An Untitled Story
by Cashmere
John rolled over on his bed. “Argh.”
“Crichton!” He looked up and saw Aeryn standing in the door of his quarters. “Geez, Aeryn—can I not sleep in for once?” he asked.
“Sleep in what? You sleep in a bed.” Her voice was clipped, business-like. She always sounds like this when she wants to get something done quickly, he thought.
“Never mind,” he said, pulling on his coveralls and a (relatively) clean t-shirt. Wiping sleep from the corner of his eye, he followed her down the corridor, barely recognizing the path to the main hanger. He realized she was a go-getter—a product of a military upbringing. And they had agreed to work on overhauling the prowlers’ rear stablizer yesterday. He was impressed with the way she conscientiously attended to the regular maintenance of the small craft.
“Tech work,” she’d said to him early on. However, they all knew they’d relied on the ship before and who knew when they’d need it again. He loved the work. It reminded him of the Mustang convertible he and DK had tooled around in back in high school. More often than not, Saturdays mornings were spent in his dad’s garage fixing something on it—or at least trying to squeeze a little more performance out of it—her. They’d christened it Sally, Mustang Sally.
Oh, when he thought about the days—and nights—spent in that car. He remembered a cheerleader, “Heather Davis,” he whispered.
“What’s that?” Aeryn asked. Crichton looked up. Aeryn had her black hair pulled back tightly. There was a black smudge on her cheek. “Just remembering an old Valentine,” he said.
“Valentine?”
“Yeah, hearts, flowers, candy—you know? Valentine.” He said.
“I thought humans only had one heart,” she said.
He shook his head. “Nevermind.” He pretty much guessed she had no idea that roses were red—or even what roses were, for that matter. He hadn’t given up on explaining human customs. He’d been particularly fascinated by some of the cultural exchanges he’d had with his shipmates. It always took some extra coaxing from Aeryn though. He had to walk delicately around some issues. After all, the Zhaan, D’Argo and Rygel were doing everything they could to get back to their homes—as he was. This was something Aeryn could never do.
He didn’t figure he had much to lose with this one, though—Peacekeeper culture probably didn’t provide much in the way of touchy-feely emotional exchanges. He plunged ahead as they were finishing with the stablizer and getting ready to replace a panel in the prowlers’ fuselage. “Don’t Sebacceans have any holiday observances of love?” he asked.
Aeryn arched an eyebrow, then scowled. “Don’t play the crusty soldier, Aeryn,” he said. “What did you do to show a guy you liked him? Not kick his ass in a fight?”
A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. “I don’t know what you mean. I don’t know about ‘crusty’, but I am a soldier. The military is hard on relationships—any relationship. When you grow up in a Peacekeepr barracks, you don’t get a lot of practice with that kind of thing.”
John wiped his hand on a rag. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he said.
“But,” she added, “I would probably point out something he’d done well and compliment him.” She shrugged.
“What, no box of chocolates from the Peacekeeper PX?” He asked.
The scowl was back. “You always lose me in conversations like this, Crichton. What’s chocolate?”
“Sorry,” He said. He reached out to wipe the smudge from her cheek. She turned to leave the hanger as he returned the tools to their case. “Aeryn.”
She half-turned, her hair swinging over her shoulder. “Yes?” She asked.
“Good job.”
Her smile was slow to come, but it did. And it was brilliant as she walked out of the hanger.