&fic;

 

Head in the Clouds

by sugargroupie

R, 956 words

Summary: This world couldn't hold her secrets and his mistrust.

Disclaimer: Not mine; O'Bannon, Henson, Kemper, et. al.

Notes: Pre-season four, spoilers up to Crichton Kicks. Thanks to Kernezelda for the beta. Mistakes remain mine.

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .

The short nails dug just so into his skin, raking in a soothing rhythm that had his mouth slack and eyes closed. There was something so blissfully domestic about Aeryn propped against his chest, and he wanted it to last just a little bit longer.

He'd lost count of the days and his beard was just starting to fill in.

"When do you plan on shaving this monstrosity?" Her voice was low in his ear, like all of their conversations; an unspoken accord, like sharing each other's space, finishing each other's sentences.

John peered through one eye. "Why, does it bother you?"

"No, I rather like wearing these 'burn marks' all over my body."

"You like how you got them," he corrected her with a smile.

She pointedly ignored his comment and instead focused on scratching his jaw and down his throat. He arched his neck to give her better access and they fell into a comfortable silence. It was exactly the way he'd pictured it onboard Moya, where he had only himself and a handful of memories to keep him company.

He grudgingly had to admit that if he and his twin both thought they were John Crichton, then they'd both want to experience the same things with Aeryn. Learn her the way no one else ever had, teach her a language for just the two of them; eventually show her Earth. All that and everything in between-- and now he was finally getting his turn.

Earth was an unattainable sprite, bouncing on the edge of his conscious. He'd made his choice-- Aeryn, in their quarters on what could pass for Moya.

Grey eyes studied his own, as if reading his thoughts. He shook his head. "What's wrong with Elack?"

She licked her lips. "Elack isn't Moya," she said with an obvious tone.

Fuck, tell me something I don't know.

"I know that, Aeryn, and you weren't there either."

He suddenly did not want to be there with her pressed against him, crumbling his defenses even as her words made him bleed. It wasn't supposed to hurt here, in their place. His and hers, not the other's.

John felt her breath as she sighed, laying her head down on his shoulder. He closed his eyes, fought to return to the microts before he'd opened his mouth, and things went quickly to hell; lost his train of thought as her cool hand slid down his stomach to nestle between his legs. She nudged his balls, cupped them, stroked his shaft exactly the way he would've taught her to, and brought him to life.

He groaned, and all brain function ceased when she dipped her tongue in his mouth.

*

John woke with wormhole equations spilling from his lips and onto the walls of Elack. For arns it was just him and the blue devil, but he sensed Aeryn somewhere nearby. "Wormholes blind you, John," she'd told him.

"I'll always see you, Aeryn. That won't change."

She'd looked like she didn't believe him, and he didn't feel like being compared to perfection, so he'd shrugged and gone back to work.

*

Aeryn tugged on the bush covering his face, wearing a half-smile and his black t-shirt as she stood between his legs. "You're letting it grow."

"I'm waiting," he replied, and put his hand on her belly.

"Hmm," she said. "You should shave it."

"I will."

She ran her thumb across his bottom lip. "When?"

"When you... tell me a secret." There was a mischievous glint in his eyes when he looked up at her face. She'd evaded all of his earlier attempts at conversation on the subject with ease; there was no reason to expect her answer to be any different this time.

"John," she sighed. "You'll know when I'm ready for you to know."

He threaded his hands through his hair, irritation roughening his grip. "Are you pregnant?"

Aeryn pushed him back onto the bed and straddled his hips, got into his personal space. "Don't ruin it, Crichton. You know nothing about it."

Crichton. He wanted to laugh because it was so ridiculous. The abstract was disintegrating, jagged shards falling around him as he struggled to hold onto that last remaining hope. It was probably the homemade wine frelling with his head, making the illusion unstable.

John's patience snapped and he jerked her down, fingers digging into the flesh of her arms. "Don't you ruin it, Aeryn!" Blue eyes glared into grey ones until he exhaled a deep breath and much of his anger along with it. "Why won't you trust me?" Like you trusted him.

Either she couldn't or wouldn't answer him.

The latter, he was sure of it.

***

John was drunk most of the time, tinkering with his newly christened DRD, 1812, and cracking open the mysteries of wormholes.

He felt her slipping through his fingers and from his mind, and he knew he couldn't hold on any longer. This world couldn't hold them, not with her secrets and his burgeoning mistrust.

Still, she came to him, because it was what he expected. Her kiss was hard and deep, lingering until they were forced to break apart for the sheer need to breathe. His beard went unchecked as he slid between her thighs and they both guided him home. There were no words needed for this goodbye.

He watched her face, kissed her lips, smelled her hair and fell asleep as she faded away like the specter she was. It wasn't the end for forever, just the end for now.

Later-- with the taste of Aeryn still on his lips-- he thought of a new plan. A familiar world, where things worked in his favor.

A beach.

Yes, next time a beach.

*

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