Collywobbles (PG)

Probably just a G, but I'm giving this chapter a PG to be safe.

Thanks: Vinegardog for the beta.

Collywobbles

"Any passengers to watch out for, Bev?" the purser asked Flight Stewardess Bev Reid. Bev had just returned to the galley after her first round of serving the cattle-class cargo on their trans-Pacific flight. They served drinks first, to pacify them a little. It would be food next, to keep everyone occupied for an hour or so.

"Not really," Bev replied, stashing a tray in its appointed slot between two metal cupboards. There'd been the usual mix of fretful babies, over-excited kids and nervous-looking adults, but no-one who had really stood out as possible trouble makers. Actually, Bev thought to herself, it wasn't quite true that there was no one to watch out for. There were always people who stood out as possible in-flight entertainment for the cabin crew.

The couple in 54A and B had first caught Bev's eye during boarding: an all-American guy with piercing blue eyes, a smile fit to charm the devil and a very pleasing arse, and his Australian-sounding girlfriend, a skinny, jittery tangle of long dyed-blonde hair, thinly-veiled nervous tension and movie-star looks. From the moment they'd come aboard and started an intense, whispered but short-lived argument, which Bev guessed was about who would get the window seat and who the middle row, she had decided they'd be amusing to keep an eye on. It helped flights to pass with more fun if you could find a few passengers who were worth watching, and it didn't hurt that these two were lively and easy on the eyes.

Bev had been slightly surprised by them during the first drinks round, which she'd just concluded and this had sealed the deal on her watching them for the flight. The woman had not seemed to understand what was being offered to her and she and the man had then engaged in a short and surprisingly sharp conversation while he had explained things to her. Bev had waited for them to finish, in the detached manner her job required of her, all the while thinking jealous thoughts about the woman's prominent cheekbones and perfect teeth.

And, after all that fuss, she'd chosen water and he'd chosen coffee. What a pair of Space-Cadets!

'~'

"Chicken or fish?" The curvaceous, blonde stewardess asked, flashing John a flirty smile, not realising quite what dangerous ground she was treading. John's cheeks reddened slightly. He was keenly aware of how much the woman resembled Gilina. He was also aware of how an already tense Aeryn, sitting pressed up against him in the next seat, would be observing every detail of the woman and his interactions with her and would also most likely have noticed the similarity.

"We'll take one of each, please," John replied chirpily, but, he hoped, not in any way which might be construed as flirting. He glanced across at Aeryn to find her scowling back at him. He creased his eyebrows and pouted a silent 'What?' to ask why she was upset. Aeryn simply shifted her own gaze, looking up to stare a surly warning to the curvaceous, blonde stewardess. Aeryn nodded to John's suggested meal order and a silver-foil covered tray passed between the two women. John, caught in the middle, suppressed a nervous shiver.

"I could have ordered my own food, thank you," Aeryn snapped at John as the flight attendant moved on.

"Oh… umm. I thought… trouble with the drinks…." John replied, keeping his voice low to try to avoid nearby passengers overhearing as he tried to explain his thought processes. "And airline food can be pretty odd, and you're still not used to the food down here anyway. I thought if we got one of each, then, if you didn't like one, we could swap," John finished rambling now, anxious for her to understand that his actions hadn't been about taking choices away from her, but rather about trying to protect her and give her options instead.

"Hmm," Aeryn conceded. She knocked his knee gently with hers under the cover of the fold-down tables by way of acknowledging his thoughtfulness with a public yet discrete display of affection. "So, this is fish? It doesn't look like the last fish we ate. And what are these?" she asked, indicating another part of her meal with a long, elegant finger

"That…. is the ten thousand dollar question," John replied, squinting at the amorphous lump of organic matter steaming on Aeryn's tray. "A tiny step up from food cubes, if we're lucky?" He winked at her.

"I hope for your sake that you're right," Aeryn snorted back. She lightened her words with the merest hint of a smile and a brief, almost shy, flash of her eyes towards John. She tentatively tried a small forkful of the fish.

"Hmm, not bad," she confirmed with a nod and another, all too brief, flash of a smile towards him. John smiled back and tucked into the chicken. Well, it was called chicken and it looked like chicken. It didn't taste much like chicken, though. Back on Earth and still eating weird tasting stuff. He shrugged in acceptance of his fate, allowing himself to be distracted by the in flight movie, which was just starting up on the big screen at the front of the compartment. The Matrix Part-Something-Or-Other. Ah well, no need to put on the headphones, then.

'~'

The plane had already suffered a few, short, minor judders when there was a long 'ping' from the public address system and the overhead seatbelt lights came on.

The disembodied voice of one of the crew filled the fuselage, announcing something about returning to seats, turbulence ahead and their changing altitude to try to miss the worst of it.

That was when the plane gave it's most violent lurch yet, lasting maybe four or five microts. Then there was a pause, a series of judders and another violent lurch, the latest dragging on for a handful of microts. Gasps and cries came from around the cabin, along with the sound of more than one chicken, fish or accompanying beverage ending up where it should not have been. A horrified squeal came from a nearby toilet cubicle.

The second jolt and accompanying shriek shook John out of his post-prandial snooze. By the standards of an astronaut, the turbulence was pretty minor, and John was mildly amused at the sounds of distress coming from some of his fellow passengers. A big plane like the one they were on would take such things in its stride. The forces acting on them barely registered on a scale of his own experiences, which included numerous trips on the Vomit Comet, three shuttle launches and two re-entries and six monens living aboard Moya. He was thus surprised to notice, as the plane hit another pocket of air, that Aeryn, a Peacekeeper combat pilot with experiences which surely dwarfed even his own, sat with her jaw clenched and hands tightly gripping the arm rests.

"It's only turbulence, Aeryn," John whispered and stroked her arm, trying to soothe her, struggling to keep his voice and manner from showing the amusement he had so recently felt about the responses of some of the other passengers. If Aeryn thought that he was laughing at her, heaven only knew where that might lead. Fortunately, any chance of her noticing his previous mirth dissipated as they hit another pocket of air. This was the longest yet, causing the furnishings of the plane to shake and rattle as the aircraft juddered as though it were a land craft being driven at speed over a very rough road.

"Dren!" Aeryn gasped and gripped the arm rests more tightly.

"It's just pockets of air of different density - causes a sudden change in the lift," Crichton explained. He tried to take her hand, but could not prize it away from the arm rest. He settled on wrapping his hand over hers instead, in what he hoped was a comforting manner.

"I know what frelling turbulence is Crichton," Aeryn hissed through gritted teeth. John frowned, trying to understand how she could be so distressed. Aeryn, experienced combat pilot, afraid of nothing… except, so it would seem, a little bit of clear-air turbulence?

"You must be used to it - used to worse than this, I'd have thought?" He knew she was more familiar with flying in space, not atmosphere, but surely she must have done some atmospheric flying? Besides, explosions in space battles would surely cause plenty of turbulence, far worse than what they were now experiencing?

"Yes, but not like this!" Aeryn hissed between clenched teeth. The judders died away and the plane entered a period of relative tranquillity.

"It's not so bad," he responded, before realising that perhaps there was a deeper cause to her unease. "What's the problem?" John enquired, rubbing her hand gently and, he hoped, comfortingly, with his thumb.

"Here I'm a passenger," she began. Silence fell for a few microts, punctuated by another long, low level judder.

"Aha?" John widened his eyes and nodded, encouraging her to elaborate.

"I've no ejector seat, no proper harness or other equipment," She paused and licked her lips, as though weighing how much of her vulnerabilities to reveal to him. "There are two people between me and the aisle." She gave another long pause and chewed on her bottom lip. "And….. I am not the pilot. It's the…the lack of control. How can I explain? Here I am….." She paused, something, be it vocabulary or willingness to share giving out on her.

"But you're OK if I'm flying, or Pilot or D'Argo…?" John tried to prompt her as the latest, weakest, set of vibrations died away.

"Look, it's not just about not being in charge of the ship," Aeryn's reticence cracked a little more and she delivered the words in a fast jumble of confession. "It's not the danger of the turbulence, although on this frelling primitive pile of dren there's enough of that. It's the control."

She took a deep breath.

"I don't even have a frelling gun!" She whispered almost inaudibly, at last seeming to come to the crux of the matter. "Do you know how vulnerable that makes me feel?" She turned her eyes towards his for the first time in their conversation, imploring him to understand.

The penny dropped for John. He had never considered that giving up their gun for the flight would make her feel so antsy. After all, having it wouldn't have helped anyway if they'd been rumbled going through passport control or the like. But, he guessed, having a gun to hand was as normal to Aeryn as wearing pants and a shirt. Having no gun was akin to being undressed to the ex-Peacekeeper.

"I… I can… I think I can imagine," John soothed, using his spare hand to sweep a wisp of hair away from her cheek and tuck it behind her ear. She flashed him a nervous smile, so he leaned in the last dench and risked a brief kiss on her forehead, too. That kiss, in public, seemed to be too much for her. Her whole body and expression seemed to stiffen again as she threw up and entrenched herself behind some sort of wall of emotional defence.

"I'll be better once we're back on the ground and through security." Aeryn stated, putting on her game-face and seeming to get more of a grip as the last of the turbulence subsided. However, in contradiction to her stern expression, she finally released her grip on the arm rest and turned her hand over so that she could lace her fingers with John's.

Although the angle was uncomfortable he held her hand, revelling in the contact and implied trust and need, until the turbulence had died away to nothing more than a memory.

'~'

Bev dragged the beverage trolley down the aisle for the third time that trip. The lights had already been dimmed slightly, preparing for the 'night' section of the long flight.

Pausing at row 54 she turned and almost asked what the surly wannabe-actress-type wanted to drink. But the couple were already curled up, sharing a single blanket despite the armrest between them. The blanket had the telltale contours which showed, to an experienced eye like Bev's, that they each had an arm wrapped across the other. Her head rested on his shoulder, a cascade of blonde hair not quite covering up her now peaceful, smiling face. His head was tipped back, not quite resting on the top of hers, a matching happy, contented smile on his face.

Bev smiled indulgently before turning to the skinny young backpacker-type in 54C.

"Could I have a beer please?" the backpacker asked. As Bev poured the drink the passenger continued in a low, conspiratorial whisper, clearly referring to her seatmates as she scoffed. "I wouldn't get too soppy - that girl's high-maintenance."

Bev smiled her best non-committal stewardess smile. What did it matter to her how 'high-maintenance' the long-haired woman was? It wasn't her that Bev was imagining herself snuggled up to. She stole one last glance at the sleeping couple, sighed inwardly and moved on down the aisle.

'~'

"Thank you, thank you, have a nice stay, thank you," Bev intoned as each passenger filed past her to get to the door. Then came her favourite couple for that flight.

"Thank you," passenger 54B drawled back, his gorgeous, ocean-blue eyes locking with hers for a moment before he turned left to leave the plane. She wasn't really surprised when the man's sulky-looking girlfriend didn't reply with a thank you of her own. She simply shot Bev another of her moody glares before turning to follow her boyfriend. Bev spared a brief glance after them, but her delightful view of 54B's rear was almost instantly obscured by the skinny, flat-behind of his female companion.

She sighed wistfully, wondering why the good ones were always taken, as she returned her attentions to the next passenger: "Thank you, have a nice day."