Disclaimer: I don't own Farscape. I'm not using this for profit, etc,
etc.
Synopsis: A moment between Chaina and Crichton.
Nebaris and Erp Men:
John Crichton looked down at his hand. Black ink had been smudged across his palm, and he could barely make out a few blurry symbols still marking his skin. How many days had passed like this? How long had he been wandering Moya's halls, scrawling down letters mechanically? It seemed like an eternity had passed, but since the rest of the crew had yet to complain, he doubted it had been that long.
Speak of the devil, he thought looking up to find a familiar gray shape crouching in the doorway.
"Hey, Chi."
The young Nebari perked up when he heard him say her name. Springing up onto the balls of her feet, she scuttled across the room towards him.
"Hey, old man," Chiana replied breathily, skirting around him. As always, she seemed barely able to contain whatever excitement was bubbling up inside of her.
Did Aeryn send you? he wanted to ask but stopped himself before the words reached his lips. He knew what the answer would be, and he couldn't take that right now.
"Did D'Argo send you?" he questioned instead, fiddling idly with the writing tool in his hand.
"No, Moya did," she replied, looking at his face with unfathomable black eyes, knowing full well what he had really wanted to say. "She and Pilot are pretty worried about you... I am, too."
"No need to be, Pip. I'm fine," he replied, pulling her against him with one arm and dropping a kiss on the top of her head.
"Can't help it," Chaina said into his shirt. She reached up to drape one arm over his shoulder. Closing her eyes, she breathed in his warm scent. She loved this about John. She loved that he would hold her and let her smuggle up close without expecting any 'services' in return. No one else would let her do that. No one else understood how much she needed to be close, needed to be touched. In that way, she and John were very similar. Both of them liked to feel the things and the people around them.
"I'm sorry, Pip," John said into her hair with the same tired, raspy voice she had become so familiar with since returning to Moya. "I'll try not to make you guys worried."
"Well, we're going to anyway," she said, pulling back far enough so that she could look him in the eye. "Things are hard now. Gris, they've always have been for us. It's not your fault, so there's no reason for you to act like it is. Just promise me you'll try to drop this wormhole dren every once in a while and let us know you're still alive."
"I guess I've been in here for a while now, huh?"
"Three frelling solar days?"
John sighed, letting her lean on his chest again. "Didn't think it had been that long. I promise, no more zoning out."
Chiana nodded, her head resting on his shoulder. She knew it was a promise he wouldn't be able to keep, but hearing him say it somehow made her feel better.
Suddenly, Crichton crinkled his nose up. "What is that smell?" he asked with a tone of disgust.
Chiana giggled, pushing herself away from him and grinning. "The old witch is making stew. It's been smelling up the whole ship for the past five arns."
"I thought D'Argo and Aeryn said Granny's cooking days were over? Why aren't they going commando on her ass?" John quizzed as he followed the Nebari out of the observation deck and into the corridor.
Chaina snickered this time. She had missed Crichton's unintelligible Erp ramblings. Things always got annoying quiet when he 'zoned' out, sending her up the wall. It was good to have him back.
"They aren't brave enough to go near the kitchen. Rygel's getting pretty hungry, though. A few more arns and he might go in there with a pulse pistol a shoot her himself."
This time it was John's turn to laugh.
"What's ol' Leatherface up to?" he asked a few minutes later, his mood quickly changing.
"Same thing he always is: pacing his cage," Chaina replied with a hint of disdain in her own voice.
"Sputnik still sniffin' around his little corner of the ship?"
"The tralk's always slinking around down there. She tries to hide, but she's not very good at it," Chaina stated, raising her head slightly.
John grinned as he reached over and pulled her into a one armed embrace. "Not as good as you, huh, Pip?"
"Frizz wouldn't get very far snurching," she in response. It hadn't been hard for her to pick up on the hidden praise in his words. Unlike the rest of the crew, who seemed oblivious to the concealed complements Crichton slip them, she always managed to catch his true meaning. It gave her a sense of pride to be able to decipher his comments when the others couldn't. It was a type of understand that was just between the two of them.
Chiana linked her arm through his as they moved quietly through Moya's corridors. Glancing over at his face, she could see the far away look in his eyes. The same look that had marked his blue gaze since they had been reunited. Turning away, she tilted her head to rest gently on his shoulder, smiling to herself.
She had listened to D'Argo, Aeryn, and Rygel loudly debating on Crichton's state of mind just a few arns before. All three had seemed so frelling sure that John had gone farbot. But, walking there beside him, she knew that they were wrong. Their John was still there, changed, but far from gone. Eventually, he would figure wormholes out, and then things would be back to normal. Well, as normal as they ever got around there. Until then, she was just happy to be home. Back on Moya and back with the crew, especially John.
"I'm thinking you and me should go run Granny out of own and see what Moya's got to eat in that kitchen besides food cubes. What do you say?" Crichton exclaimed suddenly.
Chiana glanced up at him as a wicked grin formed on her face. "Race you, old man!"
With a peal of laughter the two sprinted down the hallway, flying towards the kitchen at top speed.
Synopsis: A moment between Chaina and Crichton.
Nebaris and Erp Men:
John Crichton looked down at his hand. Black ink had been smudged across his palm, and he could barely make out a few blurry symbols still marking his skin. How many days had passed like this? How long had he been wandering Moya's halls, scrawling down letters mechanically? It seemed like an eternity had passed, but since the rest of the crew had yet to complain, he doubted it had been that long.
Speak of the devil, he thought looking up to find a familiar gray shape crouching in the doorway.
"Hey, Chi."
The young Nebari perked up when he heard him say her name. Springing up onto the balls of her feet, she scuttled across the room towards him.
"Hey, old man," Chiana replied breathily, skirting around him. As always, she seemed barely able to contain whatever excitement was bubbling up inside of her.
Did Aeryn send you? he wanted to ask but stopped himself before the words reached his lips. He knew what the answer would be, and he couldn't take that right now.
"Did D'Argo send you?" he questioned instead, fiddling idly with the writing tool in his hand.
"No, Moya did," she replied, looking at his face with unfathomable black eyes, knowing full well what he had really wanted to say. "She and Pilot are pretty worried about you... I am, too."
"No need to be, Pip. I'm fine," he replied, pulling her against him with one arm and dropping a kiss on the top of her head.
"Can't help it," Chaina said into his shirt. She reached up to drape one arm over his shoulder. Closing her eyes, she breathed in his warm scent. She loved this about John. She loved that he would hold her and let her smuggle up close without expecting any 'services' in return. No one else would let her do that. No one else understood how much she needed to be close, needed to be touched. In that way, she and John were very similar. Both of them liked to feel the things and the people around them.
"I'm sorry, Pip," John said into her hair with the same tired, raspy voice she had become so familiar with since returning to Moya. "I'll try not to make you guys worried."
"Well, we're going to anyway," she said, pulling back far enough so that she could look him in the eye. "Things are hard now. Gris, they've always have been for us. It's not your fault, so there's no reason for you to act like it is. Just promise me you'll try to drop this wormhole dren every once in a while and let us know you're still alive."
"I guess I've been in here for a while now, huh?"
"Three frelling solar days?"
John sighed, letting her lean on his chest again. "Didn't think it had been that long. I promise, no more zoning out."
Chiana nodded, her head resting on his shoulder. She knew it was a promise he wouldn't be able to keep, but hearing him say it somehow made her feel better.
Suddenly, Crichton crinkled his nose up. "What is that smell?" he asked with a tone of disgust.
Chiana giggled, pushing herself away from him and grinning. "The old witch is making stew. It's been smelling up the whole ship for the past five arns."
"I thought D'Argo and Aeryn said Granny's cooking days were over? Why aren't they going commando on her ass?" John quizzed as he followed the Nebari out of the observation deck and into the corridor.
Chaina snickered this time. She had missed Crichton's unintelligible Erp ramblings. Things always got annoying quiet when he 'zoned' out, sending her up the wall. It was good to have him back.
"They aren't brave enough to go near the kitchen. Rygel's getting pretty hungry, though. A few more arns and he might go in there with a pulse pistol a shoot her himself."
This time it was John's turn to laugh.
"What's ol' Leatherface up to?" he asked a few minutes later, his mood quickly changing.
"Same thing he always is: pacing his cage," Chaina replied with a hint of disdain in her own voice.
"Sputnik still sniffin' around his little corner of the ship?"
"The tralk's always slinking around down there. She tries to hide, but she's not very good at it," Chaina stated, raising her head slightly.
John grinned as he reached over and pulled her into a one armed embrace. "Not as good as you, huh, Pip?"
"Frizz wouldn't get very far snurching," she in response. It hadn't been hard for her to pick up on the hidden praise in his words. Unlike the rest of the crew, who seemed oblivious to the concealed complements Crichton slip them, she always managed to catch his true meaning. It gave her a sense of pride to be able to decipher his comments when the others couldn't. It was a type of understand that was just between the two of them.
Chiana linked her arm through his as they moved quietly through Moya's corridors. Glancing over at his face, she could see the far away look in his eyes. The same look that had marked his blue gaze since they had been reunited. Turning away, she tilted her head to rest gently on his shoulder, smiling to herself.
She had listened to D'Argo, Aeryn, and Rygel loudly debating on Crichton's state of mind just a few arns before. All three had seemed so frelling sure that John had gone farbot. But, walking there beside him, she knew that they were wrong. Their John was still there, changed, but far from gone. Eventually, he would figure wormholes out, and then things would be back to normal. Well, as normal as they ever got around there. Until then, she was just happy to be home. Back on Moya and back with the crew, especially John.
"I'm thinking you and me should go run Granny out of own and see what Moya's got to eat in that kitchen besides food cubes. What do you say?" Crichton exclaimed suddenly.
Chiana glanced up at him as a wicked grin formed on her face. "Race you, old man!"
With a peal of laughter the two sprinted down the hallway, flying towards the kitchen at top speed.