Rating: G, I guess, since there's no swearing or sex or anything

Genre: Action(ish)/Fluff

Setting: 'Bout a month after PKW, so if you haven't seen it, and don't want to be spoiled, don't read this. If you read this and see stuff you didn't wanna know, despite my warnings, it isn't my fault. You were given advance notice, yo.

Beta: Hasn't happened, aside from my spellcheck.

Feedback: Craved and requested. Since this is my first 'Scape fic, I'm open to suggestions and constructive criticism. If all you have are flames, grab some marshmallows and make yourself some s'mores, but don't give em to me. Thanks! Also, I'm new to 'Scape fic and haven't read half of what's out there in ScapeFicdom. I swear all this came out of my head, so if it resembles anything you've read or written, its purely coincidental, I swear on all I have--which is basically my iPod and my Student Loan Payments

Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine; I'm just borrowing them. No infringement is intended.

She pushed him and he fell.

Again.

John hit the floor, his skin slapping the surface as she knocked him off his feet.

"Again," she commanded. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and looked at him expectantly. She was poised, ready to strike, possessing a seemingly endless supply of energy. Either that, or she was into some weird type of S&M, and she got her rocks off kicking the crap out of him.

John groaned, his head flopping back against the ground. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the throbbing in his head from when she had last sent him sprawling, and his head had been the first thing to make contact with the floor. Neither one of them thought he had a concussion, and they'd sparred once more, which had left him with an aching jaw and a bruise on his left side. He had inflicted a few bruises on her as well, but he has only bested her twice, and he needed to beat her three times before they could call it a day. Those were the rules. He wondered how post-coitally tired he'd been when he'd agreed to those perverted rules. He clearly hadn't taught her the meaning of "best two out of three?"

The score was 2-6, and his training officer was going to keep kicking his ass until he sufficiently kicked hers back.
"I said, 'again,'" she barked, her eyes shining with the perverse glee she found in beating on him.

John growled, "I heard you, woman!" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. He winced as he saw her eyes narrow. He began to sit up, his instincts telling him to either get up or get away, but she was faster than he was. Of course she was--she'd been the one doling out the ass-kickings, not the one receiving them. She placed her boot on his chest and shoved him down against the mat. Before he could react, she dropped and was sitting on his stomach, squeezing his bruised ribs with her knees. He grunted and her nimble fingers wrapped around his throat--she wasn't trying to strangle him (yet), but she had him pretty well immobilized.

"What. Did. You. Call. Me?" She started applying pressure to his windpipe.

"'Woman,'" the masochist in him managed to choke out.

The pressure increased. "And how should you have addressed me?"

He coughed, "'Ma'am.'"

Although he had expected this was the answer she, as the one who sporadically monitored is field-readiness, wanted, it apparently wasn't all she wanted. She didn't budge.

"What's my name?"

The pressure on his windpipe eased up enough for him to take a decent breath. "Aeryn," he wheezed. She squeezed his ribs harder and John let out a yelp. "Ok! Ok! Aeryn Sun-Crichton!"

"That's better," she murmured in her lightly accented English. Aeryn let go of his throat and stopped her vice-like grip on his injured ribs. She simply sat on his stomach and glared down at him, as a mother glares at a petulant child. It was a glare she had perfected in the time he had been in her life. The look of discomfort on his face eased and was quickly replaced by one of amusement. "What's so funny?"

He shrugged, "Nothing." The sparkle in his eyes indicated otherwise. She scowled and he replied, "You're just cute when you're on a power trip."

Her hand shot back to his throat and her scowl deepened. "You know, you're a very insubordinate pupil," she scolded.

John grinned, "And yet you married me anyway."

"A moment of weakness," she teased, releasing him. She extracted herself from his injured person and sat beside him on the mat. Gently, she lifted the hem of his standard issue black T-shirt to examine the damage she had wrought. Sure enough, she saw bruising along his ribs. She made a mental note to get him ice and a low dose pain killer from Noranti as soon as they were done. She hadn't meant to go that hard on him. Well, she may have, but she thought he would put up more of a fight. She suspected her had been letting her win, to make her feel better after a trip to a commerce planet had, as usual, gone sour a few solar days ago. Apparently, news of the Scarren-Sebacean armistice hadn't reached all areas of the Unchartered Territories, and a few mercenaries thought they'd try to capture John and herself, given the price both the Scarrens and Sebaceans had had on their heads, even before the war broke out. Needless to say, several gunfights and a skin-of-their-teeth egress later, they were back on a quickly Starbursting Moya, with their son, and no fewer bruises than they had left with.

She nudged him gently with the toe of her boot. "C'mon, one more go and then we'll call it a day. We'll need time to shower before we reach Hyneria. Pilot says we should arrive in a few arns." Aeryn rose to her feet in one fluid motion.

"Think we'll be greeted with open arms by the locals?" he asked, forcing himself to his feet despite his body's protests.

"With our luck?" she replied with a grin. "Most likely, no."

He grimaced unabashedly. The thought of preempting, or inadvertently starting another war didn't seem particularly appealing, especially not after all they'd just been through, all they'd lost--Jool, D'Argo--and all he'd destroyed--the water planet, to name one. He reminded himself, looking at his sweat drenched, disarmingly sexy, bad ass ex-Peacekeeper wife, who had given birth in the middle of battle not more than four weekens ago, all they had gained too--there was, for the first time, some semblance of peace, at least between the Nazis and the Lizard People. He and Aeryn had their son, and they were married. Finally. No more former Captains chasing them, no hybrid ships or clones or crazy assassin mothers or half-breed scientists chasing them--all they had to do was focus on their family. And helping Rygel reclaim the Hynerian throne. And supporting Chiana with whatever she decided to do, or not do. She was still grieving D'Argo--heavily. It was to be expected, but it was difficult to witness, regardless. John looked at Aeryn, his blue eyes pleading innocently. "Could we maybe skip the final ass-whopping then, and hit the showers?" He sighed. "I'm beat."

His wife smiled, "Are you surrendering, Commander Crichton?"

He waved one large hand dismissively, "Just call me White Flag. I'm toast, baby."

Aeryn mercifully threw him a towel. "Go, on, get cleaned up." She began walking out of the Maintenance Bay and in the direction of their quarters, stretching her arms languidly above her head as she walked.

John stood, watching in appreciation as she rolled her head slowly from one side to the other. Her body had rebounded in record time, thanks to her nifty Peacekeeper genetic modifications. He was sure his sisters and other Earth women would kill to get their figures back post-pregnancy the way she had. He couldn't help remembering with fondness and lust the way she had look when pregnant with their child. In a way, he wished it could have lasted longer, gone at a more normal pace. He wondered if her next pregnancy--she wasn't scared of the number three anymore, right?--would be more "normal."

"Mrs. Crichton!" he called. She stopped and looked over her shoulder. "Did you happen to get Pilot's request this morning?"

She frowned, "What request?"

He walked slowly towards her, wrapping the ends of the towel around his fists. "He wants to cut down on unnecessary waste on board Moya."

"Oh?" She arched a brow, trying to recall hearing any such announcement. "What did he say, exactly?"

He stepped toe to toe with her, and quickly brought the towel over her head, wrapping it around the small of her back and using it to pull her towards him. "Conserve water. Shower with a friend." He waggled his eyes devilishly.

Aeryn let out a chuckle and shook her head, "You are incorrigible, John Crichton."

He grinned boyishly, "So is that a yes?"

She paused, seemingly considering the idea. Then she pushed him. "Not a chance."

And he fell.