AUTHOR: Vid Z.
DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc of the TV show Farscape are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this fic. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: well, here it is, my second Farscape fic. Btw, this is no way Aeryn bashing, it's all self-recriminations. Even though it wasn't her fault in her grief she's blaming herself.
SUMMARY: What if Fractures had gone differently? What if Moya John wasn't there either? NOT a character death fic (except for Talyn John). Though still a sad, angsty fic.
When she got off the transport pod she expected John to be there, waiting for her, eager like a puppy who's owner had returned.
Instead she got nothing. There were only D'Argo and Chiana, with faces as serious as she'd ever seen them.
Despite her new resolution not to feel anything ever again, especially for one Commander John Crichton she felt a feeling of dread settle heavily into her stomach. But she wasn't about to ask about him, so deeply was she in her denial again. Though she was still curious.
Torn between not wanting to care about him and caring about him she was trying to figure out how to inquire as to his whereabouts without losing her mask of indifference.
Thankfully just then Rygel glided over to his two shipmates, solving her dilemma. "Where's Crichton?"
Chiana and D'Argo wouldn't meet their eyes and looked down, at the deck. Aeryn felt the now familiar burn of tears in her throat and tickling in her eyes. Did this one die as well? Has she lost John Crichton forever? Frell that frelling Erpman for making her into 'more', into being capable of feeling emotions!
"He's gone." whispered D'Argo and the twitch of Aeryn's eye was the only outer sign of distress that showed on Aeryn's stony face.
"Dead?" the Hynerian's voice was quiet, sombre, the memory of seeing one Crichton die still too fresh to make a sarcastic comment or a fake show of exhiliration.
"No." D'Argo shook his massive head, his tentacles flying. "He found a wormhole. He went home."
Home. Her John had promised her he'd take her there with him. The John of cycles ago had promised her she'd fit right in. He'd left her. Again. All because she'd chosen her John and left this one behind, believing he was the copy and thus not deserving of her caring. If he'd believed that she cared for him still he wouldn't have left. Not as long as he had hope.
"Oh." mouthed the little green slug.
"Yeah." piped up Chiana sadly. Even though there had been some tension between the young Nebari girld and John at the beginning, due to her heavy flirting, the two youngest members of the crew had slowly settled into a fixed relationship and were now like brother and sister. Or, HAD been like brother and sister. There was no John on board of Moya anymore, none in this part of the galaxy.
"What about your John?" asked D'Argo after a few seconds. She'd figured it would be he who'd ask. He and John were like blood-brothers, two sides of the same blade. Though their relationship had been difficult at the beginning they'd come to respect and like each other. John had earned D'Argo's respect... It was a compliment with no comparison.
"Dead." replied Rygel almost inaudibly and a sob broke out of Chiana.
Aeryn could feel their mute stares on her, accusing her of being responsible for his death, for not having protected him, covered his back. They were right, she had failed. And now the man she loved was dead. And the copy was back on Erp. Even though she hadn't wanted to see him because he looked so much like her John she was still distressed that he was gone, that she'd never again in her life see John Crichton. Whether he was a copy or the originaly, she loved him. Beyond hope.
With another twitch of an eye, her hand moved over her pulse pistol to ground her in her new/old unfeeling, unemotional self.
She made a step. And another one. Concentrating only on the step that came next she made her way out of the landing bay. Her world was slowly, inexorably crumbling down and she knew she would survive only if she'd concentrate on the next step, on the next day, without thinking what would come after.
Her John had died on her. The other one, the copy, had left her.
After 3 cycles, after 3 cycles of evolution, adventure, action, drama, tragedy, comedy, angst and... and love... she was back to square one.
In the midst of her crewmates she was alone, lonely. Again.
A testament to the person she was now, the person John Crichton had helped cultivate, tears suddenly broke through her defences and blurred her vision. With an impatient gesture she wiped the water off her face and promised to herself that if she ever saw John Crichton again she would shoot him, or at least pantak-jab him for what he'd done to her, what he'd made out of her. A weakling, not a soldier, but a weak woman who cries over having been left behind, not a warrior whom nothing can shake.
Yes, she would knock him out, but for now she would just have to concentrate on making that next step.
Just on the next step...