Unclean

by Shaye
snortgirl@earthlink.net

DISCLAIMER: Farscape is the genius of O'Bannon & Kemper, Henson, Sci-Fi
&etc. It's either fanfic or therapy.

SPOILERS: SoD, DMD, THM

RATING: PG

ARCHIVING: Let me know first.

SUMMARY: Aeryn feels unclean. A tag to Season of Death.

NOTES: Aeryn's reaction to her experience seemed very natural and realistic
to me, but I didn't think of this until I was in the shower. Another one
written half on post-its. ;-}

~*~

Aeryn was cold.

To be expected, she guessed. A small trade-off in comparison to others that
were made. She felt herself irrevocably altered somehow, though she could
not voice the distinction. She couldn't even begin to grasp it. All she
knew was that she felt a deep chill, down to the very center of her body.

She also felt dirty. Cold, and dirty. Her tired mind suggested only one
solution. A simple solution, a thing that people did every day. A shower.
A small ritual that would have meant nothing any other day. Today, now -
this was the first shower she wasn't supposed to take. The first of many
things she would do because of Zhaan. If there was one person she couldn't
face at the moment even more that Crichton, it was Zhaan. How do you thank
someone for giving you their life?

Aeryn made the water much hotter than she should have, in the danger zone
for her Sebacean physiology. Heat delirium, however, was a slower death
than drowning. She thought she could live with it this once. Anything to
get rid of the chill.

She shed her clothing, stepping under the spray. It pelted her back with
tiny drops that burned on her skin. She stood like that for several hundred
microts, trying not to think. The drum of the water on her body was
hypnotic; it eased away the disquiet of her mind. Slowly, she moved into
action, tilting her head back slightly to let the spray sluice through her
hair. More than anything else, she needed to be clean. Clean from the
stench of death that she could feel permeating her pores, clean from the
several and varied blows that her belief system had taken. Clean from the
blood of Pa'u Zotoh Zhaan. Her hands shook a little as she smoothed her
hair and reached for the cleaning compound.

All the frustration, anger, fear, sadness, despair, guilt she was feeling;
all of it, everything, she poured into getting herself clean. Sobbing
angrily, she scrubbed her body until her skin was raw, and still it did not
feel enough. Still she felt like the walking dead, like an abomination.
She used to believe in herself, and she used to believe in living. Now she
had nothing to hold on to; not even her own competence. Not even John,
because she could not bring herself to allow him to die for her. And more
importantly, she could not bring herself to allow him to kill for her.
There would be no more death because of her existence; not until she was
clean.

Aeryn fell to her knees in the stream of water, not really sure where her
tears stopped and the shower began. She pressed her hands to her face. She
felt stupid to be wasting this chance; but it was so fragile, so delicate, a
gift she felt would break if she breathed on it, that she dared not use it.
She dared not enjoy it, for fear that she would forget. Aeryn knew she was
not fragile, oh no. But life - the phenomenon of living suddenly seemed so
enormous, so impossible, that she couldn't let herself live it. She would
go on fighting, but she would not live. Maybe her life would last longer
that way. Used only in the smallest increments, doled out like a secret and
guilty pleasure. Yes. That was how she would handle it. Not wasted,
either way.

The decision reached, Aeryn stood and turned her attention to her hair. Her
hair needed to be clean as well. Death crept in it, following her and
giving her a waft of its scent every time she turned her head. She would
wash it. Twice.

The second time Aeryn was rinsing the lather from her tresses, her hands
came upon something strange. There was a thin section of hair that had been
cut off, noticeably shorter than the rest of her hair. She pulled it out
from the side of her head and looked at it. The ends, she thought, were
jagged, like they had not been cut very carefully. Strange. When had
that...?

Right. The noticeable gap in her memory could be perfectly accounted for.
Why don't you remember that being cut? Oh, no reason. Just that I was
dead.

She turned off the water quickly and toweled herself dry. Dressing in a set
of loose black clothing she'd kept around since her recovery from her broken
leg, she set out to find Crichton.

Aeryn got no farther than the door of her chamber when she stopped.
Crichton. John. She would do this later. Suddenly exhausted, she laid
down on her bed, just for a moment. Just for a moment, she told herself.
Just a moment. Again and again she repeated it under her breath, until she
rationalized herself to sleep.

When she woke more than an arn later, her hair had dried in a messy halo
around her head. Aeryn rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand and ran
her fingers through her uncombed hair. Now that she knew it was there, the
shortened portion was remarkably easy to pick out. She glanced in the
mirror, but it didn't stand out. Sighing heavily, Aeryn set off to find
John.

She finally found him in one of the maintenance bays, sitting on a table and
twiddling with some of the spare biomechanoid parts laid out beside him. So
insatiably curious. John looked up at the sound of her step, a question on
his face as she came near. Aeryn stopped an arm's length from him, several
emotions warring for provenance on her own face. Finally her brows came
down in a slight, inquiring frown as she combed her fingers through her hair
and held the cut section out for him to see. John cleared his throat, his
eyes falling to the ground. After a moment, he again met her gaze steadily.
Time stopped.

She held her breath as he reached into his pocket and drew out a dark lock
of hair, knotted hastily in the middle. He smoothed it between his fingers
and held it out to her. Aeryn took it, fingering it as he had done.

Words caught in her throat. Her brows rose over shining eyes; making a
visible effort, she spoke softly. "Why?"

He hopped off the table and came a step closer to her, once again taking
possession of the lock of hair he'd cut during her funeral. He sniffed.
"It's customary," he replied hoarsely.

"Humans do that for everyone who's died?" Did he have a piece of that tech
Gilina's hair in one of his pockets? His mother's?

He hesitated before answering, "No. Only those they love deeply. It seemed
like the right thing to do. The only thing I could do."

She paused, considering. "It obscene," she stated calmly.

"No," he protested. "It's...something to hold on to." He held the lock of
hair to his lips, inhaling. A slight smile played over his face. "It
smells like you."

She took it again, testing his theory. She grimaced. "It smells like
death."

He shook his head, his expression going soft. "Funny. I thought it smelled
like springtime."

Aeryn shrugged, neither agreeing nor denying. She took his hand and curled
his fingers around the lock. "You put that in a safe place," she
instructed. "You might need it someday."

A strange, shocked look of understanding dawned on his face. "Is that what
this is about?"

She avoided his eyes, considering carefully. "Not...entirely."

John tucked the piece of her hair back in his pocket and took her hands in
his. "Aeryn...I didn't just almost lose you today. I did lose you,
irretrievably I thought." Leaving the consequences of that hanging implied
between them, he leaned in closer, his voice dropping. "You haven't just
worked your way into my heart. You are my heart."

She looked up sharply, eyes wide. "You do remember," she murmured.

The corner of his mouth twitched upward. "He stole that moment from us. It
didn't seem fair."

A few tears finally spilled over onto her cheeks, and she stepped into him
easily for a tight embrace. He clutched her hard, not making any more
frantic movements than that. Just glad that they were both alive, and could
hold each other. She crushed him in the strength of her arms. It would be
so easy to just stay here like this. Easy, that is, if it weren't quite so
intense. She pulled away, shaking her head, wildly saying, "I can't. I
can't, I just can't..." Not until I'm clean, she added silently.

"Aeryn, Aeryn," he soothed, taking her head in this hands and trying to
assure her. He sighed. "I don't like it. But I get it. You do what you
have to. And when you're done, you'll know where to find me."

She closed her eyes tight. When she looked at him again, his were deep and
soft and so open. Yes, they said, it will be all right. Everything will
come out fine. She flashed him a small smile, turning to walk away. But a
voice in the back of her mind told her it was not for good.

In the meantime, she felt cold and dirty. Maybe a shower would help.

FINIS