Notes: No beta. Thanks to misaditas for writing and sharing Fulfillment of Commitment, which was the inspiration for this. Thanks to sarahjane for driveby, Susan and Nymeria for encouragement.

The higher I climb,
the more I present myself
to the possibility
of falling down
~~~"Vertigo" by The Guggenheim Grotto

At any point, you could punch him in the face, hear the crack of cartilage in his nose. His blood on your fist. Right now, his breath on your neck cools your perspiration; it's almost a comfort. You're used up, wrung out, the secrecy taking its toll on your patience and your reserves.

You could have died. You see that when you allow yourself to close your eyes: The Gammak base on fire, its flames consuming your Prowler in an instant, Crichton and D'Argo specks in the black against the brilliant orange.

How long had you held your breath? A countdown in your head: A quarter arn. D'Argo had a quarter arn. You truly had no idea how long Crichton would last, even with the EVA suit. How long before the energy the base radiated might eat them alive while you observed it from far off, helpless. As helpless as you'd been to stop Crais from co-opting Talyn, manipulating the infant with Peacekeeper lies.

You'd sat docked at the mining colony's port. Weighed your options, slick with perspiration that slid down your back and glazed your body. Peacekeeper lies are easier than you'd thought they'd be when there's a higher calling to answer. Food. Water. Shelter. Atmosphere.

Your decision comes down to basic principles, basic needs.

It always does.

So you steady yourself here, your hands on the con as you allow him to plot a course down your body, his palm and fingers wrapping your throat with just enough pressure to hold you in place. Your back to him, your eyes on the con in front. You know the field is still fraught with traps. There's no haven. Not yet.

"This is not so difficult as you might wish to believe." His voice in your ear, so deep that you feel it down your spine.

You can be more—you know you have been, all this time. In your old life, this was a break from battle. In your new life, it is the battle, part of the strategy, and it's no different than using a gun or a cannon, or your own two fists.

You turn and face him, your mouth drawing a slow smile. His hand relaxes and drops to his side. He takes a step back. You must look feral, a threat, your face streaked with oil and dirt, your hair clinging to your shoulders and forehead.

This is an exchange, one thing for another, not sacrifice. He needs your help to control the ship, you need his to save two lives, and maybe your own while you're at it.

Your fingers reach under his coat and grasp the waistband of his pants. You pull him toward you, your spine pressed against the con.

"Officer Sun," he says. You silence him with your mouth over his.

Once upon a time you'd stood in the hidden passageways of Crais' carrier, your hips fused against those of a nameless comrade, feeling the rush of heat that the two of you generated. The release would right your mind after the flight simulators that could get you killed, the aerial battles that almost did.

Then you'd found yourself caught adrift in starburst, pulled along against your will. It had been that way since, living in a space you weren't born to occupy. Not even your DNA is your own anymore.

And Crichton...Crichton who's far from you now, waiting for your return. Someone always depends on you now, needs you, not just what you represent.

Crais is hard against you. Your hands slip down, make quick work of your clothing and his. You keep your eyes tightly closed, hear your pulse hammering in your ears. Half an arn before you're back in the Prowler, continuing the ruse.

You ignore the fire behind your eyes, Crichton's eyes that take pieces of you to make you more. As Crais enters you, you let the waves pull you under. You'll be righted the way you always are. You'll slip back into your uniform, hair pulled back so tightly that your eyes water. Officer Aeryn Sun, Special Peacekeeper Commando, Pleisar Regiment.

Peackeeper lies.

Crais falls against you and then pushes away, a satisfied smile on his face. You stay against the con, feeling the cold against your bare back. He gives you a look you've seen before, appraising you like he can see through you, and then he turns away.

"They're waiting. Talyn and I have work to complete." He walks to the other con. "You'll be back as promised."

It's not a question.

The pieces have settled but they're disordered. As you feel your dirty clothing against your skin, smell nothing but sweat and body fluids, you know you'll be back. Not because he's your Captain and you're a Peacekeeper but because to do anything else would be to fail those who depend on you.

#END#