A/N: I don’t think there’s been a tickle fic of these two yet (or of anyone in The Expanse), so I present to you... the first Bobbie/Chrisjen tickle fic.
Pairing: Platonic Bobbie/Chrisjen (can be interpreted as romantic)
Summary: Bobbie finds Chrisjen on the roof, and in order to get her down she makes good on her threat from the Guanshiyin to pick her up. Chrisjen draws on her skills as a grandmother to get revenge.
The wooden shingles were warm against her back, heated by the lingering strains of sunlight meandering across the horizon. A breeze tugged at her clothes, languid and pleasant, caressing the corners of her mouth and rustling the crisp leaves scattered around her. Chrisjen nestled deeper into the blanket she’d brought with her, hair splayed out across the roof. The sky greyed while she watched, the azure of daytime sinking into a deep evening indigo. Soft sounds of the night came to life, crickets humming in the tall grasses. Chrisjen relaxed, inch by inch, in the solitude her roof provided. Luna loomed at the edges of her vision, silver and black craters unchanged despite the cities spread beneath its surface. Arjun and the rest of her family were there, she knew, safe from the shitstorm that had come with her rise to Secretary-General of the UN. That thought alone loosened six muscles in her back.
A clattering to her right caught her ear, and Bobbie climbed through the window, bare feet crunching one of the Autumn leaves. She was staying with her for a few weeks while Chrisjen sorted out her reinstatement and return to Mars. The tank top and shorts meant for sleep seemed out of place on Bobbie, lending her a softened, tousled look. She sat down next to Chrisjen, curling her knees to her chest and her arms around her legs, and with her hair falling around her shoulders and blowing in the wind she looked so like the day Chrisjen had found her on the beach, stoic and tired and in awe of the beauty of Earth. Chrisjen flicked her eyes over to the younger woman, who was staring out over the tops of the buildings on the horizon.
“Look up,” she grated, voice rough from disuse and exhaustion, and Bobbie complied, lying back next to her to avoid straining her neck. “You can see Mars from here,” Chrisjen pointed out, gesturing to the bright gleam in the sky. Bobbie was quiet.
“You can see Earth from Mars, too,” she said eventually, voice low in the dim light. “I used to look up at the Earth all the time when I was young, wonder if some Earther kid was looking up at Mars the same way I was. More than anything, I wanted Mars to have the chance to look like Earth, all blue and green instead of red dust. I watched all the holovids of Earth, thinking that someday, future Martians would get to look up at a sky like this one, would get to see an ocean not filled with garbage and dying fish. I thought that knowing future generations would get that would be enough. But…” she trailed off, hesitancy clear in her voice.
“But?” Chrisjen prodded her onwards when it became clear she wouldn’t finish the sentence on her own.
“I think I just wanted to see it for myself.” She could never tell another Martian that, that the planet that had raised and provided for her wasn’t good enough, that she longed for the open fields and fresh air and rolling oceans only Earth could provide.
“I suppose Earth with its light pollution and poisoned oceans will have to do. Is it everything you’d hoped for?” Bobbie was silent, letting the chirping of the crickets surround them. Chrisjen turned her head to the right to look at her. The marine was staring up at the sky, stars reflected in her eyes like moonbeams scattered across a choppy ocean. Her lips were parted slightly, as though she couldn’t quite catch her breath, and as Chrisjen watched, a tear escaped the corner of her eye and slid down into her hairline.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. Chrisjen reached out before she could stop herself and smeared the salty trail with the pad of her thumb, wiping it away. Bobbie’s breath caught in her throat at the movement, but she made no move to stop the older woman.
“It is,” Chrisjen agreed, voice gravelly in the relative quiet of the night. Another wind blew across the roof, stronger this time, worming its way through her silken pajamas and sending a ripple of goosebumps through her body. She suppressed a shiver at the sensation, and felt Bobbie shift closer until she was pressed against her side. The girl was like a furnace, firm and radiating heat, and Chrisjen melted into the contact.
The soft huff Avasarala made when she shivered alerted Bobbie to the Secretary-General’s plight—Martians ran hot, always had, so she’d barely noticed as the temperature had dropped steadily around them. Bobbie impulsively scooted left a few inches, until she felt the older woman’s cool skin press against her own. Chrisjen seemed to relax at the touch, resting her head against the marine’s shoulder. Bobbie let a small smile grow over her face as Avasarala stilled, apparently having settled down. From her brilliantly cutthroat politics to her seemingly contradictory ability to be heartwarmingly sincere, the newly appointed Secretary-General never failed to surprise her, and her apparent penchant for cuddling was no different. It was a huge sign of trust for Avasarala to let her guard down, to be so vulnerable in Bobbie’s presence, and the marine’s heart swelled at the realisation. It occurred to Bobbie, then, that mere months ago she wouldn’t have spared a thought for the woman, and now she was offering her own body heat to stave off the cold. An unexpected but overall pleasant turnout, Bobbie surmised, turning her attention back to the stars. They looked different from Earth, through an atmosphere. They were fewer, dimmer, faded by a barrier of air and water vapour, and seemed far more inviting than the cold vacuum of space she would stare into from beneath the domes of Mars. Seeing them like this, she understood why her distant Terran ancestors had taken to the stars. The night sky had been to them then what the ocean was to her now—an unknown, a mystery, an adventure. Another sound joined the chorusing crickets around them, a faint, stuttering grumble by her ear that she quickly categorised as snoring. Avasarala really must have trusted her, then, that or she was completely exhausted. Bobbie could hardly blame her; the woman had been working herself to the bone ever since they had returned to Earth and she had been ‘promoted’. The marine resolved to let her sleep as long as possible before bringing her inside. Shifting so that she was curled more securely around the older woman, ensuring that she wouldn’t fall off the roof in her sleep, Bobbie allowed her eyes to fall closed and her breathing to even out, drifting into a light sleep.
Chrisjen fought to open her heavy eyelids when she felt someone squeezing her shoulder. Bobbie was wrapped around her, and judging by the pleasant warmth she felt where their bodies met, she had been for a while.
“Ma’am,” Bobbie was saying. “Let’s get you inside.” Chrisjen closed her eyes in displeasure.
“Fuck off, Bobbie,” she muttered, not an ounce of venom behind her words. Bobbie laughed quietly.
“Should I pick you up?” Chrisjen snorted at the reference to their conversation aboard the Guanshiyin.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” she mumbled, snuggling deeper into Bobbie’s side. The older woman let herself slip back into a doze, falling backwards into sleep—and then she was being lifted up in a rush of cool air, arms beneath her knees and shoulders, and she snapped awake. “Roberta Draper, put me the fuck down,” she grated, shoving at the marine’s chest in an effort to squirm away—a futile one, as Bobbie’s arms only tightened around her. Chrisjen’s eyes widened as Bobbie stooped to step through the window, tilting her at an extreme angle, and she clutched weakly at Bobbie’s muscular arm as the ground rushed up to meet her. Bobbie straightened, glancing down at her cargo in amusement.
“You really are tiny,” she teased. Chrisjen looked her dead in the eyes in an attempt to convey her irritation.
“I’m a perfectly normal size, you’re just fucking huge,” she shot back. Bobbie nudged the door to Chrisjen’s room open with her foot and deposited her on her bed, a little rougher than was strictly necessary in Chrisjen’s opinion.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Bobbie sprawled on the edge of the bed, near where Chrisjen was pushing her mussed hair out of her eyes.
“You’ll regret that,” she threatened, apparently not seriously enough because Bobbie laughed.
“What are you gonna do? You’re too small to cause any damage. And I’m too strong for you.” The smirk spreading across Chrisjen’s face was nothing short of diabolical.
“Perhaps,” she conceded. “But you forget I’m a grandmother.” She lunged, and Bobbie barely had time to realise what was happening before she dissolved into a fit of laughter.
“What,” she gasped, flailing, “what are you doing?” Chrisjen grinned at her, a rare, genuine smile. The older woman was an excellent and completely merciless tickler, and was using both of those traits to her full advantage. Already, Bobbie was lost in hysterical giggles, twisting her body away from the tingling sensations. “Ma’am!” Bobbie spluttered, so startled and flustered that she was at a loss for words. Chrisjen dug into any open patch of skin she could, finding and exploiting weak spots Bobbie hadn’t even known she’d had. Her sides and ribs, Chrisjen found, were particularly susceptible to the same squeezing that would have her grandson in stitches. Bobbie arched her back as Chrisjen’s dexterous fingers lingered at her hips, laughter taking on a higher, more breathless pitch.
“I did warn you,” the older woman deadpanned, apparently deaf to the plight of her guest. Chrisjen hadn’t been kidding when she’d warned Bobbie of her grandmotherly skill set; she managed to evade all of Bobbie’s increasingly feeble attempts to grab her hands. The girl’s uncoordinated efforts to protect herself only made it easier for Chrisjen to get at the ticklish spots she’d discovered.
Bobbie curled her arms around her waist in a last-ditch effort to fend off the scritching, squeezing, evil fingers. Chrisjen took it as a personal challenge, spidering fingers all across her stomach and feeling the muscles twitch and contract beneath her fingertips. The girl was surprisingly ticklish for a marine, although she certainly didn’t seem like one now—any semblance of danger was gone, the soldier weakened by her own helpless giggles. Her laughter was hearty and strong, bubbling from deep in her chest as she squirmed weakly. She kicked out when she felt Chrisjen pinching at the tender flesh above her kneecaps.
“Stop!” she squealed, a flush forming on her cheeks from laughing so much. The girl practically shrieked when Chrisjen’s fingers found their way under her arms, digging her heels into the mattress and arching her back in a desperate bid to escape.
“I hope you’ve learned your lesson about picking me up,” she teased, rich accent making Bobbie blush more. Sensing that she was about to reach her limit, Chrisjen withdrew with a final squeeze to the younger girl’s side. As soon as she was freed, Bobbie curled into a ball, gasping for breath. “Well,” Chrisjen began, reclining smugly on her pillows, “if I had known the secret to taking down Martian marines was so easy, the war would be long over.” Bobbie wasn’t sure if slapping the woman would be going too far. It had been decades since anyone had touched her like that, playfully, without fear or rank getting in the way.
“The kids used to mess around with each other during training.” Bobbie sighed shakily, unfurling her limbs and stretching them out. “It was a waste of time, but I never had the heart to tell them to stop. Those were some of the only times I’d seen joy on their faces. I couldn’t take that away.” She could feel Chrisjen looking at her, but Bobbie continued to stare up at the ceiling, steadfastly avoiding her gaze. Chrisjen’s face softened, that almost imperceptible relaxation of the skin around her eyes and cheekbones, at the realisation that Bobbie still mourned for her fallen unit. The politician reached out and placed a tentative hand on Bobbie’s shoulder. Bobbie released a controlled breath, blinking rapidly, and turned onto her side, facing Chrisjen. “Do you ever—” she halted, seemingly losing her nerve, before pushing on, “do you ever see them? The faces of the people you couldn’t save?” Chrisjen blinked slowly.
“No,” she finally said. “I don’t see the people I couldn’t save because I’ve never tried to save anyone. I see the faces of everyone I’ve gotten killed.” Her voice was thick with loathing, and she closed her eyes against the sudden onslaught of heartache. Bobbie reached up, grabbing the wrist nearest her shoulder.
“Ma’am,” she begins, “all due respect, but that’s utter bullshit. Maybe that’s what you see when you close your eyes, but when you open them—every single person on this planet owes you their life. I owe you my life, for all it’s worth.” Bobbie bit her lip, wondering if she’d said too much, but Chrisjen opened her eyes after a few moments.
“Thank you, Bobbie,” and she knew she’d said the right thing. They were silent after that, words no longer necessary in the darkness. Bobbie sank into the mattress, cheek nuzzling against the blankets as she glanced at Chrisjen. The woman was nearing sleep, Bobbie could tell from the way her eyes dimmed and her grasp on Bobbie’s shoulder softened. Bobbie let her eyes drift closed, allowed the warmth of their contact, hand to shoulder, palm to wrist, to fill her up until she felt the tug of sleep overwhelm her.
