Fic Post! "AKA"
Title: A.K.A
Author:miri_away
Type: Fanfic (Farscape)
Genre: Gen/sticky fluff
Rating: PG13-ish, for language…sorta.
Summary: John casts her a small smile, though, technically, he has enough energy for a slightly bigger one.
--
A.K.A
miri_away
“Fahrbot!"
"Pip." John warns in his typical not-really-as-exasperated-as-I-sound drawl.
He steps closer to the frustrated alien; she slams her gauntlets against the crate as she stands up and away from him, not denting it exactly but certainly not heeding what equates to “Fragile” engraved to its side in swirling, bold symbols.
Thanks to the surprise implant they’d shot in his foot, it had taken John all of a microt to realize that not only could he understand all their alien languages but he could read also them…and, even though, occasionally, his eyes don’t focus right or a word won’t translate all too clearly, he understands the word Fragile for all it entails. Chiana, who has seen her fair share of homemade and not-so-homemade objects explode when handled this way and who has never gone a day not understanding any of the species she encounters, should know better.
He knows enough to step back, to wait and possibly prepare to laugh. Whatever is in the damn box must've pissed her off royally because she looks as if she’s just been reminded that she hasn't been happy since she got back on the ship. She lets out a shriek and makes as if to tear her hair out.
It's not as easy as it used to be, dealing with things that are only half his concern. John used to relish helping his shipmates with whatever personal issues they were facing, if only to prove that as primitive as he is in comparison, he is not useless. And, yes, also because he is human and not used to gestures not being reciprocated; in the beginning, it had been habit, then hope that kept him repeating the ritual freak outs and shoulder touches. But D’argo had not tolerated his confusion, Aeryn looked down on his ignorance, and Zhann was often too thoughtful for John to think any touch or smile or kind word was solely due to monkey see monkey do.
And then the planets started needing saving and he had to help them too, but no one ever got his pop culture references and the cheers, when they came, or the gratitude, if it came, was hesitant and for his benefit. The torture, because someone always managed to tie him up, wouldn’t last so long if he ignored such jokes and said things his scaly or slimy captors actually understood.
He's had to worry about so many things lately it's almost relieving to see someone else upset. At the same time, he almost resents Chiana her fury.
The thin little firecracker glares at the crate, then at him and he knows, dear Gawd, he's going to get blamed for this.
Her white face is incapable of blushing, but he can see something in her dark eyes like a dilation. She cannot frelling believe this, says her body language. It's been over five cycles--years now. Ask him when it hit him that he could read a Nebari's body language and decipher certain Dominar's undertones better than he ever understood Human and he'll tell you...to go sit on it.
"It's all--fahrbot." She coils up to kick, but then just does that thing where she lifts her arms in a telling gesture as if to say, Look at it, I mean, what?
At least she's still entertaining. He crosses his arms and roots himself in place, prepared to be the calm center to her tempest. Chiana-outbursts never lasted longer than they absolutely had to. "Also known as FUBAR, Chi, but--"
"Fahrbot!" Chiana insists shrilly, nodding in her bird-like way, clearly not listening to him. She was beginning to sway in her half-crouch, and her twitches were becoming much more broad and erratic. Her eyes and mouth didn't widen any more than they already were when he decided enough was enough, grabbed her arm and began to drag her gently but insistently away from the crate of 'toys' that had been, up until an arn ago, conveniently 'lost' in the cargo bay.
They made it five steps into the hallway before she started to struggle. Bemusedly, he lets her go, positive she is only making a point. He's right. She keeps stride with him, a pale, stalking shadow.
"You know what your problem is, Crichton?"
"I used to." John answered with what he considered to be a pretty witty comeback for this time of...day. Night. Whatever.
It's probably a Thursday. It felt like one, but he can never tell. She was getting antsy, like she did after a particularly draining cluster-frell and could only wait while Pilot found a suitable planet to hover over, preferably one full of parties and illegal drugs. He couldn't blame her this time. Teetering on the edge of any sort of release was hard for all of them, and, like waiting for a Friday when a Thursday just won't end, waiting for this had to be driving her mad.
Chiana's hair bounces as she clunks beside him; she's done something to it again: it's just as white as before but it's lacking the same volume it had in the old days and some of the edge and dark streaks he'd grown accustom to before things went kablooy. It still bounces. He's amazed at what he can still get amazed at. He wants to scruff it up, like the old days, but it's clearly not the time.
"You're taking this too seriously. Again. Personally." She accuses in her squeaky, hectic voice. He rolls his eyes. She's changing the subject. He has no clue what she's referring to. If it's the whole there's an army or five out there ready to kill him and his family, yeah, he can admit, he's taking it a bit personally. But c'mon, he took them on vacation, and he's learned too much serious drives him off the wall faster than not serious enough. "And who--who kept those games back there?" (or not) "Aeryn told me they'd been stolen by those--those...by thieves."
John casts her a small smile, though, technically, he has enough energy for a slightly bigger one. "Details a bit fuzzy?"
Chiana straightens, cocks her head. She's slightly more agitated than usual. He's reminded of the days when her hand would be twitching over her holster only to fist and swing at an unsuspecting Jool, who, after so long, should have started expecting the attacks. Love, for this woman, was one of the things that was proven by getting her to the point of pummeling you. She'd done her fair share of beating him for being annoying, and nothing annoyed her more than holier-than-thou accusations and out-right-I-doubt-yous. This time, as with every other time, he's only teasing. It's a test he has to use every now and then, to gauge what type of force he'll need to use to knock sense into her.
She allows his quip, and with a twitch-cock is looking straight ahead again, voice now heavier with unraveling resolve. "We--there were a lot of...marauders back then. I can't...She didn't say. She did say that they took them." Her gaze is accusing and her chin is jutting up and out as she cranes to tell him that she blames him as much as his…mate. Woman. Aeryn.
His little Nebari friend, being slight enough to carry in one arm, kicking and screaming though she is, gets him to stop in his tracks not with her easily avoided, mockable attempt at blocking his path, but with her general...Chiana-ness.
A long time ago, he used to equate this sort of rebellious posturing and denial with her youth and/or immaturity. Now, he knows better. Calling it a cultural difference is an overstatement of gargantuan proportions, but it's also mostly just a JohnChiana thing. He allows her to protect herself so long as she needs it, visa versa, and then he calls her out on it, if the need arises. Telling her that she's acting childish will solve nothing and only hurt her.
"And--and why would she say that?" The woman half-babbles, a clear sign of nerve-fraying. The rest of her is all hostility, mostly blame, but also...Loss. "There was no harm done...after it was done, and that was, what? Half a cycle before Earth?"
"More or less." He could be wrong though. It was so long ago.
"More. I went through all that trouble to find and destroy them and she tells me the last crate was missing…. She was supposed to trust me then. She said it. You said it."
"We did. Honey, we do."
"Then why are the games behind the old food cube crates? Why are they over there with the--the Stark stuff and the...."
The spunk is draining, and whatever joke she's been playing in her head to make this less transparent isn't working anymore. He's seeing her through older eyes, younger ones--as she was, back five cycles ago when she was a little less than a stranger struggling to fit in, to apologize, to stick her neck out for someone other than herself, and he's seeing her as his little sister back on that grave planet, helpless and careless, determined to be both. Even now, in her anger, the defiance that would have been just that a year, yes year, ago is still drenched in the doubt she hasn't been able to shake since her...evolution.
He reaches out, like he always has, and cups her cheek, marveling, as he always does, not at the difference in skin tone, color and texture, but at how small she is, or how big he is. Had she let him, he could frame the entire right side of her face in his palm. As it was, she jerks away, cries her Nebari equivalent of "freak that!"
There was a time, for a cycle at least, where that wasn't so common, the distance and the sound. He should have expected it. It still hurts to see her this way.
"Chiana, I didn't know. Okay? She must've had her reasons. Maybe she really did think they were stolen. We don't tend to check back there that often anymore." He keeps his voice as normal as possible, allowing for some drawling and sarcasm to seep through so she won't take offense at his "defending Her again".
"It's been years. It's FUBAR, I know, but you were fine."
"Fahrbot." There is no humor in her retort. He hopes she was listening.
"Why were you lurking and searching anyway?"
"A DRD." To his quizzical look (because, seriously, blaming those little robots has only worked, like, once. Ever) she gives in. "I told it to entertain me. It led me there."
"Why are you so upset?"
“Why aren’t you?”
He sighs. He supposes he should be furious, incensed even, that bits of his memory and soul are still around to be tampered with and used against him. He should be pissed that his wife was being careless or cruel, but destroying them will be easy enough and Aeryn hadn’t known why Chiana was so intent on getting rid of them at the time. And he’s had a lot of time to prioritize. He can’t be that selfish anymore, not with Lil D about to start crawling and such.
Chiana, for all her bluster, shrinks in minute ways at times. He knows she's more likely to tell him than anyone else on the ship, but he also knows it may not be for the right reasons. It’s easy enough for her to flashback to old times, feel just as intensely as before, and that had been a very odd bonding moment for the two of them. It's been hard for her, putting him in a box that contains, mainly, Aeryn and The Baby (not to mention the fight for their lives).
It's a box she doesn't fit into anymore, or never did to begin with.
He'd hoped she'd realize nothing had changed between them, that she was still Pip and he was still Old Man, but being alone so long (and he uses that term to avoid the whole "while I was dead" and "with D'Argo still being dead and Aeryn coming back to life pregnant with my baby" and "while you were stuck, alone, with Rygel, again, in a war" and other such unpleasant things) had obviously left her a bit hesitant. She doesn't want to intrude-- as where before, since the day they'd met actually, it's all she's ever done, the least he'd ever expect of her.
He wants to reach out to her again. He restrains himself.
This isn't one of those days where he just has to sit there and pretend to listen, or pretend to not want to kiss her, or pretend that just sitting beside her while she ignores him is productive.
This isn't one of those times where he can get slapped or slap it out of her system.
This isn't the time to slam her into a wall and demand that she open up either.
This is nothing like the Tormented Space days, or the Grayza days, or even, even the Earth days, where he usually said too much and she understood completely or not at all, but cared enough to hold herself together so her crazy commander Hooman friend could be her hero. Or just not get his brain drained again.
These have all worked before; he's at a loss here. They've gone through a lot, and he's been lost with her before, but never over this--never over something that was only essential to one of them ("the one" in this case being her).
"You don't have to tell me. I--you have every right to be mad. We'll just go find Aeryn and sort this out."
"No. No. I...I'm better now. I'm over it. See?"
Her smiles are sometimes altogether unconvincing.
But, he admits, they are wide, bright and endearing enough to allow anyway, most days. John does his nod-shake gesture that says, clearly, Go on cowgirl, and gives her his elbow. She takes it. It was one of the first gestures he found to intergalactic, no explanation needed.
“We’ll get rid of them together.” He proposes as they round the corner. “Sound like wacky fun?”
"FooBar." She tries for the umpteenth time since he'd taught her the expression, still pronouncing it not-quite-right.
"Fahrbot." He agrees.