albinomilksnake | OPEN RP PART II: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

[She knows. And if she wanted to, she could do it for him. Give him the freedom he deserves under these twisted circumstances and shove him off the second he's strong enough to head back to Moya.

But that seems far almost. A future concept rather than a current idea, and Aeryn keeps him there like that-- chasing the edge of his breath with her teeth, her tongue-- for longer than she has any right to. But there's tension in her frigid fingertips, and she needs it. ]

[He's certain he must be dying -- that this is all a sick fever dream that he can't escape and any minute Aeryn will dematerialize right between his fingertips.

Crichton's desperation doesnt abate, leaving his mouth perfectly pliable against hers as he weakly tries to get a better angle between both his exhaustion and delerium.

He should stop her, no matter how right it feels. Eventually, John forces their lips apart so he can breath, heavy and uncertain.]

Edited 2014-06-21 19:32 (UTC)

[Crichton draws the line, and beyond that, Aeryn doesn't force him. The broad arch of her nose scuffs across his; she lets him breathe as much as he wants without her imposing.]

Stop being afraid of me, Crichton.

[Her words make him swallow thickly. If only it were that easy. John's hand runs through her hair almost apologetically.]

You won't come back with me.

[He's reminding himself. She may not be up to speed, but she's still running away from him.]

I can't live like that, Aeryn.

You don't need me to go back with you. [She cants her head into the skid of his fingertips. Lids her eyes and breathes out across his wrist. Cool air, patient gestures.]

[She will feel him go very tight and struggle to pull her head to look him in the eyes. His stare is crisp, pointed, and there are tears at the very edges of his eyes that won't fall.]

Yes. I do.

[John's arm starts to shake from the effort. He's already pale, making his emotionally strained expression even more pronounced.]

[It hits her harder than it ought to, the sight of him like that. She feels her resolve buckle, determination crumbling easily in the palm of his hand. In the tangle of his fingers wound up in her hair.]

And Aeryn? The one you left behind? [The words don't sound natural leaving her mouth. Another Aeryn. Another her. Another reality or timeskip or-- something.

A trick, a hoax. Her own reflection.]

[That makes him laugh, unhinged. Abruptly, he goes limp and let's his hands fall away from her completely. His head falls back against the pillow and his eyes close.]

Right. The one I left behind.

[She's not wrong -- not totally. He had turned her down after she tried to come back. But it wasn't so black and white. Trying to explain that to Aeryn -- any Aeryn -- would be impossible.]

[Aeryn chases him, even as he goes limp. Sets her mouth over his in a kiss that's too chaste to read as anything but; he's broken, weary, afraid. He needs whatever security she has to offer.]

Crichton. I don't know what it is you're fighting right now, but I know myself - and I know what you mean to me.

Which means that whatever it is you two are going through, she must still feel the same about you.

It's not that simple anymore. It's not just about--

[It hadn't been that simple in a long time. But he won't say that. He does meet her eyes after she tries to comfort him -- its hard to tell if she had any effect.

But then he reaches up again with a very slow exhale. He can do this.]

Look -- you're right. This isn't your problem.

Could be. [She ducks down into the skid of his fingertips. Lets them roll against the contours of her face.] But I get the feeling you don't want to let me in.

Trust.

[He shakes his head gently and continues to give in. She's right about this, at least.]

That's what it comes down to.

You know I trust you, John. I gave up my life for you. [And despite the literal implications, in this case she means what she used to be entirely, the only thing that made her feel like she had a part to play-- a place to belong-- in this great, wide, limitless expanse.]

[Of course, John takes it quite literally -- he has no perspective of where or when she's from, so when she decides to bring up her death, his stomach drops and he falls utterly stiff and silent again.

He doesn't want to commit to inform her of her own death, so he says nothing. His body betrays the knowledge well enough. The corners of his eyes continue to shimmer, and he tries to disguise the wipe of his eyes as best he can.

She wouldn't use that against him. She must not know -- right?]

I know.

[His voice cracks.]

[She's not good at this. Emotions are an entirely new concept, and talking about emotion is even more so. There's too much pressure that she might say the wrong thing, switch to the wrong topic.

Somehow it feels like she already has.]

Or...[It's slow; she knows better than to make the suggestion.] You could stay.

Can't stay. Too much at stake.

[She did say the wrong thing, but Crichton has accepted that it is because she doesn't know any better and not because she was trying to hurt him. So he tries to settle back in her hands, letting his eyes close.]

Probably shouldn't have come in the first place.

I think I can agree with that. [Aeryn slides back, hands on his chest as she sits upright.] Hoaxes and conartists don't suit you; we've had too much of them already.

Had to try.

[He lets his eyes open again, shaking his head just a little.]

Found what I wanted. Just didn't get the answers I was lookin' for.

[John's smile is forced, even if some part of him is happy to see that Aeryn still cares.]

Dead folks don't have perspective on the present...past only.

I don't know about that. [She's smoothing out the edges of his jacket, more focused on that than what he's forcing out from some sort of residual feelings of obligation.]

Maybe its just me, then.

[--whoops. Too much info. It sort of slips out in his comfort, but part of him expects Aeryn won't pick up on the implication of his death.]

Lousy luck.

You always had an abundance of it before, why stop now? [She doesn't. Whether that's for better or worse it's hard to say, because it keeps her focused on the bottom line of this conversation.

On him.]

Come on. You need to go.

Wish I could tell you, but I don't know.

[He ignores her insistance. Flying back to Moya now would just ensure more questions from the crew, considering recent events. He wasn't ready for unsolicited advice just yet.

He remains guarded, but the walls are peeling themselves down. He can't burn off the edge without help and she's right there.

With the image of Earth fresh in his mind, John misses beer quite suddenly.]

Puttin' me in the dog house? Ouch.

Never. But the longer you stay, the harder it's going to be to leave. [It's broken by a lengthy microt of silence before she adds, earnestly:] For both of us.

Well Dorothy, do you even know where you're supposed to be right now? Sounds like you're a long way from home, little lady.

[It takes some effort, but he turns on his side to look at her, eyelids half drawn. The color in his skin is beginning to return.]

Edited 2014-06-23 07:36 (UTC)

Not as far as you think. [The color is a welcome change. Aeryn slides the back of her knuckles across the underside of his jaw just before she reaches across him, tucking him well under the hotel's less-than-ideal blanket.] You don't need to worry about me.

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