28 November 2010 @ 12:01 pm
Farscape: Clothes Don't Make the Man (PG), John/Aeryn.  
Our little boy's growing up.





For snarkydame, who wanted a continuation of Shop Till You Drop with more angst. Which this sort of is.


Aeryn leaned against the hanger door and watched John walk across the bay. He was humming some song to himself, just under his breath. The gun she'd bought him was strapped in place, and he didn't even seem to notice it was there. That happened, Aeryn knew. Her gun was like an extra limb by the time she was five.

"Our little boy's growing up."

Aeryn stiffened at the voice, but didn't turn around. She'd never been entirely comfortable around Chiana, perhaps because Chiana was so comfortable with herself. Although she wasn't sure that was strictly true, because the Nebari also had something of the mimic about her—at times, she sounded more like John than herself.

"What do you want, Chiana?" Aeryn asked quietly.

"He's not going to wait forever, is all. You know that, right?" Chiana asked, nodding towards him. "You don't have forever."

Aeryn followed her gaze to John, who was leaning half over his module as he made some adjustment or another. He was all black and deep maroon leather now. He'd thrown out all his old white clothes—after awhile, he just didn't have the time to wash all those blood stains out anymore. Black hid them so much better.

"Are you listening to me?" Chiana asked.

"You haven't said anything worth my attention," Aeryn said.

"Well, maybe I haven't said it right," Chiana says. "John's not like you. He's not going to be satisfied with this life. He wants something more, and eventually you're going to have to decide if you're going to be it."

Aeryn smiled wryly to herself as Chiana walked away. Chiana the mimic—those words could have been John's. You can be more, he'd said, like he actually believed it.

"You going to just stand there staring, or are you going to help?" John asked.

Aeryn blinked and he came back into focus. He was sanding only a few feet away, wiping grease off his hands with an old rag. "I don't know why you bother with that piece of space dren, anyway," she said.

John's grin went lopsided, which meant he didn't take offense because he knew she hadn't said what she really meant. He was getting far too good at reading her. "You keep fixing up that prowler, even though you've had a few chances to steal one that's brand new."

"That's not true," Aeryn said, even though it was, and she pushed past him to glance inside his module. "What are you doing to it now?"

"Detailing it, then painting it," John said.

"That's frivolous," she protested. "There are far better uses for your time."

John leaned up behind her, and she went still. He brushed her hair behind her ear. "Well, I'm open to ideas."

Aeryn turned to face him and leaned back against the module. "You could fix the manual flight controls for one," she said. "Or the targeting array on my prowler."

"That wasn't exactly what I had in mind. Anyway, you can do that yourself," John said.

"I'm not a Tech," Aeryn said.

"You know more about patching up a ship than most of the guys I worked with back home," John said. "But I can show you, if you want."

Aeryn was caught off guard by the compliment, and then again by the fact that she took it as a compliment. Techs were not highly regarded where she came from, she used to see this kind of work as beneath her. Did this make her more? Or less? She supposed that all depended on who was doing the measuring.

"Or not," John said flatly, turning away. He'd obviously taken her silence the wrong way, but Aeryn's voice locked up when she started to call him back. "I'll get to it later, alright?"

"Fine," she said, forcing out the word. She didn't know why all her encounters with John always ended in misunderstandings. Every time they got close she made some mistake, some misstep, and Chiana was right. John wasn't going to wait for her to catch up to him forever.

She wanted to be with him, but she still worried she was going to break him—change him into something else. At first that was exactly what she'd set out to do. She'd meant to train him, to make sure he was capable of taking care of himself, but now that he was learning she wished he didn't have to. John wasn't like the rest of them. He was innocent. Was.

He looks like a Peacekeeper, D'Argo had said more than once while John was playing that part, never comfortable when John was dressed that way, as though it made some sort of difference. But maybe Aeryn was worrying over nothing after all. John still had that same smile, though she saw it less and less. John had never been the problem.

He still wasn't a soldier at heart—he could always just take the uniform off.

It wasn't so easy for her. It's not like she could shed her own skin.
 
 
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Layton Colt: john crichtonlaytoncolt on December 5th, 2010 - 06:59 pm
Thank you! :-)
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