SUMMARY: I don't think this HAS a summary. Crais' thoughts and a few memories, as he watches Aeryn. J/A shippy/angst in passing.

RATING: PG to PG-13. No idea.

DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Kemper and co can have them back. They're going to rectify this situation. Now.

SPOILERS: "Icarus Abides" (both parts) and everything before from "Season of Death" onwards. (Frell, the whole damn thing, technically, if you've never seen 'Scape, I suppose…)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: [ALSO CONTAINS SPOILERS!!] Well, I watched that final scene of "IA:IP" about eight frelling times until I stopped crying and ended up just being numb. This one line will not get out of my head (the title, incidentally) and just begged to be turned into either a rant or a fic, so I chose the latter. (Infinitely more productive, and just as satisfying.) Crais' POV, at various point in the episode (quotes if I can remember them), and immediately after. I had to write this. I'm sorry. I'm not in any way saying that Crais has feelings for Aeryn - hey, he probably does on some level other than lust, I don't know - but let's just assume his thought patterns might go something like this in whatever constitutes for 'down time' in Bialarland…


There's Nothing More You Can Do

© T'eyla Minh 2001

I'm blinded. Helpless. Infuriated.

And to make matters worse, the Bannick slave and that annoying Hynerian are my only company other than Talyn. If we all get out of this alive, I'll be amazed.

Of course, logically, you and Crichton are still on the planet; who else would be able to succeed, after all? I know you make a good team, a better team than you and I ever made. If that's so… if I'm able to admit that… and having to cooperate with Stark notwithstanding… why am so damn jealous?

Why do I find myself wondering if you'll manage to maintain the professionalism I would have credited you with while you were still under my command? There's no doubt - Crichton has changed you, for the better in his eyes (and probably yours), but in mine…? He's made you weak, and any Peacekeeper would tell you the same. Emotional attachments in battle are frowned upon, Aeryn… and after Velorek, you would be the first to admit that.

I can almost hear you arguing with me on that one, using my own attachment to Talyn against me. But I would call that an attachment of pure necessity - to control him, I must understand him, and without me, he would be dangerous. Can you say the same of Crichton?

All I can do now is wait. Nothing more.


A Scarran! Myself and Stark versus a Scarran. I certainly hope you were having a better time than we were. At least the comms are working now and we have some semblance of communication.

Informing you we're staying… I wonder, are you as surprised as Crichton sounds? Him and his wormholes will probably get us all killed, and I'm staying… Perhaps it has something to do with Talyn's loyalty to you, because I know he would never stay for Crichton.

The moment of truth - whether this device he's constructed, that will apparently obliterate the Scarran Dreadnaught, will actually work… He'd say that all he needs is your strength, but somehow, I don't think that'll be enough.


It… worked?

Stark seems as bewildered as me. In my shock, I don't even think to check if Crichton has survived this. That honour falls entirely onto you, and over the open comm, which I've been half-listening to since he boarded the module, it's all you can do to ask the question.

I heard you before this, Aeryn… or rather, I didn't. Immediately after you told Rygel that you blew up Furlow's lab, your silence told me everything… not a word came from you while Crichton flew his mission. I know you were crying, and your grief does not ashame me as it used to. You were crying, not because it was futile (although it seemed it at the time), and not because there was a possibility he wouldn't survive (although this was also true), but from sheer exhaustion and desperation.

Ask me to explain how I know this, and I wouldn't be able to answer.


All those cycles ago, when the first thing on my mind was revenge against John Crichton, I would never have imagined a time I wished he was alive. Not for myself - I may have warmed to him enough to have a relatively civil conversation - but for you.

Much as I'm loath to admit the fact, you allowed yourself to love him, and I know he loved you. I frowned on what you had while you had it, but now, I would welcome it just to see you back to normal. To think that you, Aeryn Sun, Peacekeeper, the same woman who turned her lover in to me so long ago, would fall for someone like John Crichton. A Non-Sebacean. Someone I used to call a murderer. It defies belief.

Yet… it doesn't. In some way I can't explain, of all the insane things I've been witness to, this is the most acceptable.

Watching you is all I can do now. We have tried, Stark, Rygel and I, to help you through this, but nothing helps, and I hope that being back on Moya may ease the pain a little. At least there, the memories will not be so vivid. Of course, this in itself is a problem… I dread to even contemplate what will become of you once you are re-acquainted with the other Crichton. That is a reunion I would prefer not to see.

The sight of you like this is too much even for Stark to bear, and Rygel has chosen to avoid you, most likely for his own safety. After you kneaded him into the bulkhead for mentioning John's name, I'm not entirely surprised. You know I'm watching you. Under any other circumstances, you'd pretend to be training, or would at least look in control of your emotions.

But you don't. Purging this grief is going to take a long, long time, and it's obvious how much it hurts. It's taken you five solar days to simply find a single place that doesn't remind you of him, and that happens to be Talyn's mysterious, semi-formed den. From the door, from this perspective, you're nothing but a trembling black shape, head hidden from view in your arms.

You're crying still. The third continuous night in a row. For two solar days, you hid it behind a façade of rage, and calm, collected work… but even I knew it wouldn't last. I'm thankful it was Stark who bore the brunt rather than myself. I would have been utterly unable to cope, this much I know.

I could hate John Crichton for doing this to you, but I can't. I can't hate him again, because I know you loved him, and I know you need to see this through without my negative feelings interfering.

The opposite in fact. I hate myself more than anything, but I can't think why. I can't help you, I couldn't help him… so all I can do is watch you, and feel ever more guilty at my voyeurism. You wouldn't want to be seen like this, Aeryn, but it's all you can do to even sit upright. You haven't even give me a contemptuous glance.

You're crying, for so many reasons. Not just the pain, which will fade in time, I hope… but because you're feeling as guilty as the rest of us, possibly more so. You're crying for your loss, for what you might have had, for everything that's gone before. You're crying, and we can't help you.

You're crying because there's nothing more you can do...


A/N continued: Like I said, this had to be written before I exploded. The final line of this fic has just been going around in my brain, eating me alive. It stemmed from the thought, at the time, that Claudia Black was portraying the sheer exhaustion, relief, and utter despair so incredibly well, and that struck me more than John's death did (kudos to Ben Browder as well, by the way…) I've been there. Not under the same circumstances, but I know what it's like, when you've exhausted every possible thing you can do, thought of millions of possibilities, tried everything, and the only thing left to do is curl into a ball and cry. That's where this came from. Sorry if I depressed anyone. My Muse is sadistic..

Now, be loves. Please review