Hallmarked

Notes: Uhm…well…see…it’s like this. There was this challenge and…every once in a while I apparently take leave of my darker senses…and things like this result. What can I say? I’ve been told to post, so post I am. Blame Susan. Gratitude and props to Eva and Susan for drive-by duty above and beyond the call and for all the encouragement, enthusiasm, and everything else. As always, all mistakes remain mine.

Warnings: Nope. None for sex or violence or dark adult themes. Maybe just a teeny-tiny one for a couple of bad words. Or the same bad word a couple of times.

Rating: PG_13
Setting: Post everything in the series
Spoilers: Not that I can see
Disclaimers: Definitely not mine. They belong to Henson, et. al. No copyright infringement intended. There is definitely no money being made.

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I’m pretty sure I was born batshit crazy. Not that I haven’t worked at getting better at it over the cycles, but…

“Where the frell have you been?”

The dulcet tones of my beloved carried across the distance as my darling wife glared daggers at me. D’Argo squealed happily as he bounced in his chair and upended his bowl of what passed for pasta in the Uncharteds.

“Uhm…hey hon.” Yep. Batshit insane and apparently a bit suicidal. “You got spaghetti in your hair.”

Exhaling harshly, her shoulders slumped as she pushed back in her chair and leveraged herself heavily to her feet. The twins were making life miserable for her.

“Thank you for sharing that bit of information, John. I would never have known otherwise.”

Swollen ankles, swollen feet, swollen belly, she looked like the lumpy mattress she swore we were sleeping on at night. Her swollen fingers grabbed the bowl, and picking strands of spaghetti from her hair, she waddled her way toward the waste unit.

She was beautiful pregnant.

Bastshit crazy I might be, but apparently my suicidal tendencies had their boundaries. My brain scrambled for some safer ground. Before I could think of anything, Aeryn was growling at me again.

“Where the frell were you? You were due back arns ago.”

Right. I’d told her it was a simple trip to the market place on the planet below for some parts I needed for the module. I hadn’t told her the real reason I’d gone.

“Well…”

It had taken me longer than I’d expected to find what I was looking for.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to, John Crichton.” She put her hands on her hips and arched her back. “Don’t think I don’t know what time of the cycle this is.”

I was gonna have to remember to give her a massage later. “But, Aeryn…”

“There better not be any hearts or flowers or yotz anywhere aboard Moya.”

Well, technically they weren’t aboard Moya; they were still aboard my module. And Chiana had already taken the puppy Aeryn was gonna love.

A cute little wiener dog. Ok, it wasn’t a wiener dog, but it was as close as I was gonna get in the Uncharteds.

“Aeryn, honey, I’m shocked.” I put my hand, palm down over my heart and flashed my baby blues and best ‘you love me’ grin at her. “You told me you weren’t in the mood for any Valentine’s Day celebration.”

I was just gonna have to remember to remove the rest of evidence when Aeryn was otherwise occupied. She might not be in the mood for romance now, but later, after the kids started sleeping and she did too, that would be a different story. And that puppy was cute as all get out.

Batshit crazy, remember?

She looked at me with rabid raccoon eyes, then turned and pulled something out of the cooling unit and shoved it violently into the heating unit.

I backpedaled nicely, my anti-suicidal tendencies kicking in strongly as the timer went off. “What’s that?”

She pulled the plate out of the heating unit, slid it onto the counter and grabbed a knife. “Weiner dogs.”

“You mean hot dogs?” I watched D’Argo watching the DRDs that had been quietly waiting in the corner as they beeped and scurried beneath his chair, efficiently cleaning up the mess. “Are you sure he’s still hungry? You gave him spaghetti.”

“Yes, he’s still hungry.” She waved the knife vaguely in the direction of her hair. “He didn’t eat the spaghetti, John.”

She had a point. My son was wearing as much spaghetti as my wife. Only he seemed a helluva lot happier about it.

“Mamamamamamamamama…” D’Argo screamed as he pounded on his tray.

We probably should start feeding him in the shower stall and then just hose him down.

“Hot dogs?” I’d skipped First Meal in my rush to go shopping and obviously hunger was making me stupid. That’s my story and I’m stickling to it. “Got one for me?”

The raccoon eyes locked on me as she sliced with surgical precision. “Of course I‘ve got a wiener for you.”

Come to think of it, I wasn’t so hungry I couldn’t wait. “I can finish feeding him if you wanna go take a nap.”

She shoved the plate at me, spun inelegantly on her heel, and ruffled her son’s sauce slicked hair as she waddled past. Her voice floated soft and dangerous behind her on her way out of the center chamber.

“I’m going to take a shower. And I’d better not see any hearts or flowers or yotz.”

I smiled hugely at my son as I settled in to share lunch with him. Dried sauce trails crinkled on chubby cheeks as an answering gap-tooth grin split his face.

A tiny hand darted out, snagged a slice of hot dog, and shoved it fist deep into the gaping maw of his mouth. He giggled maniacally as I speared a piece of my own and leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially.

“Mommy loves Valentine’s Day.”