Uneasy Silences

By Speedbump

Disclaimer-Like everyone else, I don’t own them but wish I did.  If I did, I wouldn’t be sitting here now, with a half paid for ‘puter churning out fanfic.  I would be sitting off stage watching them tape the show!  So, all the legal stuff applies, no money made etc.  Darn it anyway.

Rating....hmm, strong PG-13, deals with romance and thoughts of suicide.  Reader beware.

Archive--Here, Pilot’s Farscape Zone, Browny’s, and Zen’s.

Be kind, this is my first submitted fanatic, please don’t make me cry. :)  And any techs out there better keep in mind that I am NOT sci-fi writer, I don’t understand quantum physics, hell,  I can barely understand the concept of electricity!  So don’t be to hard on my scientific blunders.  Just bear with me.
 

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The black void of space hung motionless in the terrace windows, a gaping maw of brilliant stars without number, clusters of gaseous comets and meteors, clouds of dust and debris.  Death and life danced in decadent splendor just beyond his reach.  His left hand lay on the cool surface, almost as if he were trying to reach out and touch one of the many diamonds of light on display.  His eyes were distant, his body stance relaxed and easy.  Everything about his manner suggested he was merely observing, that all was well.  Everything except the small, deadly pulse pistol in his right hand.

The maelstrom of conflicting emotions and thoughts whirling through his head belied his calm demeanor.  How did he, John Crichton, astronaut, physicist, son, friend, end up here?  What character trait or flaw allowed him to adapt so well, when others would have perished or been driven mad?    When he stopped long enough to think about it, it bothered him a great deal.  Why me? he often wondered, why am I here?  His overtaxed emotions and overwhelmed brain could never offer up any sort of answer, just a sort of mental shrug of metaphysical shoulders that left him feeling even worse.

Any one of these problems, taken by themselves, were not insurmountable.  OK, so maybe some of them on their own were pretty scary under any circumstances, but piled all atop of each other, they weighed him down like nothing he had ever known.  How much longer could he continue to hold up, to keep bouncing back into action like he always had? The answer, he feared, was not much longer.  The answer, a part of his beleaguered mind said, lay in a little spit of fire from the pulse pistol.  He still skittered away from this thought like a horse shying from a snake.

His eyes reflected the stars, cold ice reflected in blue so pale it shimmered like quicksilver.  No emotions reached his eyes tonight.  He seemed void, vacant, not there.  Deep inside, he battled with himself, fighting the despair and anguish that threatened every day to overtake and destroy him.  And every day, it grew harder and harder to win those battles.  He leaned forward, letting his forehead rest against the cool surface.   His eyes closed against the beauty and his right hand tightened around the slick black metal of the pulse pistol.Now?  Here?  Was this where it would end?  Where, he wondered, did he fall so hard that he ended up here, in this room, with a weapon held ready to take his own life?

Several weeks earlier.....

The sudden de-accelleration of Moya alerted the crew that something must be amiss.  John, reaching for some food cubes across the table, was thrown quite unceremoniously into Aeryn’s lap.  Under ordinary circumstances, he would have looked upon this as a golden opportunity.  But today Aeryn seemed to be suffering from what John not-so-jokingly referred to as PK-PMS.  Thinking of Aeryn and PMS in terms of earth women was like comparing a rock fight too an all out thermal nuclear war.  There just was no comparison.  So when he landed in her lap, he was quick to push himself off and away.  But obviously not quick enough.

“Frell it Crichton, get off me!”  To reinforce her statement, as if it needed reinforcing, she shoved him unceremoniously to the floor, getting up in the process.  “And hurry up, something must be wrong with Moya for us to stop so suddenly.”

Muttering “no shit, Sherlock” under his breath, he followed her.  Of course he admired the view all the way up to command, but slapped himself into a semi serious mode when he got there.  D’Argo and Zhaan hovered uncertainly over a command module, conversing with Pilot.

“And you think it’s the drop in nutrients to her baby that made Moya stop so suddenly?”  Zhaan was saying.  Aeryn craned her neck to read the display, and John peered over her shoulder.  She shot him a venomous glare and he backed off.  Geez, this must be one of those days where he wouldn’t be able to do anything right.  He decided he’d better lay low for awhile, until the problem came clear.

“Yes,” Pilot answered, “Moya noticed a drop in the nutrient flow to her baby and halted to try to fix the problem.  It may be beyond the abilities of the DRDs though, she may require your assistance.”

“Just tell us what she needs, Pilot, and we will do our best.”  John interjected.

D’Argo growled an untranslatable comment under his breath, and Aeryn hissed in annoyance.  Even Zhaan seemed perturbed, despite her usual eagerness to help.  John pushed his way to the front to give the alien readouts a once over and addressed Pilot.  “What does she need us to do, Pilot?  I mean, where can I start?”  The others looked at him with mixtures of annoyance and amusement.  He ignored them.

“Well, if you could check the nutrient levels manually, it would leave the DRDs free to do other work.”  His image seemed to flutter for a moment, then returned.  “Start on tier 20, and I will direct the DRDs to start their repairs elsewhere.”  He looked up from his work.  “Thank you Crichton, for your help.”

“Problem not Pilot.”  He stepped back slightly as Pilot’s image winked out. The others started in immediately.

“Always one to suck up, aren’t you Crichton?” Aeryn shot at him.  Before he could respond, D’Argo fired his own volley.

“I sometimes think you relish any chance to perform tech duties, even at the expense of others.” He growled menacingly.

“Really John, you didn’t have to jump in and act as if we were unwilling or unable to help.  We were offering.”

John backed up a step, confused.  It seemed there was nothing he could do that was right, some days.  “Hey, come on, I was only trying to offer our help.  What’s the big deal?”

“The ‘big deal’, as you put it, is that you are always so eager to be the hero.  And then you make mistakes that end up taking us longer, or costing us more.”  Aeryn stepped closer to him, her chest (with her magnificent breasts leading the way, he thought incoherently) level with his.  “So back off, Crichton, this is beyond the comprehension of your inferior species.”  With that, she stormed out of the room.   D’Argo followed her, glaring at John as he went.  John looked at Zhaan out of the corner of his eyes, almost afraid to ask.  “And I suppose you agree with them.” he said carefully.

Zhaan tilted her head as she thought, her azure skin shimmering in the reflected light from the display panels.  Her eyes dug into his, examining his soul, he thought.  She smiled, but there was little warmth in it.

“Sometimes you are too eager to offer help when you don’t understand the consequences of your actions.  Locking down nutrient leaks to a Leviathan baby can be dangerous.”

“Fine, then just point me in the right direction and I’ll help.” he replied in exasperation.

But Zhaan shook her head.  “No, Aeryn and D’Argo are right, if the problem escalates, you might react in the wrong way and cause further problems.  You need to leave this to the others and the DRDs.  Why don’t you cover command and I will assist the others.”  She laid her hand on his arm in way of comforting him.  “They will get over it John, don’t let it bother you.”  With that, she left command.

John gazed at the unfamiliar stars and the less familiar consoles, his common sense warring with his hurt pride.  Maybe, he thought, they were right.  Maybe he was more of a hindrance than a help.  He watched the stars as if looking for the answer there, an unrewarding task if ever there was one.

Aeryn grunted in frustration as she struggled with the line valve.  Behind her, at the entrance to the duct, D’Argo’s muffled shouted instructions and angry expletives faded into background noise.  Her attention was really on Crichton and his seeming inability to understand his new home.  Volunteering for this kind of work was dangerous.  Granted, he probably would have gone ahead and done it even knowing the danger involved, but she couldn’t let him do that.  He was only a human, inferior, primitive.  She was a PeaceKeeper, a Sebacean, she should be taking the risks here, she had the training for it.  He may be a tech, but he knew so little about Leviathan technology that she was better equipped to handle the work.

She swore again, banging her knuckles on the wall as her sweaty hand slipped on the valve once again.  She stopped briefly to catch her breath, and only then realized that the temperature was rising.  Sweat was trickling down her back and between her breasts, and her hair was sticking to the back of her neck.  Just what I need, she thought, to get heat delirium because of Crichton’s offer to help.   Giving the stubborn valve one more disgusted look, Aeryn began backing out of the vent space.

D’Argo watched her struggle to crawl backwards, but refrained from helping her.  He too had recognized her moods, and like John was being careful not to do anything to spark a tirade.  Not that D’Argo was afraid she might hurt him, only that he thought discretion the better part of valor.  He wasn’t stupid.

“The valve is stuck tight.” She said without preamble.  “I can’t get it loose, I need a wrench, but it’s too frelling hot in there, I can’t do it.”  She looked at D’Argo and shook her head distastefully.  “We may have to send Crichton in there after all.  You’re too big to fit, Rygel is to small and certainly not strong enough.”  She paused.  “Maybe Chiana...”

“No, Chiana would be no good.  Maybe Zhaan...?”  D’Argo offered hopefully.

“Maybe Zhaan what?”  Zhaan said, approaching them from down the hall.

“I can’t get the valve open, it’s too hot in there for me.  D’Argo won’t fit, and Rygel is too small.  You need to go in there and fix it.”  This last was said firmly, as if by willing it to be it would.

Zhaan peered into the small opening, her wide blue eyes measuring the space and estimating the distance to the valve.  She turned back to the others with her eyes down.  Unbelievably, she shook her head.

“I cannot do it, Aeryn.  I can’t stand confined places like that, I’m sorry.”

“Then we must get Chiana to do it.” D’Argo said with false confidence.  Aeryn shot him a fiery look and he subsided.  Even Zhaan looked amused at the idea of Chiana willingly going into a small, narrow, extremely hot enclosed area to try to open a stuck valve.  She took the matter into her own hands.

“John, could you come down to tier 18?  Aeryn and D’Argo have found the problem.”

Aeryn winced as if in pain, but said nothing.

“Sure Zhaan, let me tie Spanky to the command module...”  there was a brief scuffling noise and squawks of protest from Rygel, and then John continued. “...and I will be right there.”

“You don’t think he really...”  Aeryn began, but Zhaan shook her head.  Aeryn nodded once, as if thinking hard, then turned to leave.

“I’ll go get that wrench.”

John thought about it as he headed to tier 18.  Here he was, stranded on a living ship with a bunch of alien convicts and one space Nazi, just trying to survive.  He had been considered the cream of the science crop on Earth, here he was a primitive.  The crowning achievement in his life, Farscape One, was too antique to be considered space worthy to most of the galaxy’s inhabitants.  He was a tech by their standards, but his kind of tech was archaic; kind of like sending a 19th century mechanic into fix the space shuttle, he reasoned.  He struggled to learn as he repaired, sometimes with poor results.  But often enough he got it right, and he had managed to come through often enough to warrant better treatment.  After his enforced stay on Aquarra, after he sorted things out with the others, he thought things might be better, that they would refrain from reminding him of his inferior status, so to speak.  And it had, for awhile.  But ever since the PeaceKeeper marauder with Larraq had come aboard, he was in the dog house again.  His plan hadn’t worked the way they wanted it too, they had almost been captured or killed, and Aeryn had almost died.  His mind shuddered over that last, preferring to skirt around it rather than face it head on.  That, he insisted, was why she now hated him.  He preferred to believe that than the other, persistent thought that tumbled around in his mind.  That she hated him for killing Larraq, for killing someone who was like herself, someone she, well, liked, someone she clicked with.  That thought was too much for John to bear.

Before he met up with the others, he managed to once again put on what his mom had called his “game face”, a facade of forced good will and humor.  It was what got him through all the times when he wanted to buckle under the strain and give up.  It was what helped him survive everything that had happened since Farscape had disappeared into that wormhole.

“So, what up all?”  he said jauntily.

Shaking her head in dismissal yet again at his turn of phrase, Zhaan pointed to the small vent.  “The valve is stuck, and Aeryn can’t stay in the vent, it’s too hot.”

“Zhaan cannot enter small spaces, I am too large, Rygel is far to small and weak, and Chiana is...well, Chiana is Chiana.”  D’Argo shrugged his huge shoulders dismissively  John’s expression changed subtly.

“Right.  Sure, yeah, just tell me what I need to do.  Fine.”  He turned to the vent to peer inside, hoping no one could really read his expression.  Did they think so little of his abilities that he was their last resort?  Fine, he could deal with it.  Let’s just get the damn thing fixed and get out of here, he thought angrily.  His face, he hoped, betrayed none of his feelings.

Aeryn had rejoined the group, a massive wrench in her hands.  She handled it as if it were a toy, small and insignificant.  John could tell though that it’s weight was only surpassed by it’s unwieldy bulk.  Great, she had to get the biggest frelling wrench she could find, just to make him look bad if he couldn’t handle it.  Way to be, Miss Sunshine.  He vowed to wield the wrench from hell as if it were made of light, regardless of personal injury.

“You’ll need this.”  Was all Aeryn said, passing the wrench to him.  To his credit, he grasped the wrench firmly and tossed it casually into the vent in front of him.  Whew, the damn thing was heavy!  “Right, O.K., tell me what to do.”

“Just open the frelling vent Crichton!”  Aeryn snapped.  John ignored her outburst and continued.  “Great Aeryn, I will, but I want to know about anything I shouldn’t do, anything I shouldn’t touch, anything that might blow us to tiny atoms if I sneeze.  You know, something you will all blame me for even though you didn’t warn me about it?”  He retorted with studied disdain.

Aeryn looked ready to start in on him again, but Zhaan intervened.  “I think this one is very straightforward, John.  There is a valve, it’s stuck, use the wrench and open it.  It should be fairly easy.”

“Thank you Zhaan.”  He peered once again into the vent, then heaved himself up to the lip, pushing the wrench in front of him.  “Hey Pilot, let me know when I achieve some sort of success here, O.K.?”

“I will be monitoring the entire time, Crichton.  I will let you know.”

“Great, thanks.” he grunted as he slid himself along the vent.

So, here he was once again, coming to the rescue, helping out his erstwhile friends.  He really had a tough time understanding them.  Like Zhaan, with her peaceful demeanor and rational take on life, she should have been someone he could trust and lean on.  But no, she led the charge to lop one of Pilot’s arms off.  And after they rescued him from Maldis, she suddenly goes all primitive on him and jumps down his throat, reminding him that she used to be a savage.  Now if that little outburst didn’t freak him out, nothing would.  If he couldn’t trust Zhaan, who could he trust?  D’Argo?  Oh, yeah, Tentacle Boy, there’s someone you want on your side...better yet, in front of you so that you know he’s not going to skewer you with that overgrown toad sticker.  No, not D’Argo, the truce there was too flimsy.  D’Argo might think of him as an ally, but being allies didn’t stretch too far when it came to survival.  Much as he wanted to, John didn’t trust D’Argo very far...yet.

Rygel?  Right, sure, the little weasel would steal the socks off a dead man if he thought he could get a few stale food cubes for them.  No, Rygel was not someone to trust and confide in.  Chiana?  Let’s not go there, he thought.

Aeryn?  Yeah, there for awhile he thought he could trust her, thought he could confide in her.  After the Flax, after that bogus trip to “Earth”.  But something had happened to quell the changes in her, something squashed her newfound feelings for him like a foot on a bug.  Something like, say, a PeaceKeeper named Larraq, and what he represented to her.  So no, judging by the way she acted towards him now, there was no trust there.

John stopped briefly to catch his breath, the increase in heat becoming increasingly apparent.  No wonder Aeryn had to back out, it was stifling in here.  His com burst into static, startling him.

“Crichton, are you there yet?”  Speak of the devil, Aeryn, in full PeaceKeeper mode.  He winced in memory of her steely eyes cutting into him and began moving.

“Almost, just catching my breath.”  He said.

“What? I...hear....static...can..........get.....................done?”

“Aeryn, you’re breaking up.  Say again?”

“I said, can you.......done?”

“I was resting, I’m almost there!” He almost shouted into the com.

She obviously heard that one fine.  “Well quit mucking about and get it done!”  She snapped.

“Yeah, sure thing sunshine.”  He muttered under his breath.

The vent in question was innocuous, just a wheel like shut off that was stuck.  What made it difficult was the heat and the cramped space.  John struggled to get the wrench in position, cursing Aeryn and her macho PK image all the while.  Just a little more...his com spit out burst of static, but nothing comprehensible.  He ignored it.

D’Argo and Aeryn stood impatiently outside the vent, once in awhile glancing in as if it might speed things up.  Zhaan waited, hands folded in her robe, quiet.  They were interrupted in their wait by Pilot.

“Zhaan, I am picking up increasing levels of radiation from your tier.  It seems that the nutrient flow is picking up backwash from Moya’s propulsion systems, and that is what is now blocking the flow to her baby.”

“Is this radiation dangerous to the baby?” She asked with concern.

“No, it’s natural and necessary.  But it’s interrupting communication with Crichton.  I am unable to reach him.”

“Maybe we should flood the entire ship with this radiation then and communication with Crichton would cease altogether.”  D’Argo grumbled.  Aeryn felt herself smirk, but quelled it.  Crichton might be annoying, but not that annoying.

“I’m afraid there is another problem.  The radiation levels where you are not high enough to be significant, and it dissipates rather rapidly.  But Crichton is getting higher levels, and because of his unknown Alien physiology, he may be getting dangerous levels.”

“Can you tell if he has almost completed his task?”  Zhaan asked quickly.

“No, I cannot tell at this point.”

“Then we must...”  She started, only to be interrupted by an suddenly upset Pilot.

“GET HIM OUT, NOW! The pressure is increasing,  if he releases it too fast...”

The others all ran to the opening, all shouting at once for him to stop, to get out now!

Inside the vent, John struggled with the wrench, feeling the sweat running off him like bath water.  He was determined to get this done in record time.   Finally after what felt like hours, he felt the valve moving.  He strained yet again, and felt it move even further.  He grinned with satisfaction.

Then the others started yelling at him, and in their confusion, he couldn’t at first understand what they were saying.  He stopped, puzzled, and listened.  Finally, he made out Aeryn’s voice above the cacophony of the others.

“GET OUT!  IT’S GOING TO BLOW!”

Without even time to mutter an “oh shit”, he backed out at warp speed, his arms pushing frantically at the smooth walls, his feet flailing behind him for purchase.  Their voices were still rocking off the walls and their hands were reaching for him when he felt a sudden shudder, like a small earthquake.  With a suprisingly soft whump, the loosened valve let go.  Feeling the sudden increase in heat, John instinctively covered his head, curling up as much as space would allow.

The explosion was intensified by the confines of the duct, hurling heated gasses, the cumbersome wrench and Crichton like shot out of a cannon.  Unable to do anything to protect himself other than cover his head, John was propelled out of the vent like a human projectile, to land unceremoniously against the far wall.  Once out of the small space, the gasses and radiation began to dissipate, helped by the fans and vents that Pilot had hurriedly turned on.

D’Argo  had grabbed Zhaan and jumped to one side when the vent blew, covering both of their faces.  Aeryn had gamely refused to quit, reaching in to grab John’s legs even as the blast hurled him across the room.  She was tossed back herself, landing hard on her ankle.  Cursing her own stupidity, she tried to stand and immediately fell, her ankle sending shooting pains up her leg.  Her face felt hot and tight, as if burned by the sun.  That thought made her reach up and touch, to feel hot red blisters covering much of her face.  Frell it, she had gotten a dose of that heat and radiation.  Her next thought was that if her face was this bad, how was John?  Telling herself that her concern was for a comrade, no more, she began crawling towards him.

Zhaan was already there, gently trying to assess John’s injuries.  He lay in a heap, face down on the floor, his arms outstretched.  There were burns covering his shoulders and arms, indicating that he had had enough sense to try to protect his head.  But the pool of blood told her he had largely failed.  He seemed unconscious.

“Where’s the blood coming from?”  Aeryn asked as she reached them.

“His head, he hit his head on something.”  Zhaan said distractedly.  She felt again for broken bones, and finding none, spoke into her com.

“Pilot, analyze the radiation for me, and send the readouts to the infirmary.  I must treat him as I would a Sebacean and hope for the best.”  She glanced up.  “And I must treat you too, Aeryn.  It looks like you got a fair dose yourself.”

“I’ll live.”  She looked around.  “Where’s D’Argo?”

“I sent him for a stretcher.  Rygel and Chiana are readying the infirmary.”

Aeryn looked confused.  “When?  I didn’t hear you.”

Zhaan smiled gently.  “You were knocked out, but only for a minute or two.  You should be fine.”

“Oh.”  Aeryn said simply, a bit confused.  “What did he hit his head on, the wall?”

Zhaan didn’t look up, but continued examining John, trying to stop the flow of blood from his head by wadding up a strip torn from her robe.  “It was the wrench, I think.”

Aeryn sat back, her injured ankle screaming in unheard protest.  Knowing that John had to fix what her Sebacean physiology wouldn’t allow her to fix had angered her, and so she had purposefully picked the largest wrench she felt she could get away with.  A smaller wrench probably would have worked, but she wanted to see John’s face when she handed him the big one.  She had been disappointed, he didn’t so much as flinch.  And now that same wrench had laid him open like a Cinarrian Melon,  and who was to blame?  Why her, of course.  She watched Zhaan trying unsuccessfully to stop the flow of blood, and knew it was as much her fault as anyone else's.  And to her surprise, that thought bothered her a great deal.

The mood in the infirmary was largely subdued.  Zhaan hovered over Crichton, attempting to determine from readouts if the Sebacean medicines indicated for this type of radiation poisoning were helping him at all.  D’Argo hulked against the wall, concerned but trying not to show it.  Rygell snored softly in a corner, his concern, or lack of it, obvious.  Chaina hovered just out of Zhaan’s way but ready to help, surprising everyone in her willingness.  She obviously felt that in his role as self appointed guardian to her, he deserved her care.

“The medication seems to be working fine.”  Zhaan said at last, shutting off the scanner.  “He shouldn’t suffer from any problems with the radiation at least.”

“And his other injuries?”  Aeryn asked from the bed opposite John’s.  Her swollen ankle was propped up, awaiting medical attention.

“He has burns, not unlike yours, Aeryn, but they will heal in short order.  He has a concussion, and several broken fingers.  Both injuries are from the wrench, I would assume.  He will heal.”

Despite her assurances, even Zhaan seemed unsure.  Silence reigned for a moment, then she looked over at Aeryn.  “Well, let’s get you fixed up.”

Moya seemed to hum contentedly around her, a dim sound that was both comforting and vague.  Aeryn thought it soothing, a soft mantra to lull her to sleep.  She turned restlessly, searching in vain for a more comfortable position.  A sharp pain in her ankle woke her, causing her to sit bolt upright and then instantly regret it.  She looked around the room to reorient herself, and saw she was still in the infirmary.  The lights were dimmed in nighttime mode, giving the room a shadowy look.

In the bed across the room from her lay John, just an odd lump beneath the sheets.  She watched him sleep, his ribs rising and falling in slow rhythm.  His bandaged arms and hands lay at his side or across his stomach, attesting to his restless movements.  She observed him closely for quite some time; his easy breathing, the slow movements of his eyes under closed lids, the occasional twitch of his hands and feet.  Satisfied at last that he was resting easy, she lay down herself.

Sleep for her was but a dream.  Her mind tumbled over and over the events of the accident until she felt dizzy.  She saw nothing she or anyone else could have done differently, and in truth she had put herself at risk making a last, vain attempt to pull him to safety.  Why then did she feel guilty?

She punched her pillow again, twisting around to get it just right, only to repeat the performance again and again.  Swearing colorfully, but under her breath so as not to wake John, she finally settled on her back and stared at the ceiling.  Damn Crichton and his sensitive pride, she thought venomously.  He was angry when he realized he was their last choice to go into the vent.  Didn’t he realize how dangerous it was?  and that they had chosen him by default simply because no one else could (or would) go in?  and that it was because of their concern for his safety, and the safety of everyone on board Moya as well as Moya and her baby, that they were reluctant to send him in?  Certainly, his tech skills had proven to be useful on many occasions, but they had proven to be a detriment as well.

She would never understand the human and his bizarre behavior.  If he was angry, he should have said something about it, rather than pretend all was well.  It was this sort of behavior that bothered her the most, and she had no idea what to do or say in the face of it.  And then, there was how she felt about Crichton himself that got in the way.

She sighed and once again attempted to get comfortable, to no avail.  Here I go again, she thought, thinking of Crichton as if her were a PeaceKeeper male and not human.  Her heritage, her training, her tradition; all shied away from the intermingling of species.  Blood, especially Sebacean blood, must be kept pure.  No matter how much he looked Sebacean, he wasn’t, and she would do well to remember that. The incidents when they were stuck in the Flax, and later, on the false Earth, were both shoved unceremoniously to the back of her mind, where she forced herself to forget they ever happened.  Unsuccessfully, of course.  A small voice in the back of her mind gave her no peace, clamoring in the still of the night for her to listen.

You do care for him, this voice said, because he was right, you can be more.  You can and are, but because his arrival caused your downfall, your descent into the life of a fugitive, you resent him.  You know it is unfair to him, you know how he feels about you, or at least you suspect it, yet you continue to bait and shoot, bait and shoot.  One of these days he is going to walk away and forget you, and then where will you be?  Sitting here on Moya all alone except for a few oddball aliens, and he will be gone.  He said he would never leave you, but really, how much abuse can someone take?

And what about Larraq?  Certainly she had been attracted, a Sebacean male, a PeaceKeeper male, had not only found her attractive he had offered her a place at his side.  And even if things had turned out differently, she could have never gone off with him.  She knew it, Crichton knew it, everyone but Larraq knew it.  She also knew that Crichton had no choice but to kill him, and that she would have done it herself if it came to it.   She knew that, rationally, but still she hated Crichton for killing Larraq, for killing her dream.  So she was irrational, big deal.

But that meant that she had been punishing Crichton for weeks over her own inadequacies, her own guilt and fear.  They all had.  His plan, not really that bad in theory, had backfired not of it’s own accord but from circumstances beyond their control.  Yet they all seemed to accuse him and dump the largest share of the blame on his shoulders.  Why, she wondered?  Why did they always assume that the largest portion of blame should be Crichton’s?  Was it because he was so alone and vulnerable, a primitive among civilized beings?  Were they so arrogant in their assumption of his inferiority that they couldn’t see their own faults?  Or was it because he was so damned insistent that he could and would fit in with their galaxy, despite the overwhelming odds against him?  And truly, his perseverance was phenomenal, she didn’t know any Sebacean, PeaceKeeper or otherwise, who could keep on such an even keel after everything he had been through.  If this was how his entire race was, she didn’t want to face them in battle.

So now she was back full circle in an argument she never wanted to have with herself in the first place.  Did she care for John?  Well, yes, of course she did, although it chafed her to think it.  So, what was she going to do about it?  Well, now, that was the hard part.  What could she do about it?  She was frightened to think of starting a relationship with someone of an alien species.  The gruesome stories of mutated freaks from such liaisons that she had heard about in PK training were surely lies, but the penalties if she were caught were a stark reality.  But then, she reasoned, she was already a fugitive with a death mark, what’s one more crime?  It’s wrong, she countered stubbornly, almost as wrong as incest, or bestiality.  Again, the little voice spoke up loud and clear.  But you know better, you know those were just stories told to keep you in line, you know now that you can be more.  And he can help you, if you let him.  She sighed in exasperation.  Then, closing her eyes against pain both physical and emotional, she slept.

Light, dim and diffused, beat at his closed eyes like a hammer.  He tried to fling an arm up to block the light and was greeted by a flare of serious pain.  Gritting his teeth against a scream, he reluctantly opened his eyes.

“Good morning John, it’s about time you woke up.”  Zhaan’s serious blue gaze lasered into his eyes as if trying to capture him.  He worked his mouth to reply, only to discover that it felt like a pack of huskies had trotted across his tongue.  She understood, and held a squeeze bottle of water up to his lips.  “Here, drink this.”

The cool water felt so extraordinary, he envisioned a parched a cracked desert land suddenly awash with water.  He would have drank the entire bottle if Zhaan had let him.  But she pulled it away after he had taken but the barest of sips.

“Slowly,”  she said, “Slowly, you must drink a little at a time.”  her voice was almost as soothing as the water.  John swallowed a few times and tried again to speak.  His voice came out like a the croak of some unknown species of frog, cracked and gravelly.

“What the hell happened?”  Was all he could think of to say.

“Do you remember trying to open the valve?”

He nodded instead of speaking, and came to the immediate conclusion that that was the worst thing he could have done, given the circumstances.  He closed his eyes against the pain again.

“There was a backwash of radiation in the line.  Pilot discovered it as you were loosening the valve.  He tried to warn you, but the radiation interfered with communication.  As soon as he realized that the radiation was increasing the pressure on the valve, he told us to get you out.  Unfortunately, we were all a bit too late.  When the valve blew, you were almost out of the vent.  Aeryn tried to grab you but she was blown back too.  Both of you suffered radiation burns, which the Sebacean drugs on board took care of, and you also suffered a concussion and two broken fingers.  The burns will take more time, but they too will heal.”  She gave him another drink during this shortened version of events.

“How long have I been out?”  He asked, his voice now sounding simply a bit hoarse.

“Two days.”  She offered the bottle again.  He shook his head.

“Two days.  Wow, I must have really hit my head.”  He raised his hand to observe his fingers, splinted and bandaged.  Both of his hands and forearms he observed, were covered in bandages.  He could feel bandages crossing his shoulders, too.  This would of course present some major problems.  He looked askance at Zhaan, his expression saying, how are we going to do this?

“Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out.”  Her statement and confident smile didn’t do much to reassure him though.

He looked around him suddenly, looking wildly at the other beds.  “Aeryn, you said Aeryn was injured. Is she all right?”

“Shhh, take ease, John, she is fine.  She had minor burns from the blast and the radiation, but I took care of that.  She sprained her ankle in the fall, but she will be back to normal very soon.”  She made him lie back and sip more water.

“Moya and her baby, are they O.K.?”  Was his next question.  He was surprised to be answered by Pilot, rather than Zhaan.

“Yes John, they are both fine.  The nutrient flow to Moya’s baby is steady now.  If you hadn’t gotten that valve open, it could have been very bad.  Moya is extremely grateful to you.”

“No problem, Pilot.  I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”  He answered glibly.  Zhaan looked at him oddly.  “Would you really, knowing the consequences, would you go back in the valve and do it all over again?”

John thought about it seriously.  His eyes bored straight into hers when he answered.  “Yes, I would.  If I knew it would save Moya and her baby, than I wouldn’t hesitate.”

Zhaan shook her head in wonder.  “I do not know if I have it in me to be so selfless, John.  Maybe it is you who should be a Pau’U.”

“Naw, on my planet they would just call me big hearted and soft headed.”  He replied self deprecatingly.

A quick check of his bandages showed his burns were healing rapidly and she believed with little or no scarring.  A scan of his concussion showed that he was healing fine there as well.  Zhaan put her instruments up, pleased.  “You can’t have too soft of a head, you heal remarkably fast.”  She observed with some confusion.

John sighed and closed his eyes.  “Just a figure of speech, Zhaan.”

“I will never get used to all of your Earth colloquialisms.”  She said with a shake of her head.

“That’s O.K., I’ll probably never get used to blue skin.”

She smiled and tilted her head to one side in a manner so Zhaan-like that he had to smile.  “Is there no skin variation among humans?”  She asked in wonder.

“Oh, we have variations, but mostly browns and reds, um, earth tones, if you will.  No blues or purples, no orange.  I guess in the grand scheme of things in the galaxy we’re pretty boring.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, John Crichton, you are many things, but boring isn’t one of them.”  There was a sparkle of laughter in Zhaan’s eyes that twisted John’s face into a smile in return.

“Glad to hear I haven’t lost my touch.”  he drawled, then closed his eyes.  In moments, he was asleep.

When he woke up the next time, Aeryn was there.  Her expression was impossible for him to read, inscrutable.  Inwardly he steeled himself for a dissertation on what he had done wrong, but outwardly he only smiled.

“Hey Sunshine, how are you feeling?”  He asked sincerely.

She frowned, either at the name or because he trumped her and started the conversation instead of her.

“I’m fine.”  She retorted abstractedly.  She fidgeted in her seat, recrossing her arms for lack of some sort of gesture to ease the moment.  John said nothing, just let the moment stretch.

“And you, do you feel any better?”  She asked at last.

“Yeah, actually I do feel better.  Quite a bit better as a matter of fact.”  He made an attempt to sit up then.  Aeryn was alarmed at how quickly his face drained and paled, and leaned forward to ease him back in his bed.

“Not that much better I assume.”  Aeryn said dryly.  John only nodded his head weakly, aware even in his pain of her breasts right there, in front of his face.  She sat back, and he relaxed.

“Well, spit it out, whatever it is.”  John said finally.

“What?  Spit what out?  I have nothing in my mouth.”  She looked at him in confusion.

“Whatever it is you were going to tell me about how I screwed up in the vent, just spit it out, let me have it.”  He settled more comfortably in his bed, waiting.

But Aeryn frowned.  “You didn’t screw up.  None of us had any way of knowing about the radiation in the nutrient flow, not even Pilot.  You did fine, better than I would have, I think.”  She shuddered at the thought.  “I can’t believe I said that.”

John laughed in delight.  “Wow, that must have hurt.”

She glared at him without malice.  “Just don’t go thinking that you can do a better job than me, Crichton.  Remember, I know how to do a Pantak Jab, and I know how susceptible humans are to them.”  But she couldn’t stop the slight smile that twitched the corners of her mouth.

“Ha.  I knew you were a softie at heart.”  He grinned.  “Next thing you know, you’re going to be saying I am a “fair” tech.  Oh, be still my faint heart.”

She leaned close again, much to John’s delight and desire.  “Fair, maybe, but you “suck” as a warrior.”  She was pleased at her correct usage of his human terminology.

“God, I should hope so.” He murmured.  She looked at him oddly, then seemed to realize that he had an interesting view.  She sat up suddenly, her face flushed.  She shot him a glare, but he did his best to look innocent and helpless.  “Well, then.  I have to go to...command.  D’Argo needs me in command.”  She stood up to leave.  “Do you need anything before I go?”

“No.  I’m fine.”  He shifted in his bed just a little.  “Thanks for asking though.”  God, what was with these stupid platitudes?

“Fine then.  Fine.”  She hesitated, looked at him strangely, and left abruptly.

John felt a smile creep over his face.  OK, then, maybe things were looking up after all.

The days of convalescence turned into weeks.  True to Zhaan’s word, John healed fast.  His broken fingers healed amazingly quickly.  The burns took their time, but eventually healed with little scarring, and the confusion that sometimes came over after the concussion faded.  Zhaan said it was a combination of his strong constitution and inherent optimistic attitude.  Aeryn said it was because he was to stubborn to die.  John thought they were both pretty much the same thing.

Today they were doing some routine checks of the systems on the Prowler.  Since John was still struggling at reading PeaceKeeper written text, Aeryn had him making the adjustments in the cramped engine space while she watched the readouts.  He made one more spot weld and called up to her.

“O.K., how’s that?”

A long silence followed, then a muttered curse.  John sighed and laid his head on his folded arms.  He was laying almost face down, his body pushed and shoved into a space that wasn’t meant for his frame.  He had twisted and rotated his upper body so that he could see sideways into the compartment.  This was not only extremely uncomfortable, it was also only marginally effective.   It was difficult to reach the parts he needed.  He wondered yet again at the stupidity of the designers.  When they designed these damn things, did they ever think about how difficult it was to work on them?  It reminded him of the time he and D.K. had replaced the alternator in D.K.s dilapidated 1986 Toyota pickup.  They had had to remove several major parts, including the radiator, just to get at the desired part.  This was much the same, an exercise in futility.

“Did you try to rotate the module one quarter to the right?”  Came Aeryn’s voice, surprisingly close.  John raised his head, looking first at her out of the corner of his eye and then back at the open panel.  She was close, he thought, almost on top of him.  He kept his attention on the work at hand.

“Yeah, and then completed the circuit and finished the weld.”  He made himself breath slowly, in rhythm.  She was so close he could smell her, a smell that was as intoxicating to him as alcohol.  He tried to breath through his mouth.  Damn, it didn’t work.

“It should work.  Maybe the component is faulty.”

“Maybe.”  He shifted somewhat uncomfortably.  “I can take it out if we have a spare...”

“No, we don’t have one.”  She frowned.  “That should be the number one thing we bargain for at the next commerce planet, parts for the prowler and the pods.  We can’t afford to have them out of commission.”

He shifted again, acutely aware of both her closeness and his discomfort in such a small space.  He may have been healed, but he was still fairly weak.  Zhaan would have a fit if she saw him crammed in here, especially if she knew he’d been in there for over two arns.

“Is the Prowler good to go like this?”  He asked.

‘Yes, it just won’t be as efficient.  In time it will become a problem.  It would be better if we could fix it now.”

“Right.”  he responded, somewhat distracted.  Aeryn looked from the compartment where her gaze had been transfixed by the faulty module to John’s face.  He looked pale and tired, and she realized that they had been at this for arns.  He was still weak from his accident,  although he tried to hide it, and she was suddenly worried about him.

“Come on.  Let’s get you out of here.”  She said with gruff concern.  She grabbed his arm to help him get up, but he shook her off.  “I can do it.”  He was almost petulant. Aeryn stepped back and watched him struggle into a sitting position.  Once there, he stretched his back, wincing as he did.  OK, so far so good.  He grabbed for handholds and began to pull himself upright.  Despite his insistence that he didn’t need any help, he didn’t shake Aeryn’s hand off a second time, when she helped him to finally stand.

“O.K., that’s better.”  He said.  Aeryn looked doubtful, but tactfully said nothing.  John looked her in the eye and sighed.  “I’m fine, really.  Let’s go get something to eat.”

Still looking doubtful, Aeryn turned to go.  She was stopped, but not surprised, by a loud thump and a string of hissed curses.  One look showed John slumped on the floor, his face paler than before and his expression unreadable.  Aeryn quickly knelt down before him.  “Are you all right?”

“Nothing hurt but my pride.”  He groused.  “I just stood up too fast, I’ll be fine.”

Aeryn placed her hand against his forehead, feeling for temperature.  She pulled her hand away quickly.  “I think you have a fever, we have to get you back to Zhaan.”  She began to pull him upright quickly, but John, laughing gently, refused to stand.

“I don’t have a fever, Aeryn.  I have a  higher core temperature than you, remember?”  He placed his hand over hers where it gripped his upper arm.  “But thanks anyway.”

“Oh, of course.  I forgot.”  She was flustered, a state John had rarely seen her in.  He decided he liked it.  It made her more vulnerable, more approachable.  It also made her blush.  Or maybe that was from his hand on hers?  He rather hoped so.  It had been a long time for him, maybe for her too.  And “never” was too long to wait, he thought.

The moment spun out, a slow tick of time that seemed to just hang between them.  They seemed to look only at each other, and as corny as John thought it sounded, he thought he could see her soul.  He liked that thought.

“So, are you going to help me up or what?”  He finally asked her.

“Oh!  Yes, right.”  She once again pulled on his arm, helping him stand.  Then they were face to face in the cramped space in the Prowler, no room to stand really,  not without touching.  And since she was almost as tall as he was...

John let that little fantasy spin out on it’s own.  In a fraction of a second he pictured them getting horizontal and exploring strange new worlds, so to speak, even though he knew that was about as unlikely as waking up on earth.  But her body was so close they were almost pressed together, her face was directly in front of his, her eyes were burning his soul.  He bit his lip to keep from saying what he wanted to say, to keep her from practicing her Pantak Jab again.

Incredibly, she suddenly stepped forward that half a step, and their bodies were connected, from head to toe.  Her arms went around his waist, her face tilted up to his.  He felt himself responding and leaning down to meet her, kissing her like she wanted him to.  Her entire body seemed to fit him, every curve and line blending with his until they formed one entity, wrapped in silence and strong arms.  He lost himself in the sensations of her soft body moving against his, her arms urgently lifting his shirt to stroke his back, her incredible mouth capturing and claiming his own.   And for awhile, there was no passage of time, only moments of passion.

Aeryn sat in silence on the terrace, her legs crossed in front of her and her back to the door.  Before her spread the vast tableau of the cosmos, streaking by her with casual indifference.  She clung to the vision of the stars for comfort, something soothing and unchanging in her world.  They were the one true constant in her life, the only thing that stayed the same from childhood to now.  So she watched them, hoping for an answer to her dilemma.

She had done it.  She had sex with an alien.  No matter that he looked Sebacean, no matter that it was John, friend and ally and shipmate, no matter that she knew the horror stories of her youth to be just that-stories.  She, Aeryn Sun, had been intimate with someone who was not Sebcean.  No matter how she worded it, it still sounded obscene to her.  It had been drilled into PeaceKeepers that sex with non-Sebaceans was taboo, to be avoided like the Chek-chorva plague.  She knew that there were PeaceKeepers males who had sex with non-Sebaceans, mostly slaves or servants.  But males were given more leeway in these things, she reflected bitterly.  Females, especially female PeaceKeepers, were not.  She was doubly contaminated now.  Irreversibly.  She shuddered.

Afterward, as they had lain entwined in the cramped space of the Prowler, the doubts had come creeping in on stealthy feet.  She felt his strong arms holding her, felt his breath soft in her ear, smelled his sweat and passion, and could find only terror in her own heart.  How could she do this?  John was oblivious to her boiling fears, held inside like a dark secret.

She had fled, leaving him there to find his way back to quarters, her long hair trailing behind her as she ran.  John’s calls for her to come back fell on deaf ears.   Running soothed her soul.  So she ran until the terrace beckoned, knowing that sooner or later, John would come to find her and press her into talking about it.  And she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that no matter what she said, she would hurt him.  It was inevitable.  But better to hurt him now than later, when it would be too late.  Better now than when Crais found them, and found out they had been lovers.  In reality, she was shielding him from even more of Crais’ demented sense of justice.

That she cared for him, trusted him, maybe even loved him meant nothing in the face of her own doubts.  She once again pushed those feelings aside, standing on the only shaky foundation she had left in her fragile world, that of tradition, rules and standards set by her own people cycles ago.  Her own life had been blasted into so many fragments that she sought desperately for some security.  And in the rules and regulations of her people she found them.

More than two arns had passed since she had fled the Prowler.  She had expected John to hunt her down before now, but he must have wanted to give her some space first.  Trust John to be considerate.  Damn him anyway.

A soft step alerted her.  She said nothing, didn’t move.  Only stared into space.  He didn’t sit, but stood behind her, out of sight and uncertain.  The silence stretched on, longer than that first silence.  The insane thought came to her that their silences were far more dangerous than their words.  She stared resolutely at the stars, willing him to start a conversation that she would have to finish.

“What happened, Aeryn, what’s wrong?”  His voice, velvet soft on her ears, cut deep.  She steeled herself anyway.  She had to do this, for her good and his.  She had too.

“Nothing happened, nothing should have happened.  It was a mistake.”  Her voice was flat, unemotional.  She heard John’s sharp intake of breath behind her.

“What in the hell do you mean?”  He demanded, hurt and angry beyond words.

She tightened her arms around her upright knees even as she tightened her resolve.  “Us, you, me, together.  It can’t happen, ever again.  It goes against everything I ever stood for, against every taboo we hold.  It can’t, it won’t, happen again.”

John was silent.  In another time and place she would have found humor in silencing him so completely, but not now.  Now it just hurt.  She fought down the hurt and continued into the painful silence.

“PeaceKeepers are trained that sex with alien species is the worst offense to be committed.  If I was considered irreversibly contaminated before, I am doubly so now.  It’s dangerous to you, too.  If Crais ever knew about this and he caught you...”  She stopped there, unsure of how to proceed.  John’s bitter reply cut short whatever she was going to say.

“Oh, I see, you’re doing this to protect me from Crais.”  He came closer to her, standing only a few feet away on her left side.  “Yeah, right, I get it.  It’s for purely selfless reasons that you got up after we made love and ran away like you were hopelessly contaminated.”  She said nothing, had no reply that would have helped him.

“That’s it, you feel contaminated, don’t you?”  He was amazed, in spite of her first words.  “Let’s remember something here, Aeryn, you started this little situation today, I was just following your lead.  If you feel contaminated, maybe it’s because you are.  Contaminated with free will and self awareness.  You aren’t part of the PeaceKeepers anymore, their rules and regulations don’t govern your day.  Is that so bad?”

“Is it so bad?”  She asked angrily, turning to face him now.  “Being a PeaceKeeper was my life.  I had structure, organization, I knew what to do and when to do it and there were no problems that a good pulse rifle couldn’t solve.  And now I have to deal with feelings I cannot comprehend, aliens who despise my own kind and a universe out to kill me simply for who I am.  How could you possibly understand?”

John threw up his hands.  “Yeah, what the hell am I thinking?  How could I, a mere human, possibly understand poor little Aeryn’s problems.”  He said sarcastically.

She stood suddenly, her anger visible.  “Don’t you dare compare your problems with mine, they are a universe apart.”

John was silent, his blue eyes reading the anger and pain written in her face.  She stood framed by the glittering stars, more beautiful than ever. He regarded her thoughtfully and stood his ground.

“Our problems aren’t that different, and you know it.  You just don’t want to face what’s really bothering you so you’re hiding behind the first flimsy excuse you can find.  That’s all it is, a flimsy excuse.  What are you really afraid of, Aeryn?”  His voice was low and curious.  Aeryn had time to wonder if he cared deeper than she had at first thought, before she let her anger out.

“Get it through that thick head of yours, Crichton, it never happened, and it never will happen!  Your problems are nothing like mine and I don’t fear anything!  So get it straight, and get away from me!”  The air rushed past John as she dashed out of the terrace.  He stood, silent, unbelieving.  His day, his world, had gone from heaven to hell in the space of a few hours.  In a way, it mirrored his life so far on Moya.  One day everything and everyone was in sync, all in harmony and working order.  The next day, all hell would break loose.  It seemed to be a steady pattern for his life of late, but John wasn’t so sure he liked this pattern.  He left the terrace in a heavy silence.

The meal was stale food cubes, again, and the mood was oppressive.  Aeryn sat as far away from John as she could, talking only when spoken to.  John ate listlessly and spoke with even less enthusiasm.  D’Argo appeared not to notice, instead conversed with Zhaan about the next commerce planet and rationing what little food they had left.  Chiana wasn’t around, a blessing as far as John was concerned.  Rygel was eating and complaining at a rapid rate.  His was the only real conversation, even if it was one sided.

“If I have to eat stale food cubes again I will start looking for alternatives!”  He eyed John speculatively.  “I think Chiana would make a tasty little morsel, don’t you Crichton?”

“Yeah, right, whatever.” Was Johns mumbled reply.  Rygel sighed reflectively.  Usually the human was easy to bait, but tonight he was distracted.  No fun at all.  “Well, you’re no fun tonight.”  He groused.

“Bite me Rygell.”  John muttered ferociously under his breath.  He stood then, shoving the remains of his crumbling food away from him as he walked from the table.  Only then did D’Argo and Zhaan look up.  D’Argo’s gaze followed John’s abrupt departure while Zhaan watched Aeryn steadily.  Aeryn said nothing, and didn’t look up.

After he hurriedly finished dinner, D’Argo followed John.  A quick question to Pilot informed him that John was in the maintenance bay, working on his ship.  D’Argo looked on this as a bad sign.  He had noticed that John worked on the Farscape either as a project with Aeryn or when he was feeling especially homesick or lonely.  When he had problems to work out that he thought no one on the ship could help with, he found solace in his only way home.  This was something D’Argo fully understood, it was similar to how he felt closer to his own people by playing his Shil’quin.  Besides, judging from Aeryn’s demeanor at mealtime, the problem dealt with her.  And if there was one thing D’Argo felt he knew something about, it was Sebacean women.  Lo’ Laan may not have been a PeaceKeeper, but she was still the same species.  If it was woman trouble, maybe he could help.

John was tinkering with some controls in the cockpit of his ship, not really doing any serious work as far as D’Argo could see.  He looked like dren, his face drawn and tired.  As angry as Crichton made him at times, D’Argo felt there should be a bond of sorts between them.  After all, they were the only two males on board.  He refused to consider Rygell in this elite group, the thought was ludicrous.  And Crichton had just recently recovered from his accident in the vent, for which D’Argo felt a small portion of guilt.  Here then was his chance to help.

“Crichton, you look like dren.”  was the best opening line he could come up with.  He felt reasonably sure that John would understand his attempt at humor.  Reasonably sure.

“I don’t want to talk about it D’Argo.”  Downcast eyes never left the console in front of him.  But D’Argo was not one to give up easily.

“Are PeaceKeeper women so different then, from your human women?”  Truly curious, D’Argo sat on a crate outside the ship.  To his surprise, John almost smiled.

“No, D’Argo, unfortunately they are all to much the same.”

His great brow creased in thought, D’Argo contemplated this.  “She refused you then.”  He said at length.

John seemed to falter at this statement, his hand stopping in it’s slow caress of the instrument panel in front of him.  “No, D’Argo, she didn’t refuse me.”

“Then I do not understand.”

“She...seduced me, not that it took any real effort on her part.”  He faltered, then plunged on.  “Then she ran.  And told me it didn’t happen, that she was even more contaminated than before.  Like I’m a...virus or something.”  Even speaking the words, he felt her disgust and his anguish.  How could she?

D’Argo was at a loss.  He had had to combat these same fears in Lo’ Laan, but she hadn’t the training that Aeryn had.  Anti-alien feelings ran strong among Sebeceans, especially among PeaceKeepers.  He could see no way to allay her fears as he had Lo’Laan’s.

“Do you truly care for her?”  He asked finally.

“Yes.”  Came John’s unhesitating reply.

“Do you feel she cares for you, on some level?”

He thought about it for some time, and shook his head slowly.  “I just don’t know.  How can I tell?  It’s not like she’s making this easy for me.”

D’Argo drummed his fingers on the crate deep in thought.  “I do not understand women, friend Crichton.  Why would she accept you, only to reject you in the next breath?  It is unacceptable behavior.  Maybe I should talk to her...”

“No.”  John said quickly.  “I mean, if she knew you and I were discussing this now...”

“Yes, I guess you are right.  What Aeryn needs is someone she can confide her feelings to, and onboard Moya there is no one she trusts that far.”  He paused.  “Except maybe Pilot.”

John looked at D’Argo with an unreadable expression.  “You’ve got to be kidding.  Aeryn, talk to Pilot about a relationship?”

“It could happen, although I agree that it is unlikely.”  he drummed his fingers once again.  “It is hard for me to think of Aeryn as a woman first and a PeaceKeepe second.  She is so...military.  But you and I both know she had to be good to get as far as she did.  It would be harder for her to cross that boundary than it would for others.”

“I know all that, but why go through with it and then suddenly bite my head off?”  John said miserably.  “It’s not like I did anything she didn’t want.  In fact, she initiated the whole thing, and then goes ballistic on me.  It makes no sense.”

“Since when have females made sense to males?”  D’Argo said dryly.

John settled his head against his forearms on the console.  “Since never, I guess.”

“She will come around, Crichton.  Give her time.”

“Right, time, something I have lots of.”  John said.  Inside he was thinking, I have the time of the cosmos, lost out here on a ship with a woman I love who hates the very sight of me.  If there were ever a definition of eternity, there it was.

Aeryn stalked through the corridor, looking for Rygell.  The little thief had appropriated one of her pulse pistols, a small one she liked to keep tucked into the top of her boot.  She had had enough of his sneaking around in her room.  It was high time to put a stop to it.  Ahh, there he was, his eminence was floating benignly down a side corridor.

“Rygell!”  She yelled in her best PeaceKeeper mode.  The floating throne bobbled as it stopped and turned.  Rygell, seeing an enraged PK bearing down on him, took immediate action.  He fled.

“Get back here you miserable little thief!”  She raged.  He pressed his throne for more power, urging it to insane speeds.  He dared not let her catch him in her mood, he’d be space dust if he did.  Ahh, command, and relative safety.  He screamed into the room on the edge of his floating throne, trying for a quick turn to hide behind the furthest console and the one nearest, thank all the Gods, to Zhaan.

“She’s trying to kill me!” He shrieked, cowering behind Zhaan, who watched bemused until Aeryn strode into the room.  Then the threat was clear.

“Give that miserable little slug to me.  I am fed up with him stealing everything that isn’t locked down.”  She swung her pulse rifle up for emphasis.  Zhaan shook her head slowly.

“No Aeryn, I am afraid that no matter how much you would like to push Rygell out of the airlock, I can’t let you.”  She stood solidly in front of a miserable Rygell.  “Not that I haven’t felt the urge myself, but we cannot let ourselves sink so low.”

“What?  You too?”  Rygell sputtered in indignation.

“Rest easy, your eminence.  I won’t push you off the ship, and neither will any of the others.  Tell me, Aeryn, what is missing that you think Rygell has taken?”

“My small pulse pistol, it goes in my boot.”

“And you are sure he took it?”

“He takes everything.”  She fumed.  “Now hand him over!”

“I am afraid I can’t do that just yet.  How do we know you just didn’t misplace the...”

But Rygell interrupted her.  “She’s just taking her anger at Crichton out on me!”  He protested.  “Go shoot at him, if you’re so angry.  I’m sure that would be far more satisfying.”  He added smugly.

Without a word, Aeryn charged.  But D’Argo suddenly appeared, and threw his massive bulk on the enraged PeaceKeeper before she could tear apart the diminutive ruler.  “Get the hezmona out of here Rygell!”  he roared, struggling to hold Aeryn back.  For once, Rygell did as he was told, and swiftly.  When D’Argo was certain he had made good his escape, he let her go.

Spitting venomous curses, Aeryn stood up and regained her pulse rifle.  “You had no business interrupting.”  she finally managed to say between clenched teeth.  “Someone stole my pulse pistol, and if it wasn’t the slug, it was Chiana, and the thought of either of them walking around armed is not one I like.

“While I would agree with that sentiment, your method of interrogation lacked...finesse.”  Zhaan said soothingly.  “Let’s gather everyone together and see if someone has seen it.”

“No, that will accomplish nothing!”  Aeryn shot back.  “I hope you all sleep well tonight, knowing that one of those little thieves is armed!”  Beyond all rational thought, Aeryn stormed out of the room.  Zhaan watched her leave with concern.  She turned to D’Argo for help.

“You talked to John the other day.  What is going on?”

“It seems Aeryn first gave her affections and then took them back.  She told Crichton she felt contaminated by him.  She can’t get past her PeaceKeeper training.”

“And yet she gave herself to him, first.  I find that interesting.”  She let her eyes go unfocused for a moment.  “If I know John, he is taking this harder than we think.  He is a deep thinker, despite how we perceive him.  And I know he has very strong feelings for Aeryn.  This must be devastating to him.”

“He seemed fine when we talked, although he was upset.  I assumed he would get over it, in time.” D’Argo wondered why Zhaan was so worried.  John had weathered storms far worse than this.  He always bounced back.  He said as much to Zhaan.

“Yes, D’Argo, it’s true.  But how much can he take?  He is the only one of his kind, far far from home, stranded on an alien ship with unknown species and being chased by a maniac.  And now, rejected by someone he cares about because he is alien to her.”  She stared thoughtfully at nothing.  “Taken one at a time, he could probably deal with it.  Taken one on top of another, it may be overwhelming.”

“And from everything we are seeing, Aeryn’s not taking it well either.”  D’Argo replied wryly.  Zhaan agreed.  But what, really, could they do?

He lay back on his bed, staring at the dark ceiling, the alien ceiling, that had been his for months now.  God, was it close to a year?  Getting there, anyway.  A long time.  Longer even, these last few months.  He lay there, sleep a distant dream, and contemplated his life thus far.  A prodigy and scholar and hero on Earth, he was a clown and a fool here, barely above the most primitive status there was.  Despite the odds against him, he had managed to learn enough about this alien technology to get by.  But he was still inferior, still a barbarian.

His shipmates regarded him with a mixture of disgust and barely concealed amusement.  They regarded him as a wayward child, someone they had to keep watch over so he wouldn’t get into trouble.  Never mind that he had gotten them out of quite a few jams already, that was never considered.  And now they seemed to think he needed help.  Well, he could get by without help, he didn’t need them.  Deep in his own funk and drowning in his despair, John couldn’t see their concern for what it was.  To him, it was condescending and demeaning, just one more way for them to keep him down.

So he stared at the ceiling and let his mind wander, let his hand caress the stolen pulse pistol, let his despair take over and rule his world.  After all, there was nothing left of him now but a shell.  She had taken all he had to give and thrown it back at him.  Naked and alone, a savage among the civilized, he wallowed in his grief.  There was nothing else of him to give, to anyone.  He was an empty vessel, cracked and broken, discarded and unwanted.  There was no way home and no possible escape, just a slow suffering or a quick end to pain.  All that was required of him was to raise the pistol...

He sat up in bed, naked save for his shorts.  His skin gleamed with a fine sheen of sweat, despite the chill air.  Without thinking of his destination, but knowing deep inside where he was bound, he left his room.  As far gone as he was, he still couldn’t take that conscious last step and put the gun to his head.  He was a survivor, damn it, always had been.  But cut off for so long, and without hope or relief from despair, he was finding it more and more difficult to hang on.  The small part of his mind that clung desperately to life clamored to be heard, only to be overwhelmed by anguish and fear.

He came to a halt in front of the terrace window.  The vast panorama of stars that had captured him so completely as a child and as a man meant little to him now.  The beauty before him had been exposed as a deadly kind of beauty.  He had no love for it anymore.  He let his forehead rest against the cool shield between himself and oblivion and waited for the end.

Aeryn bolted upright in bed, her breath coming in labored gasps and her hair in a wild disarray.  A dream, it was only a dream.  But that’s ridiculous, she thought.  I don’t dream, PeaceKeepers are trained not to.   At least, not to remember them when they do.  But this dream...

She had been wandering the ship, dressed exactly as she was now in her shorts and a PK undershirt.  She didn’t know just what she was looking for, but she knew it was important that she find it.  The feeling of urgency and fear never left her, instead it grew stronger.  She found herself heading for the terrace as if pulled by invisible strings.  Once there, she hesitated to open the door, afraid of what might be in there, what horrible scene of carnage or pain she had hidden from herself.  A high pitched whine decided for her.  A pulse shot, from the terrace!  She palmed the door latch and ran in, heedless of her lack of weapon.

John lay on the floor, his back to her.  He was still, his legs outstretched, his left arm doubled underneath him.  In his right hand he still clutched her stolen pulse pistol.  A puddle of blood, black in the starlight, gleamed obscenely.  Despite her training, despite all the beings she had killed in her life time, Aeryn screamed and woke up.

She sat on the edge of her bed, wondering why she was dreaming now, what had happened to corrupt her training, when she realized that the sense of urgency from her dream was real.  She felt it, a palpable uneasiness that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.  With a horrible clarity, she knew where she needed to go and what she needed to do.  Without a second thought, she ran for the terrace.

Her heart was pounding a staccato beat, her breath was catching in her lungs.   Unbeknownst to her, tears streamed down her cheeks.  She had to make it on time, she had to stop him.  She called herself all kinds of a fool and pagan for not realizing what was happening.  She could deny to the gates of John’s Hell and back, but she knew she loved him and that was what had scared her.  To be loved, cherished, and needed, those weren’t the goals of a PeaceKeeper, but it was what she wanted.  Letting go of her past wasn’t easy, but clinging to it was even harder.  And in clinging to it, she was destroying the only thing, the only person in her life who meant anything at all to her.  She was destroying her only chance at happiness, as well as destroying him.  She had to stop him, she had to.  She ran on and on, for his life and for hers.  For their life together.

The terrace door would be closed, maybe even locked.  Without a second thought she shouted into her com badge.  “Pilot!  Open the terrace doors!”  Her pace never slackened as she ran.  There, around the corner, the terrace.  The doors were just starting to open, but the light was far to dim inside to see any real details yet.  She pounded on and on, finally skidding under the slow door and slowing to a stop.  She remembered to breathe.

John stood, the gun held loosely in his right hand.  If he had noticed her presence, he showed no sign.  His eyes remained unfocused on the stars.  Aeryn sat and desperately tried to calm her breathing.  She noticed the tenseness of the muscles in his back though, and his stiff posture.  NO, she thought, you are not going to do this.

“Don’t John, please, don’t do this.”  The words came out on their own.  She struggled to her feet, and slowly approached him.  “It’s my fault, I’m sorry, I am such an ass.  You have to listen to me.  Please, just listen.”  If he was listening, he gave no sign.  But the gun never moved, his right hand stayed loose and relaxed.  She continued.

“I couldn’t, I mean, I didn’t understand what I was getting myself into.  I was attracted to you and yet my training, every fiber of my being, told me it was wrong.  I thought if I just went with my feelings, for once, like you tried to get me to do, it would be right.  I tried, and failed.  And I hurt you.  I never meant to.”  She stopped to wipe the tears from  her face.  A PeaceKeeper, crying!  and over an alien male, no less!  She had no time for false recriminations now.  She had to make him understand.

“But my feelings were right, no matter what my training said.  My instincts have never let me down, and they keep sending me back to you.  How I deal with the excess baggage is something I will have to figure out.  But I can’t go on, not without you.”

His head had turned, only fractionally, in her direction.  She pressed her advantage.

“What happened was my doing and the results are my fault.  I couldn’t face how I felt, I was so scared.  I have never felt this way before, how could I know?  It was overwhelming.  We were laying there, and all I could think of was, I never want this to end.  I never want to be away from your arms again.  But nothing lasts forever, Crais is bound to catch up to us someday, and then what?  We’ll die.  How could I face that, knowing that it’s my fault?”

She stumbled to a stop, her face crumbling with sur pressed emotions and fear.  What else could she say?  She trembled where she stood, waiting her judgment.

“And how did you feel, Aeryn?”  he said softly, so softly she barely heard him.

“I felt...I...I...”  She stumbled to a stop, biting her lip, and plunged on.  “I love you, John, I just wouldn’t let myself see it.  I was afraid of love, I am afraid of love.  And I have never been afraid of anything in my life.”  She sounded thoroughly miserable.

“Do you?” He wondered.  “I never wanted it to end, either.”  He replied, still not turning to look at her.  “I thought that for the first time since I took off in Farscape all those months ago, something was going right.  For once, I felt like I was a part of something, not just in the way.  You, me, we were right, just for that moment.”

“We can still be right, John, just please, don’t do this.  Please, I am begging you, don’t do this.”

The silence was palpable.  Again, John thought about their silences, his and Aeryn’s.  So significant, so strong.  What, he wondered, was she thinking?  Did she truly love him or was she so ridden by guilt that she would say anything, do anything, to make him stop?  He wasn’t sure.

“There’s a saying on earth, about love.  They say, it’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.  I think about that once in awhile.  I loved my mother, but she died.  If I had never known her at all, would I have been the same person I am now?  Probably not.  But it seems like everyone I love I’ve lost.  Mom, dad, D.K., friends, and you.”  He frowned.  “I guess I’m getting tired of losing.”

Before she knew what was happening, the pulse pistol was raised, swiftly, inexorably, to his head.  To Aeryn everything moved in slow motion.  Her own scream, wordless and incomprehensible, sounded dim in her ears.  His arm moved with a confidence the belayed his action, slowed in her senses like a bad vid with a glitch.  She propelled herself towards him, tackling him around the knees and pitching him forward.  The pulse pistol, clutched tighter now, didn’t fall from his grasp.  She clambered up his body, slick with sweat, to grab it.

He fought back wordlessly, refusing to release the pistol.  She grabbed his wrist and used all her considerable strength to slam his hand against the flooring again and again.  He struggled beneath her, his breath hissing in and out of his lungs like fire.  She found herself sobbing, “No, no, no...!” over and over again as she fought him.

With a sudden burst of energy, he thrust her away from him, flipping her over and on to her back.  Her grip was still on his wrist though, and she pulled him with her.  The gun was at face level, with him trying to pull it towards his head and her pushing it away.  They struggled like this for an eternity, until she abruptly kneed him in the crotch.  The sudden slacking of his muscles allowed her to grab the gun from him and toss it as far away as she could.  She heard it clatter to a halt somewhere in the darkness behind them.

He rolled off her, curling into a ball of agony.  Afraid to lose contact with him, she  wrapped her arms around his shoulders.  He shuddered at her touch, whether from love or revulsion or a mixture of both she didn’t know.

“I love you.  No matter how hard it is for me to understand, I love you and I will never, never leave you.  You once promised me you wouldn’t leave me, remember?  You can’t start backing out on promises now, just because I am being such a...”  She struggled for a word that would suffice, finding none.  John supplied one.

“A bitch?”  He offered, sucking in a painful breath.

“What does a female dog, whatever that is,  have to do with anything?”  She asked seriously, and was surprised to feel him shaking with laughter.  He was laughing?  What did she say?

“Never mind.”  He said, sitting up.  He looked her in the eye for the first time and she saw that despite the laughter, the pain was still very close.  “This isn’t going to be easy, Aeryn.  I want to trust you, but I’ve been there before.”

“I won’t let you down, I promise.”  She insisted.

“It won’t be easy.”  He said again.  Was that a challenge in his eyes?

She smiled and reached out a hand to stroke his cheek.

“No, it won’t be easy.  But it will be right.”

They held each other in the starlit room, only the blazing cosmos in attendance.

Finis