Summary: Sometimes all we have are our reflections...
Story Notes: I came, I saw, I wrote. Don't ask why or what, as I don't even know the answers to those questions. Take it for what you want.
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, etc.
A nightmare. Only a nightmare. It had been different than the others, though. Colder. Sharper. Metal, leather, hot, cold... each distinct and painfully accurate. The sudden, shocking pain. More realistic in his mind than it had ever been in reality. When it happened, he was able to detach himself. Block it out. Now he couldn't escape it.
He tried to move, but couldn't. Not without waking Aeryn. She'd woken with him every night the past week. Soothing him, calming him. Holding him tight. At first he'd scream and lash out. It had been worse than the Aurora chair. More frightening than his Scarran inquisitor. More painful than Scorpius in his head.
Slowly he'd learned to internalize his reaction. Only his eyes would betray what had awoken him so suddenly. They always betrayed him to Aeryn.
She stirred slightly, turning away from him, giving him his chance to slip out of bed. Crichton took the opportunity, tip-toeing to the bathroom. He felt hot and sick to his stomach, as if he had just been interrogated by a Scarran.
He ran cold water over his head in the sink, taking slow, deep breaths. The sick, panicky feeling he had was slowly replaced with exhaustion once more. Turning off the water, he looked at himself in the copper mirror. His eyes showed only a tired resignation.
They showed something else, too. He was sharper, leaner than he had been the previous years. He had more scars. Both physical and emotional. He was older, too, if not wiser. It had all been worth it, though. At least to him it had been.
Going back to his and Aeryn's room, he paused at the doorway and watched her sleep. He found himself doing this often. Watching her breath in, and then out. Occasionally her eyes flickered behind their lids as she dreamt. She never said about what, though.
Crichton stifled a yawn as it broke the moment. Climbing under the covers, he snuggled back to where he had been, taking care not to disturb Aeryn.
She snaked her arm around his waist, leaning into him. "Another nightmare?" she asked softly, her forehead resting against his own. She'd been awake for some time.
"No," he murmured, "just reflecting."
Fin
Story Notes: I came, I saw, I wrote. Don't ask why or what, as I don't even know the answers to those questions. Take it for what you want.
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, etc.
A nightmare. Only a nightmare. It had been different than the others, though. Colder. Sharper. Metal, leather, hot, cold... each distinct and painfully accurate. The sudden, shocking pain. More realistic in his mind than it had ever been in reality. When it happened, he was able to detach himself. Block it out. Now he couldn't escape it.
He tried to move, but couldn't. Not without waking Aeryn. She'd woken with him every night the past week. Soothing him, calming him. Holding him tight. At first he'd scream and lash out. It had been worse than the Aurora chair. More frightening than his Scarran inquisitor. More painful than Scorpius in his head.
Slowly he'd learned to internalize his reaction. Only his eyes would betray what had awoken him so suddenly. They always betrayed him to Aeryn.
She stirred slightly, turning away from him, giving him his chance to slip out of bed. Crichton took the opportunity, tip-toeing to the bathroom. He felt hot and sick to his stomach, as if he had just been interrogated by a Scarran.
He ran cold water over his head in the sink, taking slow, deep breaths. The sick, panicky feeling he had was slowly replaced with exhaustion once more. Turning off the water, he looked at himself in the copper mirror. His eyes showed only a tired resignation.
They showed something else, too. He was sharper, leaner than he had been the previous years. He had more scars. Both physical and emotional. He was older, too, if not wiser. It had all been worth it, though. At least to him it had been.
Going back to his and Aeryn's room, he paused at the doorway and watched her sleep. He found himself doing this often. Watching her breath in, and then out. Occasionally her eyes flickered behind their lids as she dreamt. She never said about what, though.
Crichton stifled a yawn as it broke the moment. Climbing under the covers, he snuggled back to where he had been, taking care not to disturb Aeryn.
She snaked her arm around his waist, leaning into him. "Another nightmare?" she asked softly, her forehead resting against his own. She'd been awake for some time.
"No," he murmured, "just reflecting."
Fin
