Late for Breakfast

by CrystalMoon 

Rated: PG 
Spoiler: The Locket, LATP
Feedback: Yes, please, as much and as often as you'd like.
Category: Romance

---

John stood outside of Aeryn's quarters, drumming his hands against the grating.
"Hey, c'mon," he called. "I'm hungry." 

Aeryn didn't answer right away. Then he heard her mumble "frell, frell, frell,
stupid frelling dren," followed by a bunch of clicks and syllables in her
language, a few more "frells," and then silence. John chuckled. That's my girl,
swearing like a sailor. One day he'd have to ask her what she'd said. It must've
been pretty obscure if his microbes couldn't translate it. Either that or it was
too crude for the microbes' delicate sensibilities. Probably, the latter, he
thought with a snort.

"Is everything all right?" he asked. John couldn't remember when they'd started
eating breakfast together every morning. It was something that had happened
gradually over the last quarter cycle, something he looked forward to as soon as
he woke up.

More mumbling came from Aeryn's quarters.

"I'm coming in." John punched the button on the wall. As soon as the grate slid
open, he stuck his head in cautiously. Aeryn wasn't in sight, but the sound of
running water filled the room. 

John strolled in and looked around. While most of Aeryn's room was organized
with military precision, her bedding lay in a crumpled mess at the foot of her
bed, and her night clothes sat carelessly on the floor. HIS night clothes,
actually, he thought, eyeing the underwear she'd stolen from him over a cycle
ago. He almost stole the underwear back just on principle but decided against
it. The image of Aeryn wearing it was not something he wanted to give up.

Just then he realized exactly what her messy quarters meant. The annoyingly
punctual Aeryn Sun had overslept. This was good. This was ammunition. Whenever
he'd overslept she'd derided him mercilessly. Well, payback's a bitch, he
thought with a smirk. This was going to be an interesting breakfast -- at least
for him. 

John glanced from her bed to the screen that separated the bathing chamber from
the rest of the quarters. Aeryn's dark sillouhette practically glowed on the
light material, slim and shapely. John forgot all about teasing her as he let
his eyes travel from her face to her breasts to her hips. He saw every movement
she made as she bent to wash her legs, starting with her ankle and moving up to
her knee and then to her thigh. As Aeryn started on her other leg, he realized
that she didn't know he was in the room.

He cleared his throat. "Aeryn," he called out over the running water, making a
half-hearted attempt to cover his eyes with his hand. 

Her form straightened. "Crichton? What the frell are you doing in here?"

"It's time for breakfast."

There was a slight pause as Aeryn turned to put her face under the water. "I
overslept."

John enjoyed the sideways view from behind his parted fingertips. "I figured. Do
you want me go on without you?"

"No, I'll be done in a few microts," she called. 

John removed his hands and decided that he could watch, guilt free. She'd said
it was okay to stay. Just as he was settling down on the edge of the bed, Aeryn
threw a towel up over the screen, completely blocking his view. John sighed.

At least she'd let him stay, he thought, yawning. Man, he needed a cup of koah,
Zahn's equivalent of coffee. He and Aeryn had been up late last night, talking
about old friends and exchanging stories. Now, he needed the stimulant to get
going, especially if they were going to the commerce planet later today. He
ticked off his schedule in his mind. First breakfast, then a trip to the planet,
and if tonight was anything like the last few, a quiet evening together. John
sighed again. So this was how he measured time aboard Moya -- by how it was
spent with Aeryn.

A low melodic sound emanated from the shower. 

John turned to it in surprise. It took him a moment to place the sound before he
realized what it was. Humming. Aeryn, Miss If-It-Moves-Shoot-It Sun, was
humming. John had an irrational desire to check under the bed for the real
Aeryn, picturing her gagged and trussed up like a kidnapping victim. But no,
this was the real Aeryn, his Aeryn. And she had a nice voice. 

John had an urge to slip off his clothes and join her in the shower. He almost
reached for his vest. Ever since she'd presented him with the compatibility
serum, he'd been tempted to make such a bold move. But memories of her many
rejections had kept him at bay. 

He'd almost done something about it last night, though. They'd been lounging on
the floor in one of Moya's many alcoves, facing each other and drinking terolium
tea. Aeryn had rested her leg against his and he'd absently stroked her calf
while she told him a story from her childhood. She and a friend had pulled a
prank on their strict den mother when they were about 10 cycles old.

"So she came running into our room, screaming at the top of her lungs," said
Aeryn, chortling. "Her hair was as blue as Zahn and it was dripping wet from the
shower. She looked around the room like a wild cyrl, seeing which one of us
looked guilty. But Shean and I pretended to be just as confused as everyone
else. To this day, I don't believe she knows who turned her hair blue."

John smiled, glad to see Aeryn had been just a kid at least once in her life.
"How long did it stay that way?" he asked.

"Oh, but that was the beauty of it," said Aeryn with an evil grin. "First it was
blue. Then, as soon as the blue washed out, it turned green. Then, violet,
orange, white, gold, fuscia. I can't remember all the colors. Let's see. Uhm,
I'd say it took a cycle before it was completely finished."

John stared, his mouth hanging open. "That's amazing. Horrible for your den
mother, but amazing."

"Well, she was quite vain. Shean and I did her a favor, actually. Some people
pay a lot of money to do that to their hair. The dye alone cost us three months'
pay."

"Yeah, I'm sure the two of you were the Avon ladies of the junior Peace
Keepers." John shook his head. "Maybe you can give Chiana a make-over next. Or
Pilot. I bet he gets tired of being gray. You can make him yellow."

Aeryn laughed and kicked him lightly in the side. As she did, tea sloshed across
her vest and the bare skin at her neckline. "Ooh, this is frelling hot."

"Serves you right," John said. But he fished an old rag out of his pocket and
turned it over till he found a relatively clean patch. Stretching across Aeryn,
he mopped the tea off her skin and clothes. "How's that?"

"Fine." She smiled at him.

John relaxed a little, leaning on his left elbow and letting the length of his
body settle against hers. Any excuse to get closer to Aeryn was a good one in
his book. He made a mental note to put tea in her hands more often. "Did you get
burned?" 

Aeryn shook her head and placed a hand on his upper arm. She shifted slightly
under his weight but didn't try to push him off.

John set the rag aside. Then he ran his fingers along the inside edge of her
vest where the tea had spilled. Her breath quickened as his fingers moved
further under the material. He could feel the swell of her breast now, and it
was making it hard for him to think.

John glanced up and literally stopped breathing for a moment. God she was
beautiful, he thought, noting flawless skin, a swathe of velvety hair and those
enormous eyes that revealed every thought and emotion when she allowed them to.
It happened like this sometimes. John would walk into the center chamber or the
maintence bay, see Aeryn eating a food cube or reaching for a wrench, and the
light would strike her just right or he'd be in the right mood or something. But
he'd have to force his lungs to take another breath before he passed out. That
was how her beauty hit him. That was how it was hitting him now.

He leaned closer to kiss her.

Aeryn's eyes flickered away. It was a tiny movement, almost not worth noticing.
And she was looking at him now. Her lips were parted. But it had been enough to
make John hesitate, his brow furrowed. The memory of the time Aeryn had kissed
him and then pushed him away, telling him she wouldn't be a "slave to his
hormones," burrowed into his brain. John hesitated once again. 

Then Aeryn turned her head, breaking the mood. She removed her hand from his
arm, and John shifted away from her until he was on his end of the alcove again. 

"It's late," she said, not meeting his eyes.

"Yeah, I guess it is."

They climbed awkwardly to their feet and strolled back to the center chamber to
return their cups, silence gradually give way to idle chatter about the next
day's events. 

As they said goodnight outside Aeryn's quarters, everything seemed to return
back to normal, at least normal for them, which was a weird
friendship/almost-romance that neither wanted to talk about. But something had
flickered in Aeryn's eyes as John turned to go, something that he'd never seen
before. Was it relief? Disappointment? He couldn't tell. And then that moment
too had passed, and John had been back in his quarters before he'd thought to
ask Aeryn what it meant.

Now, he sat on her bed, not ten feet from her showering, unable to do anything
about it. Unable or unwilling? John pushed the thought away and jumped off her
bed, tired of sitting still. He approached the window and rested his face
against the cold glass.

The sound of the water ceased along with Aeryn's humming.

"Uhm, Crichton," she said.

John turned to see her head peaking out from the side of the screen, a long
towel wrapped around her shoulders.

She nodded toward the far side of the room. "I seem to have left my clothes on
the counter. Would you mind ... ?"

"No, not at all," he said, leaning back against the wall and folding his arms.
"Go ahead."

She gave him a quizzical look. 

"Oh, you want me to bring you your clothes," he said, smirking.

Aeryn glared at him. He sauntered to the counter, and something small and hard
hit him square in the back. It was a tube of soap. John grinned. 

As he grabbed Aeryn's pile of black leather clothing, a long metallic object
fell on the floor with a clink. It was the locket Chiana had given Aeryn as
payment for smashing her prowler.

"I'll get it," said Aeryn.

"That's okay, I have it." John picked up the locket and scooped the chain into
his palm. 

"Give it to me," she demanded, hand outstretched.

John walked toward her and deposited the clothes in her hand instead. She
dropped them on a shelf behind the screen and stuck her empty hand back out.

John cocked his head and glanced from the locket to the dripping Aeryn. She
seemed way too interested in retrieving her locket. "Did you finally put
something in here?"

Aeryn scowled and held her hand closer to his. "Just hand it over."

John rubbed his thumb across the smooth metal. Suddenly, the strongest sense of
déjà vu came over him, making him feel light headed and queasy. He and Aeryn had
had this conversation once before. He was certain of it. More certain than he'd
been of anything since he'd landed in the uncharted territories. John ran his
hand through his hair, trying to dispel the feeling. It didn't go away. In fact,
it seemed to grow stronger, urging him to say his lines, perform his part.

With a shake of his head, John held the locket out for Aeryn. But just as she
was about to take it, he snatched his hand back. No, that wasn't right. That
wasn't what came next.

"Whose image you got in here?" he asked and something clicked into place inside
him. 

"Nobody's."

Wrong line, Aeryn, he thought. But it didn't matter because he remembered his.
"You know what I think? I think you got my picture in here."

Aeryn rolled her eyes. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Yeah, my picture, surrounded by roses and hearts and ..." He was about to say
"and yotz," but he stopped himself. Since when did he talk like Rygel? Yet he
knew "yotz" had been the right thing to say.

Aeryn gathered the towel around her and half-stepped out from behind the screen.
She looked him in the eye, her jaw thrust forward. "Open it then."

"What?"

"Take a look inside. You'll see ..." And she stopped, uncertain.

"His face," John finished for her. He swallowed. "The only love of your life."

Aeryn stared at him, her eyes wide. John stared back. The universe seemed to
tilt for a moment, so he steadied himself with a hand on the screen. "Aeryn," he
whispered, his heart pounding.

She opened her mouth and then shut it again. 

What was the next move? What did he say now? John felt the catch of the locket
but didn't open it. That seemed wrong. He wasn't supposed to open it now. 

A memory crashed into his mind. It was so strong that he felt as if he'd
physically left the room. Suddenly, he was kneeling on the hard floor of Moya's
transport pod, surrounded by vines. Aeryn lay next to him, unmoving, and he knew
she was dead. Her hair was white and she looked frail and ancient, a whisper of
what she was now. And he was old as well. He held the locket in hands that were
wrinkled and spotted with age. He felt tired and sad and hopeful all mixed
together so that they were just a weight bowing his shoulders.

But oddly that wasn't important right now. Opening the locket was important,
more important than Aeryn being dead or why they were the transport pod at that
time in their lives. Because he knew that he'd never dared open the locket while
she still lived, never dared find out that another man's face may have been
tucked away all these years, never dared tell her he loved her. So now, when it
almost didn't matter anymore, John ran his thumbnail along the catch.

With a tiny click, the lid sprang open. His own image stared back at him,
mottled and faded as if it had been in there for a hundred years. And with that
image came a sense of time passing, of years that were full of regrets and
hesitations, of him always letting go of the moments that might bring joy.

John gasped. He was back in Aeryn's room. The locket lay in his hand, still
closed, the same locket from his impossible memory. 

And he knew what his next move was. John dropped the locket into Aeryn's hand.
And before she could frame the question he saw in her eyes, he kissed her. 

She kissed him back, slowly and tenderly, not moving toward him, nor away. After
a moment, they parted.

"Do you remember?" he asked, searching her face.

Aeryn licked her lips and pulled the towel tightly around her. "Remember what?"

John stepped back. He glanced from her face to the chain dangling from her
fingers. Doubt settled like a rock in his stomach. "I had this massive sense of
déjà vu, you know, where I felt like we've done this before ..." He shook his
head. "It doesn't matter."

Aeryn grabbed his arm. "What do you remember?"

John sighed. He opened his mouth to tell her to forget about it, but the words
stuck in his throat along with his breath. God she was beautiful, he thought for
the second time in less than a day. Aeryn's damp hair curled about her face.
Tiny drops of moisture beaded across her nose and chin giving them an iridescent
quality. The grey in her eyes reached fathomless depths, drawing him in. 

He touched her hair and the rightness of the move startled him. "I remember,
well, I remember regrets, a lifetime of them in fact."

Aeryn frowned. 

"And I remember," he said, resting his hands on her towel-covered shoulders,
"that I started something last night I should have finished."

Aeryn's hand shook as she lightly touched the back of his neck. "I remember that
too."

They kissed. And the locket, along with Aeryn's towel, fell to the floor.

***

The next morning, Aeryn woke before John. She moved his arm off her waist and
slipped out of bed. He looked rumpled and young, the lines on his forehead
smoothed by sleep. Aeryn smiled and drew the blanket up to his chin so he'd stay
warm. Then she wrapped another one around herself and padded across her
quarters.

With her arms out front to prevent collisions, she made her way to the bathing
area. Then, as luck would have it, she banged her knee on the screen and spent
the next hundred microts cursing silently to herself. Well, almost silently, she
amended when an audible "frell" slipped out.

Aeryn glanced at John, but he didn't stir.

"Lights, low," she whispered. The walls began to glow a little brighter. 

Aeryn stooped and scanned the floor until she saw the glint of silver. There it
was. She grabbed her locket and carried it to the other side of the room. A
small box sat on the counter, waiting for her. It was plain and grey, an empty
rations kit that she'd found on Tier 16 in an old storage room last year,
perfect for hiding secrets.

Aeryn flipped open the lid. Inside sat two bottles of Zhan's scented oil, a
decorative hair fastener that she hadn't worn yet, her old rank insignia from
Pleisar division, and a medal she'd won during an aerial manuevering contest. 

The last item was her favorite, though. It was a photograph of the whole crew
eating dinner -- a present from Pilot on a day when she'd been in a particularly
foul mood. In it, Rygel was stuffing his face. Zahn and Chiana were deep in
discussion. John was watching Rygel with an incredulous look on his face. D'Argo
was concentrating on spearing the last piece of dried water snake. And she, she
was leaning back and grinning like a greenhorn making her first trip planetside.
She'd been happy, Aeryn remembered. Happy for no particular reason.

Like she was now. The thought tickled the edge of her mind and she tried to shoo
it away. But the truth was, she was happy. Because of a human, no less. 

Aeryn shook her head in amazement as she opened the locket. John's tiny picture
stared back at her. She touched the edges of it, checking the adhesive, but
there was no slippage. The picture would last in there another 200 cycles if it
had to. 

She dropped the locket back in the rations kit. It had been there ever since
she'd added the picture a couple of weekens ago. And there it had remained.
Until this morning, that is, until she'd hidden it in her clothes. 

Aeryn smiled as she tucked the rations kit on the lower shelf where it belonged.
Then she pulled the back the blanket covering John and lowered herself into bed
beside him. 

"Hey, baby," he mumbled, sneaking his arm around her waist again.

Aeryn rested her head against his and closed her eyes. After a moment, she fell
asleep.