work.

[ He nudges up into her, as teasing as he is truthful. His guiding star, his one constant, the mother of his child and the love of his life; if it wasn't for Aeryn, he has no doubts his luck would have run out a long time ago. ]

Do you remember that first kiss? [ He can't help himself from nuzzling into her hair, burying his nose in the raven locks. She'll have to feel his grin rather than see it now. ] Could be fun reliving that.

[ That laugh will always be a light, warmth in the coldest of dark places. Her bane, and her way home.
Her first retort caught in the faintest shiver from the brush of contact. Finally. Again. And Always.

When one step gives way to another, each time. It doesn't matter whose any more. Warm breath and words falling through her hair, and making her shift. Without letting go of Deke's hand, but incapable of resisting, and beyond the need to anymore. When this is hers now. Hers for whatever forever, and whatever future they can make. Will make. Together.

When her head dips, turns, until her cheek and her nose brush the skin on his face. Warmth there is not cure to. Until his breath out is the air she breathes in. Which is the truest thing she knows. That it extends to everything. Pervades. Creates. Effects. Is. Everything. Even when she chooses her word specifically. Low and even, baiting like they might be a truth they never could be. ]

"Was that supposed to be memorable?"

[ Oh, you're breaking his heart, Aeryn. He laughs, head tilting, nuzzling just slightly more into her hair. Each step, brush, breath getting an equal reaction, like they were built to work together. He's pretty sure they were.

He tilts his head back, Adam's apple bobbing with each chuckle. ]

I like to think we've gotten better at it over the years. Which is saying something.

[ Memorable, oh yeah. It's a memory he'll never let go of, no matter what the universe throws at them, no matter how time twists and strings are pulled. She is his constant, and at the end of the line they get this bright-eyed boy, inquisitive and sharp, nestled between their bodies. Despite the ravages, the distance, space; despite the best the universe could throw at them, they were always just that much better. ]

I could put D down and jog your memory for you.

[ His laughter banishes darkness that never leaves, but abates. For seconds. For long enough.
Makes forever seem like just one more ride. One more mission. There were good moments.

She can't deny that. At least not to herself. To the nearness of his voice. To the inch away from his eyes. His mouth.

She gave a shake of her head, tilting it, eyes hard as diamonds and yet turned bright as stars.]

I gave birth to him, and carried him, through a battle field, without losing or lowering my weapon --

[ She has to say these words cool and calm.
She has to say theses words with aloof detachment.
She has to say these words with the sting of insult.

Because she's come too far now. She knows too much. Has changed too much.
She never wanted her child born there. Never wanted his first first breath to be a war zone.

But this close --both of them this close -- it's something behind her. Something they already won.

Something she can pull out like exactable weapon, and another proof of his alarming inequality to her, that doesn't exist. ]

-- and you can't hold him through what again?

Edited 2015-05-11 05:35 (UTC)

[ And there she is.

His universe.

His grin grows until it almost eclipses his eyes, and he's left with the vision of her shrouded in gauze, a halo of light in his crinkled vision. He laughs, but it gets caught in his throat, head tilting this way and that to work out the best way to be near her. He's never quite close enough. ]

Talk about lowered weapons... [ His mouth is at her ear, but it's just for a minute. ] I don't think D's ready to learn about that yet, do you, Mrs. Crichton?

[ He covers D's ears, a bit theatrically, and brushes the tip of her nose with his lips. ]

Not. in front. of the baby.

[ A shivers strikes down her spine. The kind she knows how to push down. It's what she would have done years ago.

Had done all her life. When she thought she had to control it. When her first reaction wasn't yet to list into it. Or the breath that catches, still, in her chest when John's lips brush her ear, chasing that shiver with a flush of warmth that makes her shift a small bit, causing her shoulder to brush his chest over their son who still has her captured finger.

When her mouth is sharp twist of something neither smile, nor a frown, but a slice of each.
Words that all say no, and yet the touch says otherwise. Even when he pulls back. Barely. ]

You started it. [ Aeryn says instead. Tacit acidness. Pointed rebuke. With the faintest whimsy. Just enough to slide her gaze pointed as she tips her head up. Fast, the kind of movement that isn't that far from being a head butt, but it's short and closer. Just an inch up so that her lips only barely graze his, more breath than touch, when she finishes. Like a dare, a rebellion from his orders, a bluff called. ] You offered.

Edited 2015-05-13 05:50 (UTC)

[ He opens his mouth wide in a smile, flashing a set of (miraculously intact) white teeth. Caught somewhere between making a rebuttal and wanting to careen into her movements, Eskimo kisses and foreheads touching. ]

Okay. [ Words slow, painted with laughter. ] Fair enough.

[ He did start it, in theory. He could make a good argument that the person who really started it stretches all the way back to that first day, to the way she threw him on his back and demanded his rank and regiment, and he knew in that moment that he was never going to meet another woman like her again. He could make an argument that just by being her, unequivocally, unapologetically Aeryn Sun, all his defenses are null.

What's a guy to do? ]

So we find ourselves a babysitter, or we settle for Chuck E. Cheese. Choice is up to you, Mrs. Crichton.

[ She levels him a look of patiently-impatient exasperation, that was absolutely normal and held none of the absolute razor sharpness that he glance could in true anger. If someone were stupid enough, that might even call it as exasperated acceptance, maybe even fondness. ] I think you just make up these words to try and prove yourself right now.

[ But she does get the jist of it. She always does. It's in his face, and the momentary slow, shift of his breath, just for a second heavier and faster, before it's a winded laugh. A point scored that he doesn't deny her anymore than she denied him microts before. She's not sure if she'll ever get used to the surge of warmth the floods her stomach and chest.

But she relishes the sensation of it, seeping into her body, trying to twist a smile from a stone, all the same. ]

It still doesn't make you right. [ A lie if she ever said one, even as she steps back. Away from the bubble of warmth. Her voice calmer, cooler, smoother, more seriously regimental, as she switches back to where this all started. The whole idea of living through all of it, again. ]

Oh ho.

[ He clutches his heart theatrically, but his face shows none of the wounded or defensive alarm of where this all started; it shows none of the bottled frustration and explosive anger of the middle; none of the defeated, deflated, dejected distance of the falling action. It's only laughter, and mock hurt, and brightly shining hope here in their denouement.

Because they did make it through, once. And they'll do it again. Because at the end of the rainbow there's no pot of gold, there's just Aeryn. All her barbs and all her composure. She could kill him with her little finger, and she still lets him argue with her.

Most of the time. ] Damn baby.

When are you gonna learn that I am always right?

[ Maybe they'll get it right. This time. ]

[ Long ago and far away, she didn't take any joy in this. His joy. Joy itself.

The way her mouth quirks at the edge, a fool in the mirror of his smile. His stupid acting, as he feigns shot, with their son still in his arms, and yet his face stays bright as ever. There will be so far to go before she even understands, can be grateful this is where they ended up. Out of the million other, more likely, eventualities that they nearly fell into and couldn't get out of.

But they did. Get out. As much as they fell in. And, they are still here. Against all of the odds. Every logic. ]

Your father is never right. [ Aeryn tells Lil' D, rather than answering John at all. Shaking her finger free of the tiny hand, to rubs her fingers gentle against his chest. Looking down at her son with an expression that is all extenuating patience. Even if every word she says is the opposite. ] Especially when he thinks he is.

[ Though he is, and though she hates the idea of this all, she hopes he will be, and that's something he gave her, too. Hope. The ability to recognize it. To name it, and know it. To look at it warily, but to know they've made it, and that makes it not a hopeless hope, but a hope with every chance of being right.

Like him. Like he usually is. ]

[ Now you've done it, Aeryn. He's going to be grumping about that one for weeks, which just means every time you turn your back he'll be telling D about baseball statistics and wormholes and Ford trucks, motorcycles and Big Macs and the myriad things he knows and ways he was right.

He pouts at her, even though he knows she's not looking, and he'd still be pouting at her if seeing her with their son didn't put an immediate, involuntary grin on his face. D burbles and reaches his tiny hands out into the air, and John mouths 'yes, I am' from over Aeryn's shoulder.

He'd stay like that forever, if he could. But time (moves, rosemary and, ends) is getting thin. ]

It's time to go, baby.

[ Hope will carry them through it all. Through the worst of it, through the pits where there's no whisper of sunlight ever breaking again. That sun is their child, the promise at the end of it all, the creation of all their hope.

It's gonna be all right. ]

We'll be back again someday.

All of us.

[ She knows. She knows before he says it, and as he says it, and because he says it.

It never makes sense, and it always makes sense. Because they're together. He might speak at least two different languages she may never understand fully, one from his planet and one from a greater fabric of the universe than she'll ever touch, but he chooses her and she understands him, even when she swears she doesn't. Can't. Each time. He comes back. She comes back. They wait. They stand sentry. They made it here.

For all that they were so very different, and nothing about this was ever meant to be. ]

Not yet.

[ It's not whining or pouting. Aeryn Sun does not whine or pout. She's direct and aggressive even on her good days, when she isn't going to break anything, shoot anyone, chase down any ship. She reaches out and catches the collar of his jacket and pulls him toward her, even as she steps in.

Having to kiss him again.

Careful of D. Her other hand finding the curve of his head.
A kiss that's both promise, and punishment. For both of them.
For the million times they'll get right to the edge...and they won't.

Touch. Choose. Kiss. Say. The right words. Any words. Do anything but turn away.
A hundred times wrong before they got it right, before nothing else could matter more.

She's lived all of them. Each of those microts and, if this is the last one, again, this is where she belongs.]

[ This is where they belong. Her journey, their journey. When he landed on Moya he never could have known he'd change as much as he did; didn't think he needed to. He knew where his life was going.

He was wrong.

God -- if there is one -- Einstein, fate, whatever you want to call it, knew better. He can never be the man he was five years ago. The thing is, the man he is now wouldn't trade it for anything in any universe, any time, any wormhole, any fate. Aeryn's lips move against his and she's speaking in celestial body, in revolutions and theorems, in dying suns and ones reborn; she doesn't think she'll ever speak his language, not knowing that she is his language. His world. His wormhole. His universe.

She moves like a comet and a quantum singularity, brilliant flashes and the slow pull towards an endless ever after. ]

Oh. [ He smiles against her lips, eyes more than half closed even still. ] How did I miss that?

[ He's never been great at picking up her cues, on picking up hints at all. This time at least he doesn't need to. His thumb curls behind her ear, palming her jaw as he draws her in one last time. Maybe this time he'll remember. Maybe he'll cheek the key as she feeds it to him and this time they'll get here faster. Maybe they won't.

But knowing the end to their story makes the punishment sweet.

(He's so happy.) ]

[ You never go into a war, or come out of a war, saying you would fight it again. If you did, or could, you did it wrong. This has never been a war. Not at its bloodiest and most violent. It is, at it's center, what she knows now, what wars shold be fought over and lines should be drawn over.

It is not an honorable end. It makes an honorable end a trinket.
It is what you would fight every war, and every day of your life for again.

It is the truth on her lips, that makes a lie, a lie, but told with love.
Because anything can be now, and everything is. ]

You never were that smart.

[ Except he was. About the universe. About her. About the lives that had to be left behind, their own and others, and the future that could unfurl before them. Nothing either of them planned, but together, into a future, a universe, a life, their lives, together and apart, that they could make their own.

No rules. No requirements. Just love. Just choice. Just each other.

Aeryn closed her eyes and leaned in. Her forehead brushing his and then pressing gently against it. A held second before she pushed a breath out. Pushed out everything that was not her husband's forehead against hers, the sound of his breath, the feel of her sons soft hair against her palm.

Not saying goodbye, because they don't say goodbye.
They'll be together on the other side, even if they don't know it yet.
Even if it will take them time to realize that there never was a goodbye that counted. ]

From ten_fwd - TNG: Ten Forward/Multiverse

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