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The Lesson

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"Teach me."


I stare at him. Not because of what he said - if I had been given a credit everytime Crichton had asked one of us to teach him something, we would never go hungry again.  No, I stared because of the look in his eyes.


"I cannot teach you, John."


I didn't think it was possible, but his eyes darkened further.


"Damn it, Aeryn. After all I've do-"


I held up a hand. "I will train you. I'll spar with you, and I will show you how the weapons work. But I can't teach you."


He was confused, and frustration made him angry. "I don't understand."


My eyes caught his again, and I felt the increasingly familiar urge to cry. Softly, I whispered to him, my voice breaking, "I can't teach you what you've already learned."