Spoilers: through Terra Firma
Disclaimer: Farscape belongs to lots of people that aren't me. I'm not making a profit and I promise to put everybody back, mostly unharmed, when I'm done with them.
Author's note: written for the multi-fandom Friendship Ficathon on Live Journal. The prompt, from vipersweb, was John and D'Argo and a 12-pack of beer. A big thank you goes to leeinlimbo and un4scene for the beta.
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"This is Doctor Jill. Go ahead, caller."
John sat on the end of the dock and pitched rocks into the water, counting to ten after each splash before he tossed another stone. The radio played in the background, the signal clearer since the sun had gone down. A light breeze had picked up around sunset, which had been a spectacular show of orange and red and gold, bringing with it a scent of salt and seaweed. The skin on John's arms, bare below the sleeves of his t-shirt, pebbled with the chill of the breeze.
"Uh, hi, Doctor Jill. Thanks for taking my call…"
His journal was up in his room. Suspicious bastard that he'd become, it was under the mattress of his bed, away from potentially prying eyes.
"God, what am I doing here?" The words seemed to burst from him of their own will – they didn't refer to sitting on the dock. He leaned forward, the stack of rocks beside him momentarily forgotten, wrapped his arms around his up-thrust knees.
"I was wondering that myself." D'Argo's deep voice carried to him from the other end of the dock, warning him of his presence just before the Luxan stepped onto the wood, causing the dock to dip with his weight.
"… my wits' end, Doc. How can I ever trust her again?"
"'s up, D?" John leaned back, resting his shoulders against a rail support.
"Found a…" he looked at the large-ish box in his hands – the light from the full moon was so bright John could see D'Argo's blue eyes narrow in a squint as he read. "… a 12-pack of… Who am I kidding? I can't read this. Olivia said it was beer. Aeryn mentioned fellip nectar." He set the box on the dock next to John and then folded himself into a seated position with a grace that never failed to surprise John, given that D'Argo was such a big guy. "Thought you could use some."
John laughed. "Yeah, I guess I could use a beer or six."
"… understand, Caller, love without trust is too fragile…"
Twisting the top off one brown bottle, D'Argo nodded toward the pile of stones by John's feet. "Expecting a fight?" He handed the beer to John and reached into the box for another.
After a long swallow of cold beer, made somehow just a little colder for the chill in the December air, John said, "Nah. I was just watching the ripples when I threw 'em in." Ripples that reminded him of wormholes and what he may have unwittingly unleashed on his poor, unprepared planet. Scorpius was out there, orbiting Earth. It was only a matter of time before the Peacekeepers found his homeworld, followed shortly thereafter by the Scarrans.
"But she slept with him, Doctor Jill! How can I overlook that?"
John took another swig of beer and studied the night sky as though he could make out exactly which point of light was Moya. Clouds, high and wispy, flittered across the diamond stars, picking up and then giving back the brilliant light of the moon as they swirled and eddied.
Beside him, D'Argo leaned back against the rail and leaned his head back so that he, too, could watch the play of the clouds. The two drank in companionable silence for several minutes.
"… back after the break to take your calls. Our toll-free number is 1-877…"
D'Argo handed John another beer. He slanted a look at his friend as he did so and John was sure he was going to say something, but then he just leaned back against the railing again and let out a Luxan-sized puff of air. Wonder how many beers the big guy had before he came out here? he thought.
John waited, but still D'Argo said nothing. The only sounds were the drone of the radio and the water lapping against the dock supports. Finally, he just couldn't stand it anymore. "So. What's up, D'Argo?"
"You already asked that, John."
"Yeah, I did. But you never answered it." He lifted his beer for another pull just as D'Argo downed his just-opened bottle in one long swallow. John frowned. "Talk to me, D'Argo."
"Go ahead, Caller, you're on the air."
Still without answering, D'Argo popped open another bottle and drank half of it before releasing another sigh. "It's… difficult to forgive some things." His voice was low, reluctant.
A humorless smile stretched John's lips. "Yeah. I hear that."
D'Argo leaned forward and rested both elbows on his knees, beer bottle dangling from gloved fingers in between. "How do you do it, John?"
In the middle of a swig, John nearly spit out his beer. "What…?" He couldn't be asking him about forgiveness… But D'Argo watched him intently, clearly waiting for something other than for John to swipe at the beer he'd just spilled over his hand.
"Hi, Doctor Jill. There's this guy I like, but he doesn't know I'm…"
"I nearly killed you, more than once; traded you to Scorpius in exchange for my son; abandoned you to go on a fool's quest; asked you to… to take one for the team with Grayza. You forgave me every time." He finished his beer and pulled another from the box.
"D'Argo—"
"How do you it?" D'Argo interrupted. "How can you even look at me, let alone remain my friend?"
"… can't read minds, Caller. You have to tell him…"
"Gimme another beer, man." John wasn't sure he could deal with D'Argo's apparent depression along with his own, but he sure couldn't do it without more information. "What's this about, D'Argo?"
The Luxan handed John another beer and then took another deep drink of his own, sighed, and said, "Chiana."
"But what if he laughs in my face?"
John barely held back a groan, but he couldn't stop himself from pounding his head against the railing once. "D'Argo…"
But D'Argo, once started, didn't seem to want to stop, no matter how plaintively John said his name. "She keeps putting herself in front of me, forcing me to look at her, to talk to her, but then she dances away again. And then this afternoon, she said something about some males knowing how to forgive." Another sigh, another bottle of beer killed off. "I don't know what to do here, John."
Tempted to pound his head again, John just laughed instead, the sound more hysterical than amused. "You're kidding me, right? You're asking for relationship advice from me?"
"… saying I should just tell him how I feel? But what if he…?"
"Who else am I going to talk to? Rygel?"
That shocked a giggle from John – Damn. I only had three beers! – which in turn made D'Argo laugh out loud and hand the human another bottle. John accepted it with a grin. "I can hear it now." Hunching into himself a bit, scrunching his face into a sneering, superior frown, and adopting a bombastic tone, John said, "You poor yotz. You don't ever forgive, you bide your time and then you get even. Preferably at a profit."
D'Argo pounded the dock and howled with laughter, which was a stronger reaction than John thought the joke warranted. But then he sobered. "What do I do, John?"
"Caller, you can't think like that. You can't worry about 'what-ifs.'"
The big guy looked so unhappy… John leaned over until he could see into the box – there were only two bottles left.
"'What ifs only lead to regret."
An idea swirled around in John's head. What was that number again? "D'Argo, man, we need to make a beer run. And a phone call…"