Author's Note: The following story was born from a single scene in the 4th season Farscape episode, "Unrealized Reality"; those of you who have seen the episode will probably recognize which scene almost immediately. For those of you who HAVEN'T seen the episode, the prologue could be considered a spoiler for the scene in question, and maybe for the episode as a whole.
I got to thinking about that scene after watching the episode, and wondering what small change might have happened to lead John Crichton down that road, to become that man. The answer I ended up with was simple: the wormhole that brought him to the UTs deposited him about ten feet to the right of his original exit point. That's all.
Prologue - After
He gazes down at the woman's body, breathing heavily as the shock and adrenaline wear off. The cuts on his cheek sting, and the echoes of pulse fire and shattering glass still ring in his ears. Damn, he thinks to himself, she was a spy after all. Boy, did she have me fooled.
The pulse pistol weighs heavily on his arm, hanging loosely at his side. Even after all these cycles, he still doesn't like this part of what his life has become. Killing. Death. And yet, in this instance, he feels a small smile creep over his features. Take that, you bastards. One point for the good guys.
A small sound at his feet brings his mind back to duty, and he looks away from the dead Kalish. "Braca!" he exclaims, kneeling down at the side of his loyal officer. The man had placed his body between him and the spy when she shot at him; an ugly wound seeps blood across his uniform as Braca gasps for breath. He could call for a medic, but from the location of the injury, the captain knows nothing can be done.
The lieutenant grasps the captain's hand with his own. "--was ... worth it ... Captain," he gasps out, blood spattering his lips with each word. "You'll ... make 'em ... pay."
The captain bows his head in gratitude and grief. "It has been an honor serving with you, Lieutenant Braca." The man's eyes brighten for a moment at the words, then fade, one long rattling exhalation announcing his passing.
John Robert Crichton--human, scientist, astronaut, and now Peacekeeper captain--closes his eyes and inscribes yet another name onto the black memorial wall he's built inside his mind, to join the ranks of other friends, compatriots, lovers, and brothers-in-arms. Hundreds of names, by now. All of them brought down by the scourge of the known universe.
It's amazing to think that, as little as seven cycles ago, John Crichton had never even heard of the Scarrans.