Aeryn Sun's Gunpoint Christmas
Author: John Clifford (Elflore)
Disclaimer: I own no characters, holidays, or really cool toys
(well, I do own some Farscape action figures which ROCK, but that's a
whole other story…). I'm just playing with them for a bit, and
hoping you might enjoy what I've come up with, purely for fun
and `holiday spirit'.
Spoilers: None!
Archiving: If I've already given you some of my fic, sure.
Otherwise, probably, but please e-mail and ask first, thanks!
Elflore@aol.com
Feedback: Hezmana yes, please, always! Again, e-mail Elflore@aol.com
Summary: My take on Christmas with our favorite dysfunctional
family. I figured everyone writes "John introduces Moya's crew to
holiday x, w, or z" fics (not that I don't love them!), and I thought
I'd try it the other way round…
When John had first arrived on Moya, life hadn't really seemed so
bad. He'd been full of hope, certain he could find a way home again
before long, and full of wonder, too. He was an astronaut, an
explorer, and living out his childhood dreams, for goodness' sake!
Reluctantly, true, and he'd give them up in an instant for a beer in
the backyard with his dad, but still…
Then came the Gammak Base, and the Aurora Chair, and everything
changed. All the life was sucked out of the game, and out of
Crichton himself, and all that remained was weariness. Maybe a
little hope, too, but only shreds and tatters, barely enough to keep
him going.
And the hope wasn't pure anymore, either. That was another problem.
In the beginning, his dream had been simple. Find another wormhole,
give a quick thanks to Moya and her crew, hop in the Farscape, and
cruise on home. Maybe take Aeryn with him. Now…he wasn't sure what
he really wanted anymore, let alone what he could get. Would he
really fit in on Earth anymore? Or would he be leaving the best of
himself…or the best that was left, anyway…up in the stars?
John had found it easier to stop dreaming altogether. Literally—
Zhaan had given him something to help him sleep deeply, and to keep
his thoughts Scorpy-free while he rested—and figuratively. He just
plodded through each day, doing what he had to do, and expecting
nothing. Sometimes the emptiness still threatened to drag him down,
to swallow him whole, but those always seemed to be the days when
Aeryn smiled…
And then, one day, she did a little more than that.
* * *
Back home, it was coming round towards holiday time. Or at least,
that's what it said on the rough calendar sitting on a shelf in
John's quarters. The one he'd made himself, carefully counting the
days since he'd been stranded on the insane side of the universe.
Well, most of the time. But it was his story and he was sticking to
it; which meant this was Christmas. But it was hard to feel festive
with visions of Scorpius dancing in your head. So John looked at the
date, and saw just another number, and refused to see anything more.
Until Aeryn Sun dragged him out of bed, on the morning
labeled `December 25th'. Dragged him all the way down to the cargo
bay, where a star-bright smile blossomed on her face. She looked, in
that moment, strangely like an angel.
"Happy Crizmis, John."
All of their shipmates were there, too, and Pilot on the clamshell.
There were presents, clumsily wrapped in an odd Uncharted Territories
material midway between paper and plastic. And they were piled
beneath a real, honest-to-God Christmas tree. The shape was right,
even if the color was wrong (trust a former Peacekeeper to find an
everblack pine) and the base was scorched…it looked like Aeryn had
cut the thing down with the lasers on her Prowler.
Most amazing of all…or maybe just frightening…Rygel was swaddled in
bold furs, red with white spots, topped with a matching stocking
cap. He was glowering, inevitably.
"Um, Rygel…don't you have something to say?" Aeryn asked after a
moment of ludicrous silence.
Rygel's growl darkened, and John shrugged. "Maybe he's the Grinch?"
"Will you excuse me for a moment?" Aeryn replied, unnaturally
polite.
John shrugged again, and she marched over to the diminutive Dominar's
throne-sled, pressing her pulse pistol against his neck. Crichton
suppressed a sigh of relief; for a moment there, he'd been afraid
they might have another body-snatcher or mind-frell situation on
their hands.
"Rygel," Aeryn growled. "Don't you have something to say?"
"No. I think my dignity has been compromised quite enough, thank
you. Besides…we both know you wouldn't, because you've spent far too
much time with the human. Especially on *Crizmis*," he added with a
smarmy smirk.
"Fine," Aeryn agreed. The pistol went back in its holster. "But
need I remind you that a feast is also a part of this tradition. How
would you like to spend it locked in a cargo container, your lowness?"
Sparky surrendered, of course, mumbling, "Ho. Ho. Ho."
D'Argo grinned wickedly. "I'm sorry? Did you say something, Rygel?
We couldn't quite hear you over here."
"Ho, Ho, Ho! All right? YOTZ!"
But Crichton alone wasn't laughing. In fact, he was already gone.
* * *
"John? John!"
Aeryn caught up with him halfway back to his quarters. He didn't
struggle when she grabbed his arm, didn't even turn to look at her.
"Aeryn…I'm just not in the mood, okay?"
She stepped round in front of him, searching his eyes, but they were
just…dead. Few things in the universe frightened Aeryn Sun, but this
was one of them.
"What's gotten into you, Crichton?" she demanded. "You told me about
this tradition of yours, a cycle ago. Wanted to share it with…all of
us. But now…and lately, all the time you've been…"
"It's just not the same, Aeryn. *I'm* not the same. I appreciate
the thought, I really do. But it's just…all you're doing is
reminding me of everything I've lost, back home and inside. It's not
your fault, but it's how it is. And someday I'm going to have to
start accepting how things are…maybe this is as good a time as any."
He didn't wait for a reply, just started again for his quarters.
"Fine!" Aeryn called angrily after him. "If that's how you want it…
but the rest of us are going to frelling enjoy this Crizmis!"
* * *
It was Pilot who finally saved the day, in a typically subtle
fashion.
As the rest of Moya's crew commenced their Crizmis feast, he left
John's comm open.
All the jokes, all the laughter, all the razzing of Rygel rang as
loudly in Crichton's quarters as they did in the mess hall. Zhaan
remembered John speaking of `Crizmis carols', and began to sing.
Pilot soon joined, and Chiana, and then D'Argo led a few bawdy Luxan
drinking songs. Even Sparky took part, sharing `The Ballad of the
Sixteen Dominars'.
Lying there in the dark, alone, listening to such joy…Crichton
couldn't sleep, and he could only feel sorry for himself for so
long. At last he made himself get up. Maybe they'd have a little
something of the feast left to share.
If nothing else, there had to be a serving of humble pie with his
name on it.
* * *
As it turned out, there was plenty of food left when John stepped
into the mess hall. And an awkward silence. Then Aeryn waved him to
a seat at her side, and gave him one of those Erp-shattering smiles,
and at last John began to realize…
Perhaps he wasn't as far from home as he thought.
THE END