Work Text:
Ten Blue
by Ebonbird
John hummed as he walked Moya's corridor, running the fingers of his left hand along her walls. Humming a song that was very corny by his standards. The words to the tune were, "blue on blue, heartache on heartache." His heart, however was light. He moved with a bright half- smile on his face, radiating good cheer with each step.
He could feel the ship beneath his fingers. What he felt wasn't quite a hum. His song would stop and start as he went along. He was trying to fit its phrasing to the elusive pattern of Moya's thrumming as sensed by his fingertips.
"Whatever are you doing, Crichton?" demanded Aeryn Sun walking at a much more martial pace down a perpendicular corridor.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" he hooked an arm around her waist, "Aeryn."
Her neck stiffened. Her back straightened, "Walking down the corridor, but you're singing."
"Humming. Like this," and he hummed.
"Crichton?"
John circled her, his arm still closed around her waist. "Doesn't mean a thing if you ain't got that swing."
Aeryn's puzzlement increased exponentially.
"It's a good day, Aeryn. Great to be alive!"
Aeryn's eyes narrowed. Her eyebrows lowered. "Yes. Well. Yes. Are you sure there's nothing the matter?"
John laughed, released Aeryn's waist and continued on his way. He struck off a smart salute as he went, put his lips together and blew.
Aeryn pivoted on her foot and watched his jumpsuited figure disappear around the curve of the hall. She gave his behavior some thought, then put it out of her mind.
Crichton's hand reached out to touch the hall once again. He felt a slight warmth, warmer than usual. Shocked, he snatched his hand back. He brought his head closer to the wall, tilted his head and sniffed. His eyelids fluttered, as if he smelled something fantastic. He pressed his cheek against the spot, and then his hand. There was a pressure gradient. Warm, almost fizzy against his cheek.
Amazing. He groaned, his lips curving in a smile as he stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest.
A DVD came out of an access arch.
John directed his words to the cam, "Moya, that's beautiful."
"You feel her, too, then." The words were in direct sensory contrast to the wall. Soft. Lyrical. Easily understood. The voice brought to mind blue warmth. Warmth that was refreshing, exhilarating, intimate and restful.
"It's something I think feel all the time. When she's scared, angry. Sad. Sometimes though, I'm not so sure."
Something soft brushed his shoulder. Breath tickled his ear. Zhaan said, "I feel it. It is magnificent."
"Yeah," John touched his hand to Moya's wall. "She's so happy, Moya is -- " his voice trailed off in a sigh.
Zhaan's eyes smiled. She filled the space in the hall with elegant energy as she moved to the wall. John was reminded of vivid shadows cast by clouds by the midnight sun on ancient Alaskan glaciers. Of hydrangeas drenched by rain. Of storms clearing before blue skies on indecisively overcast days.
"I never - my mom told me that I wouldn't know what love was, what it really was, until I had a kid of my own."
"And now?"
"I've got a better idea of how she loved me."
"There are few relationships that compare to the emotional intensity of a bond between a parent and a child."
"But now I know."
Zhaan hummed. Not the tune John had been humming, but the perfect descant to what John thought he'd been picking up from the ship.
"You are so amazing," he breathed.
Zhaan accepted the compliment like she did all compliments, with eyes downcast, lips soft and pleased, the curve of her head and cheeks and chin conveying serenity and warmth.
John remembered dwelling in her gentleness. Floating in the awareness of her skin, and her eyes, the soothing lattice of her thoughts, the touch of her palms against his cheek, how gentle she had been. How he woke out of nameless daydreams, surprised that his eyes didn't look into blue ones, old as time, ringed by delicate blue skin, and eyelashes pale as ash.
"What is it, John?"
"Since we - I know what Moya's feeling, sometimes."
Zhaan hummed in agreement. Reached her many silver ringed hand to Moya's wall and placed it carefully there. "She is especially hopeful today."
"with a bright half- smile on his face, radiating good cheer with each step.
He could feel the ship beneath his fingers. What he felt wasn't quite a hum. His song would stop and start as he went along. He was trying to fit its phrasing to the elusive pattern of Moya's thrumming as sensed by his fingertips.
"Whatever are you doing, Crichton?" demanded Aeryn Sun walking at a much more martial pace down a perpendicular corridor.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" he hooked an arm around her waist, "Aeryn."
Her neck stiffened. Her back straightened, "Walking down the corridor, but you're singing."
"Humming. Like this," and he hummed.
"Crichton?"
John circled her, his arm still closed around her waist. "Doesn't mean a thing if you ain't got that swing."
Aeryn's puzzlement increased exponentially.
"It's a good day, Aeryn. Great to be alive!"
Aeryn's eyes narrowed. Her eyebrows lowered. "Yes. Well. Yes. Are you sure there's nothing the matter?"
John laughed, released Aeryn's waist and continued on his way. He struck off a smart salute as he went, put his lips together and blew.
Aeryn pivoted on her foot and watched his jumpsuited figure disappear around the curve of the hall. She gave his behavior some thought, then put it out of her mind.
Crichton's hand reached out to touch the hall once again. He felt a slight warmth, warmer than usual. Shocked, he snatched his hand back. He brought his head closer to the wall, tilted his head and sniffed. His eyelids fluttered, as if he smelled something fantastic. He pressed his cheek against the spot, and then his hand. There was a pressure gradient. Warm, almost fizzy against his cheek.
Amazing. He groaned, his lips curving in a smile as he stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest.
A DVD came out of an access arch.
John directed his words to the cam, "Moya, that's beautiful."
"You feel her, too, then." The words were in direct sensory contrast to the wall. Soft. Lyrical. Easily understood. The voice brought to mind blue warmth. Warmth that was refreshing, exhilarating, intimate and restful.
"It's something I think feel all the time. When she's scared, angry. Sad. Sometimes though, I'm not so sure."
Something soft brushed his shoulder. Breath tickled his ear. Zhaan said, "I feel it. It is magnificent."
"Yeah," John touched his hand to Moya's wall. "She's so happy, Moya is -- " his voice trailed off in a sigh.
Zhaan's eyes smiled. She filled the space in the hall with elegant energy as she moved to the wall. John was reminded of vivid shadows cast by clouds by the midnight sun on ancient Alaskan glaciers. Of hydrangeas drenched by rain. Of storms clearing before blue skies on indecisively overcast days.
"I never - my mom told me that I wouldn't know what love was, what it really was, until I had a kid of my own."
"And now?"
"I've got a better idea of how she loved me."
"There are few relationships that compare to the emotional intensity of a bond between a parent and a child."
"But now I know."
Zhaan hummed. Not the tune John had been humming, but the perfect descant to what John thought he'd been picking up from the ship.
"You are so amazing," he breathed.
Zhaan accepted the compliment like she did all compliments, with eyes downcast, lips soft and pleased, the curve of her head and cheeks and chin conveying serenity and warmth.
John remembered dwelling in her gentleness. Floating in the awareness of her skin, and her eyes, the soothing lattice of her thoughts, the touch of her palms against his cheek, how gentle she had been. How he woke out of nameless daydreams, surprised that his eyes didn't look into blue ones, old as time, ringed by delicate blue skin, and eyelashes pale as ash.
"What is it, John?"
"Since we - I know what Moya's feeling, sometimes."
Zhaan hummed in agreement. Reached her many silver ringed hand to Moya's wall and placed it carefully there. "She is especially hopeful today."
"Thank you, Zhaan. It was, incredible. And to get this - ooh . . ." he laughed, as lazy pulse of joy sparkled beneath his palm. Moya was so happy.
"Did you feel that?" he demanded.
Zhaan's eyes were shut in bliss.
"Nevermind," John muttered, "obviously you felt that."
He leaned his head against the wall, smiled at Zhaan.
"I wondered what you gained from unity,"
"I'm still finding out. Did you get anything out of it?"
Zhaan hummed, 'yes.'
"Oh," She touched his shirt, right over his heart. "Sometimes I can feel you."
John shifted his hand, slid it carefully so that the edge of Zhaan's blue one rested against the reverse L made by his thumb and index finger. "Zhaan," he swallowed. Placed his hand at the nape of her neck. "Please. I --- could we, maybe?"
"Dear John,"
He sighed, exasperated, and hung his head. "I'd like to think that maybe, we can do it again, sometime."
"John. It was clear, I terrify you."
"Sex, is always terrifying, in the beginning." John picked up her hand. Pressed a kiss to the back of her hand.
Zhaan laughed, delighted. "What a strange creature you are, John Crichton."
"A human from 'Erp', that's me. It was scary for you, too. Especially with what Tahlene did. That's part of what makes it so good. When it is good. Overcoming that fear. Together."
"Yes, that was . . . different."
"Different!" he squeezed her hand. "Ten years of the best-"
The look she slipped him from the corner of her sloe eyes made him hotter than a bayou summer.
"sex," he croaked, licked his lips. "All at the same time! I couldn't thank you, enough, couldn't tell you --"
Zhaan's index and middle finger pressed against his mouth. "It is I who owes gratitude." Zhaan let slip her other hand from his grasp, placed her hand upon his shoulder. Murmured, "Would you like to know what you gave me?"
He chuckled, "To be completely honest, and here's hoping that you'll know for yourself really soon," his lips grazed her neck, "I haven't thought about that." He blew softly against the dark pattern of scale-like freckles that disappeared behind her gown.
"Ahhhhh," Zhaan said letting her head drop back. "That's it."
"This?" John murmured, smiling, with full intent of sliding his mouth against her neck again.
"Your thoughtlessness, that's one of the gifts you imparted to me during our unity. It has been my peace. I have been able to retreat to that since unity with you when the madness, has been too much."
"It's still there?"
Zhaan drew away from him, graceful as a quiet stream drifting over a bed of speckled flat stones.
"Of course it's still there, John. I am not what I was before Tahlene."
"Wrong. I know you." John put his hand over his heart. "I feel you. Understand you here, without words."
Zhaan's head tilted. Her mouth smiled, her eyes did not. "Forgive me, John. I cannot. It would not be right. I almost hurt you when you left us. I was so angry. A savage-"
"Passionate,"
"And when I was tired of being angry." She bit her lip, brushed his hair with her knuckles, "I found a way not to care."
"Denial. Not just a river in Africa."
Zhaan shrugged. Her eyes lingered on his mouth.
John employing a move he'd seen Zhaan use on D'argo, Rygel and himself, insinuated himself in her space.
She relaxed her body, allowed her stomach and pelvis to press gently against him.
"Let me show you again, Zhaan. Let me," Crichton repeated, "Your way and mine."
End