Pretty in Punk 6/6 by Thea and feldman
Jun. 24th, 2005 01:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
feldmanPretty in Punk
by Thea and feldman
Part 1/6 located here
Part 2/6 located here
Part 3/6 located here
Part 4/6 located here
Part 5/6 located here
Pretty in Punk
by Thea and feldman
***
"Nearly had to turn the hose on the cadet and Kai." He falls back onto the bed which now stinks irrevocably of bromine, his arms and legs sprawled out like he's ready to be sacrificed to the pool gods. "'Course, if I'd let 'em drown each other, it would have saved me one hell of a headache."
"And you say *I* provoke Kai-tyil." She murmurs distractedly, desperately trying to touch the ground with the flat of her hands, a futile effort most likely, but her back is aching, low and tight and sore and she's hoping the stretch will help, that the attempt will give her some relief.
As far as she's concerned, whatever trouble the cadet gives John is richly deserved, and perhaps she thinks, a tiny bemused sardonic voice prodding her on, the telacademy students will learn something about commitment and discipline from the sullen girl. She isn't counting on it, but it remains a possibility.
John raises his head from his position of martyrdom and leers at her arse, framed upside down between her bare knees. "You listening to me?"
"No," she says and then grunts, sighs, pushes herself back up to standing with a huff and sits back on the bed between his boots. "It's good to know I still have feet, if nothing else."
He chuckles, sitting up and sliding his legs outside hers. "Lean forward," he says, putting his hands on her hips.
She does, elbows propped on her knees and belly low between her thighs. At the first pressure of his strong fingers on the curve of her lower back she groans in pleasure.
"Told you I was useful." His fingers brush lightly against her upper back, a tease of possibility, something to think about for later.
Sex is an awkward strategy exercise in pillows and positions, but still a welcome distraction, something her body is still capable of, unlike touching her toes or putting on her boots by herself.
"Oh, I've never questioned your usefulness when it comes to servicing me." She looks over her shoulder, her raised eyebrow exploding into a grin as he slips delicate fingers up along her ribs and she shivers, tries to wriggle away.
"Servicing you, huh?"
She snorts in laughter, stroking his knee, thumb rubbing over the bone and fingers settling in the outside hollow of the joint. He returns to the task and to his story.
"That girl has quite a mouth on her, and Kai-sen's got a short fuse. Like host-being, like bud, I guess. They'd gotten to the shoving and hair-pulling stage and I'm on the side about to whistle when the boy stepped in, elbowed Padia back--and didn't get put into a half nelson, mind you--and he sent Kai-sen to a neutral corner."
"Mmm," she's paying attention now, but his thumb has just found one of the more persistent knots and she wants his whole focus on that spot. "They are capable of working things out themselves, although it may get ugly."
"Well," John pauses in thought, scooting up closer so his hips bump against hers, sliding his hands around to her thighs as she leans back against him. "There was some more arguing, and then he pushed her and she pushed him back and they stood there, facing off for a few microts."
The girl does a flutter roll, bopping against the wall of her abdomen and Aeryn moves his hand to feel it. He holds the swell of her belly, paused in his musings.
Maybe those two did learn something from the punishment, how to occupy the same space without hurting each other too badly. It's a start, and even with the occasional punch it's better than simply ignoring each other. "If they were older, they'd be recreation partners instead of uneasy, pissy allies."
He chuckles against her neck. "They're about two cycles and a bottle of cheap hooch away from taking this enemy/comrade thing to the horizontal mambo level."
"That long, you think?"
"Yeah, but only because of the cultural differences. It's like looking into a mirror, or a really bad VHS copy of our early days. They're shorter, still coasting on the whole 'opposite sex has cooties' idea--"
"Not at her age. Not at his either, or haven't you noticed the way he sometimes holds that Sprek console low on his lap for camouflage?"
"If you ever want to kill the boy, let him know you noticed that move."
"Why would he care if I know? I think it's cute."
"Yeah, I don't think he'd appreciate your take on the situation."
She shrugs, and his hands sweep around her sides to work her back muscles again, pushing her forward.
"I don't know, she's a huge pain in the ass but he acts like--he steps up to the plate around her, doesn't take any shit, but doesn't really punish her for being who she is, just calls her on her behavior and stays with her in her lane."
***
The cadet stays through the end of the second week, surprising John. She doesn't talk to the other kids really, but does stop sneering when any of them get near her. She comes to practice with a split lip once or twice, and he doesn't know if it's from his kids or the other cadets, and frankly doesn't want to get involved unless it looks like she's hurting worse. But she swims well with no other signs of damage and he lets it go, shaking his head as he watches his kid spark and fight with her. D's doing his own form of damage control, always sharing his lane with her. The learning curve always zings out of unexpected places, thwapping all of them upside the head whenever possible.
He sends the kids to the locker room at the end of the session, and sits on the edge of pool, feet in the water. He looks up at the sound of boots on the deck, unsurprised to see her at parade rest, spine straight, haughty expression in place.
"I'm finished with this rotation."
He gives her a salute. "Good luck, kid."
She glares, then seems to remember that it's no longer necessary. She nods curtly and stalks out, passing Aeryn on her way in.
His wife looks more than cranky, uncomfortable and awkward with the weight of the baby. The kidlet could come any time, and if Aeryn has her way, it'll be sooner than later. She has a hand planted in the curve of her back where it flares to meet her hip, a concession to the painful ache of tendons and muscles loosening.
She's a little rounder this time, a little softer, but still pretty much muscle and steel and cheekbones and baby. A whole lot of pregnant Sebacean with access to a weapon and he grins at her as she and Cadet Rentai pass each other. Aeryn's face slips from controlled seriousness to rueful amusement, then tightens as a wave of something passes. He pulls his feet out of the pool, but she waves him back.
"Heya, honey."
She grunts and carefully eases herself down onto the bench.
He flicks a little water at her, cocks his head. "Back acting up again?"
She nods, leaning forward between her knees with a wince.
"Strip," he says, sitting up suddenly.
"What?"
"Well, most of the other solutions we've found this go-around have involved water. Let's give it one more go?"
She snorts. "You just want me to get into that pool, don't you?"
He waggles his eyebrows.
"There isn't a suit big enough to fit."
"Kids are gone or changing; you can swim in your skivvies. I promise not to report you to the PK uniform patrol."
She turns her mouth down sourly, then holds up a foot. "Help me with my boots, then."
***
The water absorbs her weight, taking the pressure off her back, off her strained muscles and strained psyche and John's hands on her skin do the rest. She floats, swimming lazily and awkwardly for a few moments, then allows him to support her head and back, drifting while she kicks and stretches.
This is what it feels like for the girl, weightless support, warmth and comfort and love surrounding her, room to stretch, room to flip and kick. A cramp rolls through her belly and her back and she grunts, slides out of John's grip and stands. To be fair, the girl doesn't have much room to stretch anymore, curled tight within muscle that flexes more insistently than before.
The med techs had told her this morning that it could be a day or so yet before the labor proceeded beyond these early spasms, but now that the rest of her body is relaxed she can feel the insistence of the pain, the progression of it familiar and very welcome at this point.
She looks John in the eye here in the shallows, her belly between them, and puts her hand on his bare chest, feeling his heat and his muscle, the beat of his blood, the weight of his concern. He bends impulsively and kisses her, his mouth tasting like bromine, fingers banding tight on her shoulders and she slips her tongue along his lips, teasing him. Another cramp slides up her body and flexes her fingers against his skin. If she wants to eat and notify D'Argo before this starts in earnest, she needs to do both now.
"I think I should get dressed now," she mutters. "I'm starving."
He laughs and helps her out of the pool, smacking her wet arse as she heads to the changing room.
When she bends to retrieve her dry uniform trousers her water breaks, a warm gush and a gasp, a few moments lost as she breathes through an unmistakable contraction. She ducks under the shower before dressing, arms halfway through her sleeves when the next one swells up.
"Child," she admonishes between breaths, "give your mother a chance to put her shirt on, at least."
No time for a last quick meal, then. She shoves her feet into her unfastened boots and heads out.
***
The cadet is waiting in the corridor when they leave, flimsy in hand and expression carefully neutral. She offers the flimsy and a stylus to Aeryn. "I need you to sign off on my completed assignment."
Aeryn looks it over as she walks. "Crichton, did she fulfill her assigned duties?"
John hides the smirk, knowing that Aeryn isn't trying to mock the girl, just maybe show her that you don't have to be PK to take your job seriously. "Yeah, Sun, for the most part."
"Explain."
The cadet's attention bounces back and forth between them, indignant.
John notices that Aeryn's heading toward the med station, and his pulse ticks faster. The problem with being married to a stoic is that you can never tell when they're in serious pain; he reviews the last half arn with her and thinks maybe those weren't the twinges of her body stretching, but her body contracting.
She turns to him as she continues walking, and the profile of her belly looks lower. "Coach Crichton, your assessment?"
"She swam well but her sportsmanship could use work. She attended every lane swim but never stayed for the tag-game." He meets the sparkle in her eyes and his stomach flips. This is it, this is the final battle, the last chance to cheerlead and fret.
"You're going to demerit me for that stupid game?"
He turns to the cadet, having forgotten her in the space of a heartbeat. "We use regulation training tags, it's only the rules that are different--and three of the aquatic trainers have added it to their training modules. If you'll excuse us?"
He cradles Aeryn's elbow to urge her faster toward the med station, but five steps down the hallway the cadet charges up to them again. "I need my completion form so I can be reassigned!"
"Easy, Crichton. They already know I'm in labor." Aeryn turns John around so she can write using his back.
He turns. "What?"
"It started slow this morning. They told me to come back when it progressed farther."
"You've been in labor all morning?"
"Not enough to be concerned about; they said it could take days." She turns him around again and lays the flimsy on his back. "But my water broke in the changing room just now."
"Damn woman, you're going to kill me with worry yet."
"Pshhh."
"Don't 'pshhh' me in front of the cadet, Sun."
"Your turn to sign."
He plucks the flimsy from her hands but another contraction hits before he can get the stylus from her grip. The cadet's eyes are wide, her mouth small as she watches Aeryn lean a hand on the wall and bend into the spasm.
When it passes, John slaps the flimsy against the other wall and scrawls his signature with the stylus, freshly bent from her grip, then shoves both pieces at the cadet before hustling Aeryn down to the med station.
***
D'Argo looks up from the Sprek game to see Padia towering over him. "What do you want?"
"I need to take you to the crèche."
Kai-sen powers his console down and rises to his feet. "Stop making trouble."
D' can see how Kai-sen's going to grow up to be just like his dad, even now he's got the voice of authority when he decides to use it. "Easy, 'Sen, sit back in the shade here. We don't have to listen to her crap."
"Shut up and pay attention." She bends down to put her face in D'Argo's. "Sun's in labor, in the crèche. Coach sent me. So get off your eema and do your duty. Whatever that *is*, exactly."
D'Argo doesn't remember until later that he left his Sprek console plugged into 'Sen's.
She dogs his heels all the way to the docking bay. Maybe she thinks he needs a guard or something, but he has clearance to go into the shuttle pod and fire up the comm system.
He sends the message to Pilot and Moya, the cadet hovering around him all the while. He doesn't introduce her, doesn't ask her why she has nothing better to do. He has more important things to do right now, mom gave him a list of duties to run through whenever he got the call.
Dad's with her, she'll be fine. D'Argo focuses on his own job, doing his part to see the mission through.
***
They disarmed her at the crèche door and tried to shuffle her off alone to the delivery part of the nursery but she was adamant; you can take her pistol but not her human. The attendants relented, uneasy, and the games began.
***
D'Argo shoves clothes and equipment into duffels with a single-minded focus. Dad wanted them off the ship as soon as possible after, that was D's part of the mission while Mom was bringing his sister into the world.
Dad called it the getaway car. The most important part of any plan was the getaway. D' knows it's to keep him busy, give him something to do, but that's no reason not to do it well.
He's going have a sister. He's going meet her today. Dad was wrong about it, it's going to be fine.
Padia breaks him out of his daydream. "What's so funny?"
"I'm gonna to be a big brother."
She wrinkles her nose. "You're not that tall."
He knows the list, knows what's on it, what's necessary and what's busy work. He doesn't know why Padia is still here, face a squinting jumble of determination and uncertainty, the ever present sneer of distaste as careful as her uniform. He needs to go to the pharmacy, get things filled.
"I'll get bigger," he says, flicking his eyes at her. "Besides, it's about who you are, not your height."
She shrugs, indifferent.
"Genetic siblings," she says. "So what?"
He thinks for a few microts, wonders how to explain, how to take what he knows of the experience and translate it for her. She sighs with exaggeration as he pauses, snatches the list out of his hand.
"The med station will close soon, if you want to get these things you need to go now."
Their boots ring in time as he follows her through the station. She keeps her head high, doesn't look at him, but doesn't walk ahead of him either, weathers the stares of other cadets, the flat eyed gaze of superior officers who pause so she can pay obeisance when necessary.
"My duty officer assigned me to your family for the afternoon, after I cleared Coach's orders with him" she says, after snapping a smart salute to a young officer with dark eyes who looked her up and down, then nodded her dismissal. "To make certain that everything was facilitated." She licks her mouth, shifts into haughty disapproval "Just because Sun is having a squalling brat, there's special treatment."
The insult sounds like she's trying too hard, her heart not in it beyond keeping form or maybe proving she can still be a treznot if she wants. He's sick of playing nice with her if she's not going to return the effort.
"Lay off, Padia." He grabs her elbow and skips back when she rounds on him. "My parents never did anything to you. My mom was a Peacekeeper like you for frell's sake, she's a 'pure' Sebacean and your bosses trust her to wear a gun on your big, bad
command carrier, so what's your frelling problem? If they can deal, you should be able to! You're not even an officer, you're just a frelling cadet."
She sets her jaw hard, stares at him, rolling on the balls of her feet like she wants to fight again, then settles into parade rest. "She's a..." she starts, snarling.
"She's a what?" he fires back. "A traitor, a deserter, what? C'mon, I've heard 'em all. Every frelling one of them and I think you're all full of shit. My mom helps people. She scares them pretty frelling frequently too, but she's busting her ass to help people and you guys need to give us a break."
"Sorry." she says gruffly. Not like she means it, but the word has it's own weight and he doubts he'll ever hear it again from her. Actually, he's pretty frelling sure he'll never see her again after today. It's a huge concession and he doesn't want to point it out. She knows what she's said, and she's looking less and less happy about it.
"She's gonna need a lot of help in life," he says. "She needs to learn the rules and the ropes, how to fight and fly and shoot and sneak extra krindars from dad and not eat the krawldar when it's mom's turn to cook and to turn her socks inside out so she doesn't have to do laundry all the frelling time. How to deal with dren-heads like you. And I get to teach her those things. That's pretty frelling cool."
Padia shrugs again, and they keep walking.
***
The contractions are hard now, stacked right on top of each other, going more quickly than the first time, her transition to pushing almost too fast for the techs to manage.
They help Aeryn into a type of chair with fixed grips, rock solid for her to brace against. The seat of the chair is a padded ledge for her eema, and the whole assembly is on a type of platform for the med techs to access her undercarriage.
They've put his wife on a lift for Pete's sake, but at least they've gotten used to John being there, shoulder to shoulder with the tech. He'd tried holding her hand and brushing her hair back, but she wants him right there to catch the kidlet, doesn't trust the techs enough to have them handle her daughter.
He waits for her to breathe out after this last one, then pops up with a hand on her knee. "I noticed you're wearing my socks."
She pants, catching her wind. "Last clean pair."
"Touche."
She grits her teeth, already pushing again.
It's close, so close.
***
Padia shadows D'Argo on his errands, from the docking bay to the allied quarters and back to the pod. She even sets a hand on the back of the little cart he sets their duffels on, helping him steer it through the corridors.
She doesn't leave his side until she's shown him to the nursery wing of the crèche and deposited him in a chair. Unlike every other seat on the carrier, this one's padded and comfortable. He sinks down, shrugging his jacket partly off his shoulders.
Her duty complete she nods tersely.
Leather sleeve flopping, he throws her a sloppy salute in reply.
She turns, pauses to shudder, and then walks out the door.
He doesn't realize he's going to go after her until he's out of his seat and he springs, catches her before she's halfway down the hall. He's breathless, more nervous than he's been since she first came to get him, since he first saw her looming over him, screaming for a fight.
"Hey," she slips out of his grip, faces him.
"Hey, what?"
"You...uh," he swallows. She's never going to go for it. "Never mind."
"No," she insists. "You ran all the way down here, what the frell did you want?"
He says it in a rush. "You should join the team, the Diving Hynerians. You're really fast."
She narrows her eyes. "What?"
"The swim team. Coach Ixa's pretty good, and there'll be new kids later in the cycle, maybe enough for a rival team."
"I'm not assigned to that duty anymore. And I don't want to swim with a bunch of alien brats that I don't know."
"Swam with me, with us, and it didn't kill you."
She raises a slim shoulder. "Not yet. Who knows what they'll find when I go for my next exam though?"
He's about to say something mean in protest when he catches on. "Was that...did you just make a joke?"
She rolls her eyes. "Aren't you needed in there?"
He is, and he isn't. But he needs to go back, wants to be close. In case. Wants to be there to meet the girl when she arrives.
"Yeah," he says to Padia, "yeah, I should go."
She turns on her heel and he watches her for a microt, then jogs back to the waiting room.
***
John's been here with Aeryn before, this moment when she whimpers, desperate and overwhelmed. He's right there, face in hers, catching her eyes and shouting whatever comes to mind to bring her back into focus. It's not much but it's all he can do, and when she rallies for that last round of pushing the giddiness makes him laugh even as she hollers through the pain of the child crowning.
Muscles bracing, hands supporting and reaching as he tangles with the tech in the close space, and he suddenly has a double handful of baby, curled and scrunched, hot with life.
Aeryn's laugh is soft as a sob, soft as the wax-coated skin of the girl, unfurling like a petal in his hands to howl, tongue flapping like a baby bird. She's traced with her mother's blood, some of it gathered in the beds of her nails like chipped polish.
Stranger's hands tie and cut the cord, and rub at the baby's skin with nubby cloth. He doesn't let her go, even as she pinks and quiets, even as more strange hands jostle around his to slip a fresh blanket between his palms and her skin.
Her head is pointy from the trip, her face a study in swollen puppy wrinkles, her eyes squinted against the light. He brings her up and Aeryn brushes her fingers over the fuzzy head, and the girl blinks and looks incredulous.
He's completely unprepared, buzzed and dizzy, wound up so tight about what could go wrong that the weight of this baby in his arms just floors him.
Sometimes the universe stops kicking you in the head, sometimes it kicks you in the pants instead.
She needs a name, something as big and daunting as she is, something as precious. He presses a kiss to her small wrinkled forehead and Aeryn laughs, "You should see her face when you do that."
***
The neonate tech mills about, nervous and disconcerted, trying to get the girl back from John but he's not having any of it, counting fingers and toes and ears and elbows and pronouncing them sound. The girl bellows, lungs healthy and taking in air, and he finally relents enough to hold her towards the hovering tech to be properly cleaned and suctioned and given all of the normal checks that come after an official birth, not one battle-triaged.
The rest comes just as quickly as the baby did, and another tech peels off to take the placenta away for whatever it is they do with such a thing. Aeryn is exhausted and spent, she wants to feed the girl, she wants to shower, and she wants to be somewhere comfortable. She wants to be flying toward Moya.
The last tech helps her out of the chair and into the nearby bathing trough where she strips completely to clean off the blood and fluids and sweat. Her limbs are shaky, no adrenaline to bolster her this time, and she keeps herself upright by force of will and the assistance of the tech.
"John," she says softly. He doesn't turn to respond, so she barks out his name.
He looks up at her, his face full of wonder and awe. He's cradling their girl, talking to her already, chattering like a trelkez, telling her all of things that lie ahead of her and Aeryn can't do anything more than laugh. The tech helps her dress, slipping a wad of padding into her grannipannies, and then helps her to a chair in the next room, John following in a daze.
Aeryn settles into the padded seat, which tilts back at an angle. "She needs to eat, as do I."
He grins and hands the girl over, and it stops her heart for a microt, this new tiny person who is part of their lives. A daughter, wrinkly and pink and so incredibly vulnerable to the universe around them. It's daunting.
John presses his mouth to her head, lips hot against her hairline, fingers strong and supple against her skin as she positions the girl, her tiny fists and tiny bow mouth rooting for the breast. She slips her nipple in and then grunts as her body follows suit and responds to the suck, letting down the first thick offerings that will thin out to real milk in a few days. The girl peeks through slitted eyes and grunts quietly back, resting a fist against the breast.
They know each other already, even though they've just met in person.
There's ferocity about her love for D'Argo that catches at her at times, something pulling and sharp in her belly like the cramps she feels now. It's an uncontrolled feeling, different from her love for John, which is a precious fierce thing on it's own, but her responsibilities are deeper. Looking at the tiny, helpless creature blinking and mewling as the nipple pops free, needing to eat, wanting to wail, startled and dazzled and wild until Aeryn seats it back in, her resolve tightens, strengthens and grows and she no longer wants to be in this place that represents an in between of past and present. She wants to be free with her family, to start conducting their future. "Where's D'Argo?"
"Waiting outside. He says everything's packed and ready to go."
"Everything official is already settled." She says to John softly, sinking back into the chair. "We can leave in three arns." The girl sighs, wheezing through her nose and Aeryn strokes the velvety cheek. "You'll get to fly again soon, after you meet your brother."
***
When John comes back he's bearing food, fresh clothing and their son. The girl has eaten greedily and Aeryn wants a real shower, needs to get the sweat out of her hair. She's ready to put her civilian clothes back on and take their children back to Moya. She successfully navigated the pregnancy and the birth, can see the fine lines on John's face easing, his ready, open smile a beacon for her.
She's going to be even stiffer tomorrow, the soreness of muscles healing and her body regrouping from the ordeal, but she will return quickly to fighting strength. It's inherent in her biology, in the modifications that the Eidelons made to the original stock, and the improvements the Peacekeepers had been breeding for generations. She's always been made for the work she does, defense and peace, building connections and making the universe a safer place to live; it just took her a while to find the right jobs, and it's probably going to take her even longer to be good at them all.
They need to go to Keratos as soon as possible, but she wants time with her son and daughter first. She's meeting John's bargain, survival and then relocation. He's been staying up nights finishing lesson plans in preparation for living with a newborn. There is nothing holding them back.
The girl squirms and squeaks, tiny face scrunched into discomfort as the rest of her bodily functions start to work. John laughs, recognizing the situation, and tugs D'Argo over to the baby who seems more surprised by her digestive tract than anything else in her view.
"Come meet your sister, D'. It's never to early to learn how to change diapers."
Remembering the contents of those first diapers, Aeryn snorts and passes the baby to John, reaching up to smooth the hair on her son's head and then touch the silky scalp of her daughter. John's eyes glitter suspiciously as he looks at the three of them. She takes the wrapped sandwich and the fresh clothing and makes her way to the connected fresher.
***
She doesn't look anything like he expected, nothing like the tadlings, or the Nebari, which come out looking pretty much like little versions of who they'll be, or the Luxans, bodies reddish orange and thick, who squall and wail with tiny buds on their heads that will grow into tankas. He's seen infants in the refugee camps, on the planets his mother has worked on, new siblings of the telecademy kids, but he's never seen a brand new infant that looked like, well, like something that hadn't finished cooking.
"She's really pink," he says, shuddering with the inanity. His dad snorts and takes her to the counter to put a fresh diaper on her.
"She'll stay pretty pink, but she'll get cuter." His dad works efficiently, dealing quickly with the dollop of what looks like old rotor grease and smells far worse. "First couple of days, weeks sometimes, they look like a combination of mole rat and little old man. Then one day, they're the most beautiful thing you've ever seen."
D'Argo has serious doubts about the beautiful part, but she is amazing. All those tiny little parts in miniature, her small rounded chest so incredibly delicate, tiny fists flailing and grasping.
He looks at her and realizes that she's part of it now, part of his life. It's no longer just him and his mom and his dad. She's here too, vulnerable and small, warm and alive and for the moment smelling sweet again.
His dad draws a huge finger over her forehead, stroking the damp fuzz of dark hair, the smooth slope of her belly, the curve of her flexing knee. D'Argo crowds in close to his dad as he tugs a tiny yellow hat onto the girl's head. She hics a cry, punches out with her feet as she wails and then stops suddenly, as if she realizes it's not all that bad.
"Just like Padia." D' snorts, "Kicks first, thinks about it later."
He reaches forward to touch the baby's arm, surprised by the smoothness of her skin, warm and damp but almost too soft to feel like you're really touching it.
"So, what's her name?" he asks, trying to catch her eye, pushing his head down towards her and getting a whiff of baby and ointment and cloth.
"Not yet," his dad says, wrapping her up like a gwiero, carefully supporting her head.
"Dude, dad. You haven't chosen yet?"
John grimaces at his son and D'Argo rolls his eyes.
"I didn't want to pick something without seeing her," he shoots back defensively.
"Mom is going to be so very pissed."
"Nah, she's pretty mellow post birth."
"Hah."
***
His dad sways side to side as the baby squirms and snugs into his chest. "Everything set to go?"
"Yeah, and Padia took me by the pharmacy on the way here. All the stuff for the narl and for mom are in my pack."
Dad grunts his approval.
His mom emerges from the fresher, walking stiffly but looking more like herself than she has in weekens. Her belly is still sort of swollen underneath her loose black shirt, but she's got leathers on again and her hair is pulled back in a tail. She picks up her long coat, in one slow motion sliding her arms into it and then laying a hand along the back of D'Argo's neck.
She asks him softly, "What do you think?"
"She's sort of funny looking, but dad says that'll pass." He grins at his mom, relief breaking in his chest. He'd thought he wasn't worried, turns out he was wrong.
"It'll pass," Mom chuckles, low and tight. "It takes a while," she murmurs, rubbing her cheek against his, "to get used to them."
She moves them closer to dad and the baby, and dad spares an arm to curl a hand around the back of mom's neck. "How you feelin?"
She nods. "Sore, tired, ready to be home."
His dad leans his forehead against hers, the narl between them and D'Argo still awkwardly caught in his mom's grip. She presses her other hand to dad's cheek, stretching out the microts as they breathe together in a weird little knot in the middle of the nursery, techs scuttling around them in a wide arc.
"We did it, baby," his dad murmurs, and they kiss, quick and breathless. D'Argo's cheeks flame and he looks away, embarrassment turning to indignation when he catches sight of a tech glaring at his parents.
D'Argo shrugs out of the family knot, remembering his manners but unwilling to let that glare go unchallenged. "Can I help you?"
"You need to register her," the tech says.
His mom turns, sending a withering glance at the woman. "She isn't a Peacekeeper, there's no need to register her."
The tech makes a noise of protest, but the rest of the staff has suddenly found other things to engross them, so her rebuttal never quite makes it out into words.
Mom takes the baby from dad, who slides his arm around her waist. "Let's go."
When the door slides shut behind them, his mom arches her brow. "You don't have a name yet, do you?"
D'Argo chortles as his dad protests. "C'mon, she'll have a name. I've chosen a name!"
D' knows he's lying, knows his mom knows he's lying, but no one contradicts him.
"I wanted to wait until we were off the carrier to name her anyway," his mom says with an exaggerated sigh.
They make their way slowly through the carrier to the pod. D' wanted to say goodbye to his friends, but he knew the deal, knew the drill and telacademy kids disappeared without notice on a regular basis, situations changing and destabilizing, crises springing up. It had been kind of nice, this protracted stay in one place, friends and classmates and the team, but he doubted it would be repeated anytime soon. Even so, when he spots Kai-tyil leaning against the shuttle pod he feels a twinge of resentment. Even now, Coach Ixa is running drills down at the pool.
"Kai-tyil," his dad reaches out to clasp hands in a modified Kai greeting, simplified for beings with half the usual number of arms, "Come to see us off?"
"I would have sent Sen but practice has already begun, and I admit," Kai-tyil raises his brow ridges, "I am somewhat curious about the new one. But first." He hands D'Argo the Sprek console that he'd left patched into Kai-sen's when Padia had come. "I believe your parent is not yet up to the task of winning you another."
"Thanks." D' put his hands to his chest and bows politely, wondering if Padia is at practice with the rest of the team and also knowing it's not a realistic question. It was just another duty for her. At least 'Sen won't have to put up with her.
His mom allows the Kai to peek into the sling while his dad runs the shuttle through pre-flight.
"I hear that for Sebaceans and the like, it takes two beings to make one, and yet it is only one who takes on the task of growing the bud. Is that why it is so small and helpless?"
"She'll grow." His mom winks at him as Kai-tyil pets his sister's head with a leery finger; maybe dad's right and she is mellow from the birth. "It takes all of us to help her do that."
"Seems like a great deal of work."
His mom shrugs. "And?"
***
Aeryn and the girl sleep for most of the trip out, bodies nested up in the back, some humming Hynerian lullabies coming out of the speakers. It's weird, watery music, filled with off-tone harmonies, beautiful and completely alien, but he doesn't want to shake either of his girls out of their slumber.
He gives it a week, maybe two before Aeryn insists they deal with Keratos, knows she'll tell Pilot immediately to head in that direction, but he wants some time with the two of them before real life starts back up, wants a little rest, some peace and quiet. Eventually, he sends D' back to sack out, the kid's head lolling on his shoulders like a doll. He hums along to the melody he can pick out as he flies, looking at the chatter on the comms registry, knowing Moya isn't all that far off, another arn, maybe three at the most.
He feels Aeryn's hand brushing his shoulder as she passes him, settling into the co-pilots chair, the baby nestled up against her in the black sling he'd picked up on Helian.
"Wanna drive?" he asks, half joking.
She shakes her head and they sit in silence for a few microts, surrounded by the stars.
"Thank you," she says, finally.
"Hmmm?"
"I know you were reluctant, scared... of the possibilities. And you gave us this chance, trusted my judgment and we were fine."
He doesn't have anything to say for the longest time, and then suddenly, he knows what he needs to tell her.
"You're all I've got, Aeryn." He tries to make it as matter of fact as possible. He's not looking for drama, just needs to say this to her. "You and D and now the pumpkin there. But you're it. Everything I've got in the universe worth having right here in this pod. We're all they have, all D has, all she's gonna have. It's important Aeryn. This family. We're important because were here, because we stick when things get hard, because we love each other. And she's the second most amazing thing I've ever seen out here, and I'd probably have the same doubts and fears. I'm not sorry that we won't be able to do this again, and maybe I'm glad that we did it this time, but..."
She touches his hand with her fingers, and the silence stretches. "I love you John Crichton," she says fiercely, voice harsh and ragged. He flips his palm over, captures her hand, squeezes hard enough to feel her bones shift.
"I love you too," he says quietly.
He flies them closer to home and the comms crackle when the move into Moya's range.
Pilot greets them, and John's gives their ETA. Half an arn tops. He flicks off the transmission and looks over at his wife, his beautiful new child snugged up to her full breasts, everything he'd ever wanted. Home, wife, two point three kids, a dog, maybe a pool. And this weird and wonderful and terrifying life they lead, they'd he'd die to keep, to protect.
He hums a few notes, looks at Aeryn.
"Picked a name," he says, mouth twitching.
"That's good," she says, stroking her daughters tiny pink fingers as they flex and curl in sleep, "because we were going to stay in this pod until you did."
He looks at her again, glances at D' crashed out in the pile of blankets. "I wish D'Argo were here," he whispers, surprised by how much that's still true.
Aeryn sets her jaw, nods sharply. "He'd have love her," she answers, voice absent of sentimentality, ringing purely in truth. "Her name, John," she says, softer this time, but steady and determined.
He grins, half sings his answer.
"All we are saying..."
Her eyes widen, horrified.
"No. Absolutely not."
He leans forward, stroking his hand along her arm, sliding his thumb over the baby's cheek.
"It's the best thing we'll ever do Aeryn, after these two. The only thing we've really got to offer them, so why not name it?"
She purses her mouth, looks down at her child and back up at him. She's still astonished, and horrified, and he can tell by the way her mouth is squirming in a rough imitation of their daughter's that she too is somewhat amused by the irony.
"All right," she says, sighing with exaggerated weight. "All right. You're the one she's going to hate in ten or twelve cycles."
He can hear the sound of his son's jaw cracking, blankets rustling as D' sits up. Both of them turn to look at their son, and he shrinks back his head. "What?" he says. "I didn't do anything?"
Aeryn snorts a laugh. "We chose a name."
He pushes himself up, disentangling himself from the blankets and padding over to look at them. The girl wakes up as well, stirring from the activity, cloudy clear eyes staring up at all of the faces over her.
"Does it suck?" D' asks warily, looking at his father.
"Nice," John says, swats at his son. "No, it does not suck. D', meet Peace."
~*~End~*~
by Thea and feldman
Part 1/6 located here
Part 2/6 located here
Part 3/6 located here
Part 4/6 located here
Part 5/6 located here
Pretty in Punk
by Thea and feldman
***
"Nearly had to turn the hose on the cadet and Kai." He falls back onto the bed which now stinks irrevocably of bromine, his arms and legs sprawled out like he's ready to be sacrificed to the pool gods. "'Course, if I'd let 'em drown each other, it would have saved me one hell of a headache."
"And you say *I* provoke Kai-tyil." She murmurs distractedly, desperately trying to touch the ground with the flat of her hands, a futile effort most likely, but her back is aching, low and tight and sore and she's hoping the stretch will help, that the attempt will give her some relief.
As far as she's concerned, whatever trouble the cadet gives John is richly deserved, and perhaps she thinks, a tiny bemused sardonic voice prodding her on, the telacademy students will learn something about commitment and discipline from the sullen girl. She isn't counting on it, but it remains a possibility.
John raises his head from his position of martyrdom and leers at her arse, framed upside down between her bare knees. "You listening to me?"
"No," she says and then grunts, sighs, pushes herself back up to standing with a huff and sits back on the bed between his boots. "It's good to know I still have feet, if nothing else."
He chuckles, sitting up and sliding his legs outside hers. "Lean forward," he says, putting his hands on her hips.
She does, elbows propped on her knees and belly low between her thighs. At the first pressure of his strong fingers on the curve of her lower back she groans in pleasure.
"Told you I was useful." His fingers brush lightly against her upper back, a tease of possibility, something to think about for later.
Sex is an awkward strategy exercise in pillows and positions, but still a welcome distraction, something her body is still capable of, unlike touching her toes or putting on her boots by herself.
"Oh, I've never questioned your usefulness when it comes to servicing me." She looks over her shoulder, her raised eyebrow exploding into a grin as he slips delicate fingers up along her ribs and she shivers, tries to wriggle away.
"Servicing you, huh?"
She snorts in laughter, stroking his knee, thumb rubbing over the bone and fingers settling in the outside hollow of the joint. He returns to the task and to his story.
"That girl has quite a mouth on her, and Kai-sen's got a short fuse. Like host-being, like bud, I guess. They'd gotten to the shoving and hair-pulling stage and I'm on the side about to whistle when the boy stepped in, elbowed Padia back--and didn't get put into a half nelson, mind you--and he sent Kai-sen to a neutral corner."
"Mmm," she's paying attention now, but his thumb has just found one of the more persistent knots and she wants his whole focus on that spot. "They are capable of working things out themselves, although it may get ugly."
"Well," John pauses in thought, scooting up closer so his hips bump against hers, sliding his hands around to her thighs as she leans back against him. "There was some more arguing, and then he pushed her and she pushed him back and they stood there, facing off for a few microts."
The girl does a flutter roll, bopping against the wall of her abdomen and Aeryn moves his hand to feel it. He holds the swell of her belly, paused in his musings.
Maybe those two did learn something from the punishment, how to occupy the same space without hurting each other too badly. It's a start, and even with the occasional punch it's better than simply ignoring each other. "If they were older, they'd be recreation partners instead of uneasy, pissy allies."
He chuckles against her neck. "They're about two cycles and a bottle of cheap hooch away from taking this enemy/comrade thing to the horizontal mambo level."
"That long, you think?"
"Yeah, but only because of the cultural differences. It's like looking into a mirror, or a really bad VHS copy of our early days. They're shorter, still coasting on the whole 'opposite sex has cooties' idea--"
"Not at her age. Not at his either, or haven't you noticed the way he sometimes holds that Sprek console low on his lap for camouflage?"
"If you ever want to kill the boy, let him know you noticed that move."
"Why would he care if I know? I think it's cute."
"Yeah, I don't think he'd appreciate your take on the situation."
She shrugs, and his hands sweep around her sides to work her back muscles again, pushing her forward.
"I don't know, she's a huge pain in the ass but he acts like--he steps up to the plate around her, doesn't take any shit, but doesn't really punish her for being who she is, just calls her on her behavior and stays with her in her lane."
***
The cadet stays through the end of the second week, surprising John. She doesn't talk to the other kids really, but does stop sneering when any of them get near her. She comes to practice with a split lip once or twice, and he doesn't know if it's from his kids or the other cadets, and frankly doesn't want to get involved unless it looks like she's hurting worse. But she swims well with no other signs of damage and he lets it go, shaking his head as he watches his kid spark and fight with her. D's doing his own form of damage control, always sharing his lane with her. The learning curve always zings out of unexpected places, thwapping all of them upside the head whenever possible.
He sends the kids to the locker room at the end of the session, and sits on the edge of pool, feet in the water. He looks up at the sound of boots on the deck, unsurprised to see her at parade rest, spine straight, haughty expression in place.
"I'm finished with this rotation."
He gives her a salute. "Good luck, kid."
She glares, then seems to remember that it's no longer necessary. She nods curtly and stalks out, passing Aeryn on her way in.
His wife looks more than cranky, uncomfortable and awkward with the weight of the baby. The kidlet could come any time, and if Aeryn has her way, it'll be sooner than later. She has a hand planted in the curve of her back where it flares to meet her hip, a concession to the painful ache of tendons and muscles loosening.
She's a little rounder this time, a little softer, but still pretty much muscle and steel and cheekbones and baby. A whole lot of pregnant Sebacean with access to a weapon and he grins at her as she and Cadet Rentai pass each other. Aeryn's face slips from controlled seriousness to rueful amusement, then tightens as a wave of something passes. He pulls his feet out of the pool, but she waves him back.
"Heya, honey."
She grunts and carefully eases herself down onto the bench.
He flicks a little water at her, cocks his head. "Back acting up again?"
She nods, leaning forward between her knees with a wince.
"Strip," he says, sitting up suddenly.
"What?"
"Well, most of the other solutions we've found this go-around have involved water. Let's give it one more go?"
She snorts. "You just want me to get into that pool, don't you?"
He waggles his eyebrows.
"There isn't a suit big enough to fit."
"Kids are gone or changing; you can swim in your skivvies. I promise not to report you to the PK uniform patrol."
She turns her mouth down sourly, then holds up a foot. "Help me with my boots, then."
***
The water absorbs her weight, taking the pressure off her back, off her strained muscles and strained psyche and John's hands on her skin do the rest. She floats, swimming lazily and awkwardly for a few moments, then allows him to support her head and back, drifting while she kicks and stretches.
This is what it feels like for the girl, weightless support, warmth and comfort and love surrounding her, room to stretch, room to flip and kick. A cramp rolls through her belly and her back and she grunts, slides out of John's grip and stands. To be fair, the girl doesn't have much room to stretch anymore, curled tight within muscle that flexes more insistently than before.
The med techs had told her this morning that it could be a day or so yet before the labor proceeded beyond these early spasms, but now that the rest of her body is relaxed she can feel the insistence of the pain, the progression of it familiar and very welcome at this point.
She looks John in the eye here in the shallows, her belly between them, and puts her hand on his bare chest, feeling his heat and his muscle, the beat of his blood, the weight of his concern. He bends impulsively and kisses her, his mouth tasting like bromine, fingers banding tight on her shoulders and she slips her tongue along his lips, teasing him. Another cramp slides up her body and flexes her fingers against his skin. If she wants to eat and notify D'Argo before this starts in earnest, she needs to do both now.
"I think I should get dressed now," she mutters. "I'm starving."
He laughs and helps her out of the pool, smacking her wet arse as she heads to the changing room.
When she bends to retrieve her dry uniform trousers her water breaks, a warm gush and a gasp, a few moments lost as she breathes through an unmistakable contraction. She ducks under the shower before dressing, arms halfway through her sleeves when the next one swells up.
"Child," she admonishes between breaths, "give your mother a chance to put her shirt on, at least."
No time for a last quick meal, then. She shoves her feet into her unfastened boots and heads out.
***
The cadet is waiting in the corridor when they leave, flimsy in hand and expression carefully neutral. She offers the flimsy and a stylus to Aeryn. "I need you to sign off on my completed assignment."
Aeryn looks it over as she walks. "Crichton, did she fulfill her assigned duties?"
John hides the smirk, knowing that Aeryn isn't trying to mock the girl, just maybe show her that you don't have to be PK to take your job seriously. "Yeah, Sun, for the most part."
"Explain."
The cadet's attention bounces back and forth between them, indignant.
John notices that Aeryn's heading toward the med station, and his pulse ticks faster. The problem with being married to a stoic is that you can never tell when they're in serious pain; he reviews the last half arn with her and thinks maybe those weren't the twinges of her body stretching, but her body contracting.
She turns to him as she continues walking, and the profile of her belly looks lower. "Coach Crichton, your assessment?"
"She swam well but her sportsmanship could use work. She attended every lane swim but never stayed for the tag-game." He meets the sparkle in her eyes and his stomach flips. This is it, this is the final battle, the last chance to cheerlead and fret.
"You're going to demerit me for that stupid game?"
He turns to the cadet, having forgotten her in the space of a heartbeat. "We use regulation training tags, it's only the rules that are different--and three of the aquatic trainers have added it to their training modules. If you'll excuse us?"
He cradles Aeryn's elbow to urge her faster toward the med station, but five steps down the hallway the cadet charges up to them again. "I need my completion form so I can be reassigned!"
"Easy, Crichton. They already know I'm in labor." Aeryn turns John around so she can write using his back.
He turns. "What?"
"It started slow this morning. They told me to come back when it progressed farther."
"You've been in labor all morning?"
"Not enough to be concerned about; they said it could take days." She turns him around again and lays the flimsy on his back. "But my water broke in the changing room just now."
"Damn woman, you're going to kill me with worry yet."
"Pshhh."
"Don't 'pshhh' me in front of the cadet, Sun."
"Your turn to sign."
He plucks the flimsy from her hands but another contraction hits before he can get the stylus from her grip. The cadet's eyes are wide, her mouth small as she watches Aeryn lean a hand on the wall and bend into the spasm.
When it passes, John slaps the flimsy against the other wall and scrawls his signature with the stylus, freshly bent from her grip, then shoves both pieces at the cadet before hustling Aeryn down to the med station.
***
D'Argo looks up from the Sprek game to see Padia towering over him. "What do you want?"
"I need to take you to the crèche."
Kai-sen powers his console down and rises to his feet. "Stop making trouble."
D' can see how Kai-sen's going to grow up to be just like his dad, even now he's got the voice of authority when he decides to use it. "Easy, 'Sen, sit back in the shade here. We don't have to listen to her crap."
"Shut up and pay attention." She bends down to put her face in D'Argo's. "Sun's in labor, in the crèche. Coach sent me. So get off your eema and do your duty. Whatever that *is*, exactly."
D'Argo doesn't remember until later that he left his Sprek console plugged into 'Sen's.
She dogs his heels all the way to the docking bay. Maybe she thinks he needs a guard or something, but he has clearance to go into the shuttle pod and fire up the comm system.
He sends the message to Pilot and Moya, the cadet hovering around him all the while. He doesn't introduce her, doesn't ask her why she has nothing better to do. He has more important things to do right now, mom gave him a list of duties to run through whenever he got the call.
Dad's with her, she'll be fine. D'Argo focuses on his own job, doing his part to see the mission through.
***
They disarmed her at the crèche door and tried to shuffle her off alone to the delivery part of the nursery but she was adamant; you can take her pistol but not her human. The attendants relented, uneasy, and the games began.
***
D'Argo shoves clothes and equipment into duffels with a single-minded focus. Dad wanted them off the ship as soon as possible after, that was D's part of the mission while Mom was bringing his sister into the world.
Dad called it the getaway car. The most important part of any plan was the getaway. D' knows it's to keep him busy, give him something to do, but that's no reason not to do it well.
He's going have a sister. He's going meet her today. Dad was wrong about it, it's going to be fine.
Padia breaks him out of his daydream. "What's so funny?"
"I'm gonna to be a big brother."
She wrinkles her nose. "You're not that tall."
He knows the list, knows what's on it, what's necessary and what's busy work. He doesn't know why Padia is still here, face a squinting jumble of determination and uncertainty, the ever present sneer of distaste as careful as her uniform. He needs to go to the pharmacy, get things filled.
"I'll get bigger," he says, flicking his eyes at her. "Besides, it's about who you are, not your height."
She shrugs, indifferent.
"Genetic siblings," she says. "So what?"
He thinks for a few microts, wonders how to explain, how to take what he knows of the experience and translate it for her. She sighs with exaggeration as he pauses, snatches the list out of his hand.
"The med station will close soon, if you want to get these things you need to go now."
Their boots ring in time as he follows her through the station. She keeps her head high, doesn't look at him, but doesn't walk ahead of him either, weathers the stares of other cadets, the flat eyed gaze of superior officers who pause so she can pay obeisance when necessary.
"My duty officer assigned me to your family for the afternoon, after I cleared Coach's orders with him" she says, after snapping a smart salute to a young officer with dark eyes who looked her up and down, then nodded her dismissal. "To make certain that everything was facilitated." She licks her mouth, shifts into haughty disapproval "Just because Sun is having a squalling brat, there's special treatment."
The insult sounds like she's trying too hard, her heart not in it beyond keeping form or maybe proving she can still be a treznot if she wants. He's sick of playing nice with her if she's not going to return the effort.
"Lay off, Padia." He grabs her elbow and skips back when she rounds on him. "My parents never did anything to you. My mom was a Peacekeeper like you for frell's sake, she's a 'pure' Sebacean and your bosses trust her to wear a gun on your big, bad
command carrier, so what's your frelling problem? If they can deal, you should be able to! You're not even an officer, you're just a frelling cadet."
She sets her jaw hard, stares at him, rolling on the balls of her feet like she wants to fight again, then settles into parade rest. "She's a..." she starts, snarling.
"She's a what?" he fires back. "A traitor, a deserter, what? C'mon, I've heard 'em all. Every frelling one of them and I think you're all full of shit. My mom helps people. She scares them pretty frelling frequently too, but she's busting her ass to help people and you guys need to give us a break."
"Sorry." she says gruffly. Not like she means it, but the word has it's own weight and he doubts he'll ever hear it again from her. Actually, he's pretty frelling sure he'll never see her again after today. It's a huge concession and he doesn't want to point it out. She knows what she's said, and she's looking less and less happy about it.
"She's gonna need a lot of help in life," he says. "She needs to learn the rules and the ropes, how to fight and fly and shoot and sneak extra krindars from dad and not eat the krawldar when it's mom's turn to cook and to turn her socks inside out so she doesn't have to do laundry all the frelling time. How to deal with dren-heads like you. And I get to teach her those things. That's pretty frelling cool."
Padia shrugs again, and they keep walking.
***
The contractions are hard now, stacked right on top of each other, going more quickly than the first time, her transition to pushing almost too fast for the techs to manage.
They help Aeryn into a type of chair with fixed grips, rock solid for her to brace against. The seat of the chair is a padded ledge for her eema, and the whole assembly is on a type of platform for the med techs to access her undercarriage.
They've put his wife on a lift for Pete's sake, but at least they've gotten used to John being there, shoulder to shoulder with the tech. He'd tried holding her hand and brushing her hair back, but she wants him right there to catch the kidlet, doesn't trust the techs enough to have them handle her daughter.
He waits for her to breathe out after this last one, then pops up with a hand on her knee. "I noticed you're wearing my socks."
She pants, catching her wind. "Last clean pair."
"Touche."
She grits her teeth, already pushing again.
It's close, so close.
***
Padia shadows D'Argo on his errands, from the docking bay to the allied quarters and back to the pod. She even sets a hand on the back of the little cart he sets their duffels on, helping him steer it through the corridors.
She doesn't leave his side until she's shown him to the nursery wing of the crèche and deposited him in a chair. Unlike every other seat on the carrier, this one's padded and comfortable. He sinks down, shrugging his jacket partly off his shoulders.
Her duty complete she nods tersely.
Leather sleeve flopping, he throws her a sloppy salute in reply.
She turns, pauses to shudder, and then walks out the door.
He doesn't realize he's going to go after her until he's out of his seat and he springs, catches her before she's halfway down the hall. He's breathless, more nervous than he's been since she first came to get him, since he first saw her looming over him, screaming for a fight.
"Hey," she slips out of his grip, faces him.
"Hey, what?"
"You...uh," he swallows. She's never going to go for it. "Never mind."
"No," she insists. "You ran all the way down here, what the frell did you want?"
He says it in a rush. "You should join the team, the Diving Hynerians. You're really fast."
She narrows her eyes. "What?"
"The swim team. Coach Ixa's pretty good, and there'll be new kids later in the cycle, maybe enough for a rival team."
"I'm not assigned to that duty anymore. And I don't want to swim with a bunch of alien brats that I don't know."
"Swam with me, with us, and it didn't kill you."
She raises a slim shoulder. "Not yet. Who knows what they'll find when I go for my next exam though?"
He's about to say something mean in protest when he catches on. "Was that...did you just make a joke?"
She rolls her eyes. "Aren't you needed in there?"
He is, and he isn't. But he needs to go back, wants to be close. In case. Wants to be there to meet the girl when she arrives.
"Yeah," he says to Padia, "yeah, I should go."
She turns on her heel and he watches her for a microt, then jogs back to the waiting room.
***
John's been here with Aeryn before, this moment when she whimpers, desperate and overwhelmed. He's right there, face in hers, catching her eyes and shouting whatever comes to mind to bring her back into focus. It's not much but it's all he can do, and when she rallies for that last round of pushing the giddiness makes him laugh even as she hollers through the pain of the child crowning.
Muscles bracing, hands supporting and reaching as he tangles with the tech in the close space, and he suddenly has a double handful of baby, curled and scrunched, hot with life.
Aeryn's laugh is soft as a sob, soft as the wax-coated skin of the girl, unfurling like a petal in his hands to howl, tongue flapping like a baby bird. She's traced with her mother's blood, some of it gathered in the beds of her nails like chipped polish.
Stranger's hands tie and cut the cord, and rub at the baby's skin with nubby cloth. He doesn't let her go, even as she pinks and quiets, even as more strange hands jostle around his to slip a fresh blanket between his palms and her skin.
Her head is pointy from the trip, her face a study in swollen puppy wrinkles, her eyes squinted against the light. He brings her up and Aeryn brushes her fingers over the fuzzy head, and the girl blinks and looks incredulous.
He's completely unprepared, buzzed and dizzy, wound up so tight about what could go wrong that the weight of this baby in his arms just floors him.
Sometimes the universe stops kicking you in the head, sometimes it kicks you in the pants instead.
She needs a name, something as big and daunting as she is, something as precious. He presses a kiss to her small wrinkled forehead and Aeryn laughs, "You should see her face when you do that."
***
The neonate tech mills about, nervous and disconcerted, trying to get the girl back from John but he's not having any of it, counting fingers and toes and ears and elbows and pronouncing them sound. The girl bellows, lungs healthy and taking in air, and he finally relents enough to hold her towards the hovering tech to be properly cleaned and suctioned and given all of the normal checks that come after an official birth, not one battle-triaged.
The rest comes just as quickly as the baby did, and another tech peels off to take the placenta away for whatever it is they do with such a thing. Aeryn is exhausted and spent, she wants to feed the girl, she wants to shower, and she wants to be somewhere comfortable. She wants to be flying toward Moya.
The last tech helps her out of the chair and into the nearby bathing trough where she strips completely to clean off the blood and fluids and sweat. Her limbs are shaky, no adrenaline to bolster her this time, and she keeps herself upright by force of will and the assistance of the tech.
"John," she says softly. He doesn't turn to respond, so she barks out his name.
He looks up at her, his face full of wonder and awe. He's cradling their girl, talking to her already, chattering like a trelkez, telling her all of things that lie ahead of her and Aeryn can't do anything more than laugh. The tech helps her dress, slipping a wad of padding into her grannipannies, and then helps her to a chair in the next room, John following in a daze.
Aeryn settles into the padded seat, which tilts back at an angle. "She needs to eat, as do I."
He grins and hands the girl over, and it stops her heart for a microt, this new tiny person who is part of their lives. A daughter, wrinkly and pink and so incredibly vulnerable to the universe around them. It's daunting.
John presses his mouth to her head, lips hot against her hairline, fingers strong and supple against her skin as she positions the girl, her tiny fists and tiny bow mouth rooting for the breast. She slips her nipple in and then grunts as her body follows suit and responds to the suck, letting down the first thick offerings that will thin out to real milk in a few days. The girl peeks through slitted eyes and grunts quietly back, resting a fist against the breast.
They know each other already, even though they've just met in person.
There's ferocity about her love for D'Argo that catches at her at times, something pulling and sharp in her belly like the cramps she feels now. It's an uncontrolled feeling, different from her love for John, which is a precious fierce thing on it's own, but her responsibilities are deeper. Looking at the tiny, helpless creature blinking and mewling as the nipple pops free, needing to eat, wanting to wail, startled and dazzled and wild until Aeryn seats it back in, her resolve tightens, strengthens and grows and she no longer wants to be in this place that represents an in between of past and present. She wants to be free with her family, to start conducting their future. "Where's D'Argo?"
"Waiting outside. He says everything's packed and ready to go."
"Everything official is already settled." She says to John softly, sinking back into the chair. "We can leave in three arns." The girl sighs, wheezing through her nose and Aeryn strokes the velvety cheek. "You'll get to fly again soon, after you meet your brother."
***
When John comes back he's bearing food, fresh clothing and their son. The girl has eaten greedily and Aeryn wants a real shower, needs to get the sweat out of her hair. She's ready to put her civilian clothes back on and take their children back to Moya. She successfully navigated the pregnancy and the birth, can see the fine lines on John's face easing, his ready, open smile a beacon for her.
She's going to be even stiffer tomorrow, the soreness of muscles healing and her body regrouping from the ordeal, but she will return quickly to fighting strength. It's inherent in her biology, in the modifications that the Eidelons made to the original stock, and the improvements the Peacekeepers had been breeding for generations. She's always been made for the work she does, defense and peace, building connections and making the universe a safer place to live; it just took her a while to find the right jobs, and it's probably going to take her even longer to be good at them all.
They need to go to Keratos as soon as possible, but she wants time with her son and daughter first. She's meeting John's bargain, survival and then relocation. He's been staying up nights finishing lesson plans in preparation for living with a newborn. There is nothing holding them back.
The girl squirms and squeaks, tiny face scrunched into discomfort as the rest of her bodily functions start to work. John laughs, recognizing the situation, and tugs D'Argo over to the baby who seems more surprised by her digestive tract than anything else in her view.
"Come meet your sister, D'. It's never to early to learn how to change diapers."
Remembering the contents of those first diapers, Aeryn snorts and passes the baby to John, reaching up to smooth the hair on her son's head and then touch the silky scalp of her daughter. John's eyes glitter suspiciously as he looks at the three of them. She takes the wrapped sandwich and the fresh clothing and makes her way to the connected fresher.
***
She doesn't look anything like he expected, nothing like the tadlings, or the Nebari, which come out looking pretty much like little versions of who they'll be, or the Luxans, bodies reddish orange and thick, who squall and wail with tiny buds on their heads that will grow into tankas. He's seen infants in the refugee camps, on the planets his mother has worked on, new siblings of the telecademy kids, but he's never seen a brand new infant that looked like, well, like something that hadn't finished cooking.
"She's really pink," he says, shuddering with the inanity. His dad snorts and takes her to the counter to put a fresh diaper on her.
"She'll stay pretty pink, but she'll get cuter." His dad works efficiently, dealing quickly with the dollop of what looks like old rotor grease and smells far worse. "First couple of days, weeks sometimes, they look like a combination of mole rat and little old man. Then one day, they're the most beautiful thing you've ever seen."
D'Argo has serious doubts about the beautiful part, but she is amazing. All those tiny little parts in miniature, her small rounded chest so incredibly delicate, tiny fists flailing and grasping.
He looks at her and realizes that she's part of it now, part of his life. It's no longer just him and his mom and his dad. She's here too, vulnerable and small, warm and alive and for the moment smelling sweet again.
His dad draws a huge finger over her forehead, stroking the damp fuzz of dark hair, the smooth slope of her belly, the curve of her flexing knee. D'Argo crowds in close to his dad as he tugs a tiny yellow hat onto the girl's head. She hics a cry, punches out with her feet as she wails and then stops suddenly, as if she realizes it's not all that bad.
"Just like Padia." D' snorts, "Kicks first, thinks about it later."
He reaches forward to touch the baby's arm, surprised by the smoothness of her skin, warm and damp but almost too soft to feel like you're really touching it.
"So, what's her name?" he asks, trying to catch her eye, pushing his head down towards her and getting a whiff of baby and ointment and cloth.
"Not yet," his dad says, wrapping her up like a gwiero, carefully supporting her head.
"Dude, dad. You haven't chosen yet?"
John grimaces at his son and D'Argo rolls his eyes.
"I didn't want to pick something without seeing her," he shoots back defensively.
"Mom is going to be so very pissed."
"Nah, she's pretty mellow post birth."
"Hah."
***
His dad sways side to side as the baby squirms and snugs into his chest. "Everything set to go?"
"Yeah, and Padia took me by the pharmacy on the way here. All the stuff for the narl and for mom are in my pack."
Dad grunts his approval.
His mom emerges from the fresher, walking stiffly but looking more like herself than she has in weekens. Her belly is still sort of swollen underneath her loose black shirt, but she's got leathers on again and her hair is pulled back in a tail. She picks up her long coat, in one slow motion sliding her arms into it and then laying a hand along the back of D'Argo's neck.
She asks him softly, "What do you think?"
"She's sort of funny looking, but dad says that'll pass." He grins at his mom, relief breaking in his chest. He'd thought he wasn't worried, turns out he was wrong.
"It'll pass," Mom chuckles, low and tight. "It takes a while," she murmurs, rubbing her cheek against his, "to get used to them."
She moves them closer to dad and the baby, and dad spares an arm to curl a hand around the back of mom's neck. "How you feelin?"
She nods. "Sore, tired, ready to be home."
His dad leans his forehead against hers, the narl between them and D'Argo still awkwardly caught in his mom's grip. She presses her other hand to dad's cheek, stretching out the microts as they breathe together in a weird little knot in the middle of the nursery, techs scuttling around them in a wide arc.
"We did it, baby," his dad murmurs, and they kiss, quick and breathless. D'Argo's cheeks flame and he looks away, embarrassment turning to indignation when he catches sight of a tech glaring at his parents.
D'Argo shrugs out of the family knot, remembering his manners but unwilling to let that glare go unchallenged. "Can I help you?"
"You need to register her," the tech says.
His mom turns, sending a withering glance at the woman. "She isn't a Peacekeeper, there's no need to register her."
The tech makes a noise of protest, but the rest of the staff has suddenly found other things to engross them, so her rebuttal never quite makes it out into words.
Mom takes the baby from dad, who slides his arm around her waist. "Let's go."
When the door slides shut behind them, his mom arches her brow. "You don't have a name yet, do you?"
D'Argo chortles as his dad protests. "C'mon, she'll have a name. I've chosen a name!"
D' knows he's lying, knows his mom knows he's lying, but no one contradicts him.
"I wanted to wait until we were off the carrier to name her anyway," his mom says with an exaggerated sigh.
They make their way slowly through the carrier to the pod. D' wanted to say goodbye to his friends, but he knew the deal, knew the drill and telacademy kids disappeared without notice on a regular basis, situations changing and destabilizing, crises springing up. It had been kind of nice, this protracted stay in one place, friends and classmates and the team, but he doubted it would be repeated anytime soon. Even so, when he spots Kai-tyil leaning against the shuttle pod he feels a twinge of resentment. Even now, Coach Ixa is running drills down at the pool.
"Kai-tyil," his dad reaches out to clasp hands in a modified Kai greeting, simplified for beings with half the usual number of arms, "Come to see us off?"
"I would have sent Sen but practice has already begun, and I admit," Kai-tyil raises his brow ridges, "I am somewhat curious about the new one. But first." He hands D'Argo the Sprek console that he'd left patched into Kai-sen's when Padia had come. "I believe your parent is not yet up to the task of winning you another."
"Thanks." D' put his hands to his chest and bows politely, wondering if Padia is at practice with the rest of the team and also knowing it's not a realistic question. It was just another duty for her. At least 'Sen won't have to put up with her.
His mom allows the Kai to peek into the sling while his dad runs the shuttle through pre-flight.
"I hear that for Sebaceans and the like, it takes two beings to make one, and yet it is only one who takes on the task of growing the bud. Is that why it is so small and helpless?"
"She'll grow." His mom winks at him as Kai-tyil pets his sister's head with a leery finger; maybe dad's right and she is mellow from the birth. "It takes all of us to help her do that."
"Seems like a great deal of work."
His mom shrugs. "And?"
***
Aeryn and the girl sleep for most of the trip out, bodies nested up in the back, some humming Hynerian lullabies coming out of the speakers. It's weird, watery music, filled with off-tone harmonies, beautiful and completely alien, but he doesn't want to shake either of his girls out of their slumber.
He gives it a week, maybe two before Aeryn insists they deal with Keratos, knows she'll tell Pilot immediately to head in that direction, but he wants some time with the two of them before real life starts back up, wants a little rest, some peace and quiet. Eventually, he sends D' back to sack out, the kid's head lolling on his shoulders like a doll. He hums along to the melody he can pick out as he flies, looking at the chatter on the comms registry, knowing Moya isn't all that far off, another arn, maybe three at the most.
He feels Aeryn's hand brushing his shoulder as she passes him, settling into the co-pilots chair, the baby nestled up against her in the black sling he'd picked up on Helian.
"Wanna drive?" he asks, half joking.
She shakes her head and they sit in silence for a few microts, surrounded by the stars.
"Thank you," she says, finally.
"Hmmm?"
"I know you were reluctant, scared... of the possibilities. And you gave us this chance, trusted my judgment and we were fine."
He doesn't have anything to say for the longest time, and then suddenly, he knows what he needs to tell her.
"You're all I've got, Aeryn." He tries to make it as matter of fact as possible. He's not looking for drama, just needs to say this to her. "You and D and now the pumpkin there. But you're it. Everything I've got in the universe worth having right here in this pod. We're all they have, all D has, all she's gonna have. It's important Aeryn. This family. We're important because were here, because we stick when things get hard, because we love each other. And she's the second most amazing thing I've ever seen out here, and I'd probably have the same doubts and fears. I'm not sorry that we won't be able to do this again, and maybe I'm glad that we did it this time, but..."
She touches his hand with her fingers, and the silence stretches. "I love you John Crichton," she says fiercely, voice harsh and ragged. He flips his palm over, captures her hand, squeezes hard enough to feel her bones shift.
"I love you too," he says quietly.
He flies them closer to home and the comms crackle when the move into Moya's range.
Pilot greets them, and John's gives their ETA. Half an arn tops. He flicks off the transmission and looks over at his wife, his beautiful new child snugged up to her full breasts, everything he'd ever wanted. Home, wife, two point three kids, a dog, maybe a pool. And this weird and wonderful and terrifying life they lead, they'd he'd die to keep, to protect.
He hums a few notes, looks at Aeryn.
"Picked a name," he says, mouth twitching.
"That's good," she says, stroking her daughters tiny pink fingers as they flex and curl in sleep, "because we were going to stay in this pod until you did."
He looks at her again, glances at D' crashed out in the pile of blankets. "I wish D'Argo were here," he whispers, surprised by how much that's still true.
Aeryn sets her jaw, nods sharply. "He'd have love her," she answers, voice absent of sentimentality, ringing purely in truth. "Her name, John," she says, softer this time, but steady and determined.
He grins, half sings his answer.
"All we are saying..."
Her eyes widen, horrified.
"No. Absolutely not."
He leans forward, stroking his hand along her arm, sliding his thumb over the baby's cheek.
"It's the best thing we'll ever do Aeryn, after these two. The only thing we've really got to offer them, so why not name it?"
She purses her mouth, looks down at her child and back up at him. She's still astonished, and horrified, and he can tell by the way her mouth is squirming in a rough imitation of their daughter's that she too is somewhat amused by the irony.
"All right," she says, sighing with exaggerated weight. "All right. You're the one she's going to hate in ten or twelve cycles."
He can hear the sound of his son's jaw cracking, blankets rustling as D' sits up. Both of them turn to look at their son, and he shrinks back his head. "What?" he says. "I didn't do anything?"
Aeryn snorts a laugh. "We chose a name."
He pushes himself up, disentangling himself from the blankets and padding over to look at them. The girl wakes up as well, stirring from the activity, cloudy clear eyes staring up at all of the faces over her.
"Does it suck?" D' asks warily, looking at his father.
"Nice," John says, swats at his son. "No, it does not suck. D', meet Peace."
~*~End~*~
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Date: 2005-06-29 07:01 pm (UTC)You made them all live, and do big things. ♥
Keep that up you'll get me bawling, too *sniff*