~~~x~~~

He watches from the shadows as she pulls her hair down from its loose braid, a soft sigh escaping his lips. He has missed so much, and even now he is missing more. And this time, the only person to blame is himself. The lakka, when it works, does just fine for about 500 microts. Then the memories flash back, searing his eyelids. Bringing new images that he knows don’t belong, but he keeps them anyway, locking them up with the others that have come.

His eyes drift over her figure, stay a little too long on her ass before creeping back up to her hair. He aches to touch her. To wrap her in his arms and tell her that he wants her, loves her, needs her. But he won’t. It isn’t the right time. And he’s suddenly unsure if there will ever be a right time.

So he watches. Taking stolen glances when they can be afforded. When he thinks she can’t see him, can’t sense him.

He takes a silent step back as she turns, asking if anyone is there. He doesn’t speak. There isn’t anything he can say. So he hides in the shadows. Watching. Wondering if she actually does sense him, because he can, whenever she walks into a room, he knows, without looking, without turning to check.

It’s a dance. And they’re both so familiar with the moves.

She sighs, shaking her hair loose from its ties. His fingers reach out in the dark, as if thought alone will allow him to touch it, feel it through his fingers. But he can’t. He can’t bridges the five yards of floor, or the nine months of ache between them.

Grayza took so much from him. At the time, when it was happening, he could block it; take his mind to another place. But in the here and now, all he can see is her face smiling, fingers raking, body taking. Did she know it would do this to him? Did she know what it would cost him? Of course she did.

Power games, mind games, he’s become an expert in them all, but always on the receiving end.

Aeryn looks past the doorway, tilting her head and for a microt, he thinks she can see him. A tiny shake of her head tells him she doesn’t. But she knows something is there, someone is there. She smiles as her fingers toy with the zipper on her top. She pulls it down slowly and her breasts spill from their hold, shimmering in the semi light.

He should leave. Walk away. But John Crichton never knew when to walk away. So he stays, pushing his body further into the walls as his eyes gleam, drinking in the sight before him. Moya murmurs her disapproval and he finds himself nodding. But he knows he’s not going to do the right thing, he’s going to stay right there, riveted with longing, the shadow man.

She takes a step back, shrugging out of her top. Neatly folding it before resting it on the crate. A Peacekeeper: military in every sense of the word, in battle and in love. They fight the same way, just using different weapons. Fighting one with a gun, the other with words.

His eyes watch as his mind screams. This isn’t right, it isn’t fair, it isn’t anything anymore. All he can see is the figure in front of him, as she follows their dance. And he wants to join in, he wants to take the risk, pay the price. His dues aren’t paid yet; the universe isn’t done screwing with him.

But he can watch. He can hope. God, he would even pray if he thought it would be answered. But he learned a long time ago that God woke up on the wrong side of his bed, only answering in crazed riddles, handing out fate, then snatching it back.

Aeryn pauses, looks back to where he is standing and shrugs. Sitting softly on the bed, she removes her boots, stands to unclip the strap of her holster, her belt, then her…

He closes his eyes. He shouldn’t be here and she shouldn’t be there. But they are. Fate is screwing with them again, and he is only human after all. His failing in this place is to have emotions, show feeling, and bleed out. Even if no one can see the blood.

His hands are sweating. His eyes sting from the sight before him. His heart cracks as he takes a step forward. He can’t do this. Watch her like a pervert. Maybe if he says something, maybe if he does something.

Maybe if he runs away.

But it’s too late. It’s always too late. And he never learns. This world, it’s always teaching him new things, and it isn’t through with him yet. It’s going to deal the lessons brutally. Make him understand just what it wants him to learn.

She sees him then. Her eyes brighten with hope and love. And she stands, her body on display, just for him. She doesn’t cover herself and he thinks she should. After everything, she should hide from him because he has changed. He has become her; she has become him. And, they both have become more and yet, less, in ways they never expected.

Her head inclines to one side by way of invitation. No words, just a slight consenting nod. And he thinks it will be okay. So he steps into the room. His hands reach for his belt, hooking his thumbs to stop them stretching, seeking her out, touching her, making this real, because, if they don’t speak, don’t talk, then it can almost be surreal, instead of the nightmares that steal away his dreams.

One step after the other he walks towards her. His body betraying him again, but this time it’s different. He is allowing this, wanting this.

She doesn’t understand the silence. John Crichton and silence were never allies. But she knows. She senses that if she were to speak, say his name, he would leave. She has learned some lessons too.

So they stand, a dench apart, her hands still frozen on the clasp of her pants. She wants to lean forward, close the final distance between them. But something in the way he looks, the message his body language screams, tells her to stay still. Let this man do whatever he wants. Because, whatever he wants, is ultimately what she will give.

His fingers uncurl from the belt hook. One hand gradually comes to rest on hers. Pulling her towards him, daring her to speak, to stop him. But she won’t. She will do whatever it takes to win back his heart. She doesn’t realise that it’s already hers, to do with as she pleases. She won’t know that until much later.

His hands finish what she started. Unclipping her leather pants. Her stomach goes concave as his fingers brush past bare skin. Her teeth graze her lips, and she wets them with her tongue.

He backs her to the bed and she goes willingly. Pulling gently at her pants, he lowers them down, forcing her to sit with a soft thud. He lifts her legs, tugging so the pants come away in his hands. He replicates her earlier motion, folding them neatly and resting them beside her top.

And so it begins. The dance they knew so well. The dance that was lost to another. But he has the memories, and he won’t question the reasons. His hand cups a breast, his eyes still on hers. She opens her mouth, then clamps it shut as the glimmer in his eyes darken.

She keeps her hands at her sides. She knows if she touches him, reaches out, he will leave. With the same knowledge, she understands his need for this control; he has to have this control. So she grasps the bed covers, balling her fists, tightening her grip on the only reality she is allowed to touch.

One hand caresses a breast while his head ducks to catch the other in his mouth. Suckling gently as the nipple hardens under his hot breath. He pushes her back and she lifts her legs so that she is lying on the bed. He sits at the edge; he has been there so many times before. It’s the place he knows best now.

Carefully he backs off and her eyes widen. The logical part of her mind reasoning that he is going to walk away, leave her body and mind in turmoil now, as she has often left his. But he doesn’t, just quietly removes his clothes, folding them with such agonizingly slow movements that her body aches. She allows her eyes to slowly look him over, head to foot and back again. It’s been so long since she has seen that body. Her memories haven’t served it justice. His arms and legs are more muscular, his torso expanded and he looks more like a soldier than he has any right to. He is covered in a soft sheen of sweat, and as he walks slowly back to the bed, his body is bathed in a small halo of light, making him almost seem ghost like. But this is John Crichton. And he is here. Now.

He sits on the edge of the bed again looking at her, his eyes mapping her body. She should feel exposed by the intimacy of his gaze; she should feel threatened. But how can she? This man, he would never take what wasn’t his. She knows this, and she knows he does too. So, she waits because he might not be able to take what she so badly wants to give.

His hand hovers over her body, coming to rest on her flat stomach. He becomes lost in thought. A baby. There is a baby under his fingers. It may not be his, but it won’t matter, not when it counts. D’Argo tried to warn him, tell him he will be hurt again. But, just like everything else, it’s already too late.

His eyes catch a movement to his left, he shakes his head as her hand tries to cover his, and he sighs with shamed relief, as it falls back to the bed. He wants to savour this moment, where he is touching a new life. In a universe this harsh, he may never get the chance again. So he sits, absently rubbing a hand over her taut skin.

Aeryn tilts her head back further into the pillow and wills the tears to stay in her eyes. She won’t cry. She won’t let him see the pain she is in. This is his time. And she will lie there and do nothing, no matter what it costs her. Or him. She struggles to force down the memories that have crept into her mind; memories of another time, another place. And it comes with mixed emotions, making her question how they came to be this way. Silence being their own friend; touch, their only way to communicate. But she will take whatever he will offer. And more, as much as he will allow her to give.

He is brought back from his reflections by her slight movement. He looks up, but her eyes are closed. And he thinks it’s better that way. He won’t do the same; if he closes his own, he’s pretty sure it won’t be Aeryn’s body in front of him. He leans closer to her stomach, placing a soft kiss where his hand once lay. Saying hello, or goodbye to the life within. It’s out with his control; they are in the hands of destiny, and whatever it decides to do with the Romeo and Juliet of the UT’s.

Shifting his body, he rests a knee at each side of her hips. Sitting back on his haunches to look at her body. He smiles. When all else fails, he knows he can still do that. His fingers delicately trace the outline of her body, and he wonders again if this is a good idea; if it will solve anything, fix anything. Maybe, if she is able to keep the silence that Grayza never could. He mentally shakes the thought away. Silence. It’s what he’s learned most. It can say a thousand words or nothing at all.

He leans forward ever so slightly, touching the one thing that has never changed. Her hair. Longer maybe, but he doesn’t mind. His fingers entwine a silky strand and they automatically curl it, looping it around and around. He needs to keep these new memories. Grayza’s hair was short, brutal, and this will help him keep the two entities apart. But they won’t separate. Even in his fantasies, those that are now becoming real, Grayza still manages to interrupt. To make her presence felt, depriving him of fully loving Aeryn. And he pauses, his mind trying desperately to overcome his fear, his fear of Grayza, his fear of giving too much, his fear of being used.

This is different. He has to make this different. He can win the battle his mind is warring. And, in a fleeting moment of weakness, he wishes for Harvey, just to help make it bearable, throw in a gag here or there. Take off the pressure; make him laugh.

But this isn’t funny. This is Aeryn. Funny and Aeryn don’t mix. He and Aeryn don’t mix well either lately. His idea of funny is making love to a woman against his will. Wanting her, telling her to take what she wants, while his mind screams, traitor. But he isn’t on some godforsaken planet, bound up and helpless. He is here, with Aeryn; the past, it shouldn’t seem important, and yet….

“Do you like that?”

He gasps and pulls back, “No! You’re not here!” Did he say that out loud?

Aeryn struggles to sit, eyes wide with confusion.

Yeah, he said it out loud. And he damns Grayza to hell from the hundredth time.

She opens her mouth, concern overriding her fear of breaking his rules of engagement, but he sighs softly between gritted teeth, one finger settling feather-light on her lips. She quiets, her shoulders tense, hands twisting the bed cover

He shakes his head, She doesn’t have to understand, nor can he explain right then. He can’t tell her, can’t casually say, ‘Hey, sorry, I was thinking of another woman.’ It’s up there on his top ten ways on breaking off a relationship. They can’t be broken, not after everything they have been through. It wouldn’t be fair. But fair seems to have an agenda of its own, and it’s all for taking them along for the ride.

She looks at him, with that look. The one she’s been plying him with since she got back. The ‘talk to me’ look. But he didn’t come here to talk. He came here to forget, to remember, to replace the old memories with new, to feel wanted. He puts a hand on her shoulder, pushing her back down onto the bed. “Lie down,” he commands hoarsely, voice cracking from disuse. And, scoring one to the underdog, she complies closing her eyes again.

He mentally locks away everything that has happened in the last few moments. Throws away the key and leans in resting his forehead on hers. She can help him, heal him, make him better. It’s what she does. So he will take this slow.

“Right. We have, uh... all the time in the world; no need to rush.” Not one of his memories, but he trades for it. Allowing one of the secret images to surface. Gotta be better than his own right now. Karma it ain’t, but he can pretend, he’s gotten pretty good at that too.

Her breath steadies as he touches her again, and when the flashes don’t come, he leans forward to kiss her cheek, and thinks he tastes salt. She shouldn’t be allowing this to happen. He’s damaged goods. But then, so is she. Maybe this one night will keep the nightmares away. Then again, might make it worse. He’s taken bigger risks. But, he always seems to lose in some way or another.

No. He is going to do this. He wants to do this. That’s the difference.

She turns, tries to meet his lips, but he shies away, Grayza did that, and he closes his eyes tight against the mental torture trying to surface. This has to be different. So, he slips his tongue along the side of her neck, leaving a wet trail glistening in the semi light.

He moves lower, licking, and tasting as he reaches her breasts. He takes one in his mouth, his hand rubbing the other with his thumb and finger, making them both erect with similar movements. They rise and fall under his touch. He can feel her heart beat, as she breathes evenly, quietly.

“I can hear your heart”

He shuts his eyes tight for a moment and forces her away. Forces her to leave him alone. Concentrating on Aeryn’s heart beating beneath his hand, her soft steady breathing, fading away the crashing wave of memories.

Aeryn has never been very good with patience. But she has become more experienced over their monens apart. Nothing ever comes easy. If you want it, be prepared to wait. So she will. But she wonders what is taking this man so long. The other, he could never wait; it had always been a rushing tangle of feelings and bodies, as if instinctively they knew they wouldn’t have enough time. The train of thought swirls and fades as she feels his lips on her body.

He moves lower, trailing kisses down her body, pressing it gently back as it arches to his mouth. His fingers slide down her neck, stomach, legs, making circular movements as they begin to graze her inner thigh. Her legs move apart, and he will allow her that. After all, this is his idea, her body.

His tongue lingers over her belly button, then down, further towards her centre. He eases down more, glancing at her as he moves further away, then takes a leg in each hand and bends them. He isn’t sure if she will agree to it, he isn’t sure of anything when it comes to Aeryn, but he always was one for trying. And when he feels no resistance, he licks the inner part of her thigh, feeling her shudder. It’s all the approval he needs, so he continues until the tip of his tongue tastes her wetness.

He is rewarded with a soft sigh. It’s a good sign, so he prods his tongue further while his fingers make lazy circles on her inner thighs. She tastes sweet; he knew she would. He feels her legs shake slightly, so he grips them gently, more firmly, his tongue continuing its onslaught inside her body. He probes and sucks gently, and he wonders what the look on her face is like, wishing he could continue this and watch her at the same time.

She gasps as she feels the tingling of climax. Her hands grip the covers, making them sore from pressure. She wants him, she wants him in her, on top of her, with her all the way as she orgasms, and she opens her mouth reluctantly, still trying to obey his rules. “Please” she begs.

He stops abruptly, his head coming up to look at her, unsure of what she wants him to do. Her voice seems heavy with tears, strained in the effort of trying to not cry. “I’m sorry.” he whispers, backing off, “I should, I….” He begins to rise, but her legs curl around his waist, the subtle gesture telling him he has misunderstood; she doesn’t want him to leave. “Aeryn?” he murmurs, “Do you…. want…”

“You” she says, pinning him with her gaze, “I want you.” And the silence is broken, but she hopes, her eyes plead that it won’t make him go, won’t take him away.

He tilts his head to one side, still watching her face. Placing a hand at each side of her body, he slowly moves so that he is face to face with her, his hands taking the weight of his body. He balances tentatively, so they are not quite touching. He kisses her nose, her cheek, her lips….

He feels her mouth open and he slips his tongue inside, duelling with hers. His eyes close and he loses himself in the kiss. It’s an effort to pull back, to open his eyes and check that it’s still Aeryn. It is. He wants to speak, to tell her he loves her. But he doesn’t, he opts for showing her, giving his body and soul to the woman he so desperately needs.

He is hard, and she knows it too. Can feel it against her stomach, her hands moving slowly for fear of rejection, they gently cup him, her eyes remaining on his all the while. A smile twitches at her lips and he returns it as her hand makes sweeping movements up and down his length. As her pace quickens, so does his breath. His lips lick at her neck, then back to nipples, the friction causing her to moan and curve trying to meet his shaft. He rubs his hard length against her belly again and then kisses her neck, moving to her ear, probing and biting. He raises himself then lowers, entering her, gently at first, and she sighs, trying to keep her quivering body still.

Settling between her thighs, he rises and lowers, coming nearly all the way out and then pushing back in, tongue darting in and around her ear, down towards her neck, breasts. Moving his hips into circular movements to emulate the movement on her nipples. She tries to hook her ankles around his, pull him tighter, to stop the teasing.

He draws back and her legs loosen, he looks at her then, seeing the tears. “Aeryn, please, please don’t cry,” he whispers. Because if she does it will destroy the wall he has built. He kisses the tears away and buries his face in her hair. The scent is strong, bringing back memories that do belong. And he is thankful for that.

Her breath comes in small pants, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” she says over and over against his ear, as if the words will take his pain away.

“Shhh.” His mouth finds hers and he silences any other words, swallowing them in a kiss. He continues the rhythm of his body, slowly, gently as if any sudden movements may break them. Her body lifts, mirroring his own. And he lets out a small sigh. This is the way it is, it should be, slow, gentle, no other stimulants needed.

His eyes close. No. He is not going to think of anything else. He has restraint. Grayza didn’t allow for it, but Aeryn; Aeryn is different. She is the one he wants to share his love with. Share his body with. And he can do this. Take it slow. He tests the theory. He can make Grayza go away….

“Don’t fight me…”

His movement falters, his breath hot on Aeryn’s cheek, “Please, leave me alone” He whispers, “Leave me alone.” He feels her jerk beneath him. Her head craning to hear what he says. “Don’t leave me alone,” he whispers adding a word. Change the words - change the outcome. Change the vision.

She moves a hand, brushing it through his hair. “I would never leave you” she murmurs.

It’s all he needs as the rhythm starts again. And this time it’s a little more forceful. Needful. He fumbles for her hands, clasping them in his and pulling them out to the sides. He rises slightly, looking down at her face. Her eyes glitter and he thinks they are going to be okay. After this, they are going to be okay.

She gasps and her eyes roll back, her face reflecting the sheer pleasure of his touch. His hands grip hers tighter as the orgasm washes over them, leaving them panting for breath. But he doesn’t want this to end, and neither does she. And, when her ankles curl around his, he feels himself being pulled further, deeper. And for the first time, he loses himself completely.

“Aeryn….” he gasps. “I love you.” And he does.

“I know,” she murmurs “I love you.”

His head sags into her hair, unleashing her hands. He feels them roam his back, and he fights, fights to stop the memory of another. One who scratched and clawed. These hands are different, smoother, softer. There will be no scars after this. No scars that will be seen.

He allows his breathing to slow, to smell her hair again, taking in the scent that is uniquely Aeryn.

Neither is willing to move, to break the silent promise their bodies have made. But he has to; he has to free her from the hold. From the pressure of his body, the weight of his heart. So he rolls slightly, intending to move away from her. The ankles that held him in place loosen, then tighten before he can make any distance between them. He doesn’t mind; he doesn’t really want to leave anyway.

They lie like that, breathing coming in soft rasps, his head resting in the niche of her neck. And he feels the soft kisses in his hair. Aeryn kisses. He moves to look at her. Rubs the tip of her nose with his and speaks in a soft hush, “Thank you.” She raises an eyebrow, a small smile on her lips, “What for?”

“Loving me.”

Her breath hitches. “I never stopped,” she says, making small circular movements on his back. “I never will” and it is said with certainty. Almost as though she knew he would seek her out.

He smiles. “Good.” And then he pauses, “I, this, it does….”

“It doesn’t mean we are all right,” she finishes, “but it gives hope.”

“Hope,” he repeats, “I always have hope.”

She plants another kiss in his hair and stifles the disappointment as he moves over her and off the bed.

He rises slowly, sitting back, sneaking another glance at her face, and smiles, a soft, sad smile. He feels her eyes on his back as he gathers his clothes, dressing quickly before sitting back on the bed to pull on his boots. He turns back, blue eyes meeting blue. He should say something, tell her something, give her something. Let her know this wasn’t just recreation. This was an act of love; an act of friendship, trust. Part of the healing process.

But she speaks first, and he realises that she already knows. Three words and it’s enough to make him understand what she has given tonight. What he has given. “I needed this.” She whispers

He leans forward, kissing the tip of her nose, “So did I,” and he rises to go.

“John?”

He stops, half turning in the direction of her voice.

“I’ll get my story straight. I promise.”