How many solar days passed, John hadn't a clue. Finally his father was able to take him home. John wisely hadn't brought up Moya or anything else referring to the Uncharted Territories. He picked up from the doctors and others that he had gone up in his module and crashed it. He was only gone for a few hours then he “lost control” supposedly. John willingly accepted that nothing else was going to make sense and he didn’t want to end up stuck in an insane asylum, so he kept his mouth shut. No matter how badly he wanted answers, he would just take everything with a grain of salt. He’d just have to wait until Moya and the rest came to rescue him.

Home. His home. Just like he left it, except maybe a little cleaner. The dishes were cleaned, the carpet had been vacuumed . . . It was just as if a day had passed or maybe two.

It didn’t take long for John to get accustomed to his old life and adjust to his normal Earth self. On Friday night, as usual, he and DK planned to go out. They went to the same Bar & Billiard that they had been going to since high school to have a beer and scope out the girls. As John sat at the bar, he didn’t feel the urge to scope the girls that he used to have. He felt he had matured past that stage in his life. However mature, he wasn’t ready to admit to himself that it was Aeryn who had changed him . . .or even admit that she was constantly on his mind.

Like every other Friday night, the same group of people bought packages of cigarettes and the others bet on games of pool. DK and John sat with their drinks at the bar. As DK started on his third or fourth, he looked up at John. “Hey—You alright buddy?”

“Yeah, fine.” John replied.

“It looks like there’s something on your mind. Something you can’t shake . . .you wanna talk about it?”

John had been watching a guy teaching his girlfriend how to shoot pool.

“See that white one?” the guy asked her.

“Yeah,” she nodded.

“Yeah, OK. That’s the cue ball. You want to hit that one so it hits the other one into there.” He pointed down the pool table toward the adjacent pocket.

John pictured himself helping Aeryn understand the concept. His arms folding around her to assist . . . Lost in thought, he didn’t hear DK’s question.

“John— Here, have another. Whoever she was, she musta hit you pretty hard.”

John waved the beer away. “Yeah, she hit me all right,” he said without realizing he said it aloud.

“Whoa! Just one tonight?”

“Yeah DK, I gotta keep my head.”

Just as DK offered again, John stood up abruptly as he spotted a woman through the window. “Aww, no way!” John walked across the room toward the window. Sure enough . . .

He ran out into the street as DK shrugged and went back to his drink.
 

“Aeryn!” John spun around. “AERYN!” He could have sworn it was her! He thought for a split second about giving up and going back to the bar where DK sat, but his mind dismissed it at the slight chance . . .the hope that it might really be her. His mind couldn’t possibly be playing tricks with him. He turned around once more. He saw a mass of brown, PK-ponytailed hair disappear around a corner.

“AEEERRRRYYYNNNN!” He stumbled through crowds of people eagerly searching for the flat-butted ex-Peacekeeper. He followed her likeness through town and finally he was able to catch up to her. He called her softly, “Aeryn . . .”

She turned to face him. Her face was scarred.

“Aeryn, what-what happened to—?”

The look of shock on her face turned into great sorrow . . .pain . . . “Scorpius happened. He thought we were hiding you.”

“My God! I’m sorry!” He tried to reach out and touch her-to hold her, but she backed away from him.

“Chiana’s dead. Zhaan’s dead,” her voice trembled.

John didn’t take this information lightly. He hesitated to ask, “What about D’Argo?”

“D’Argo’s gone. He went to search for his son. After Chiana and Zhaan died, he cared little about anyone resembling a Peacekeeper—” She couldn’t continue. Her look of shock had ceased, but she let tears roll down her cheeks despite herself.

Though they stood in a rather crowded street, Aeryn broke down and threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his chest. “I-I-I thought we had lost you. I-I thought I’d never . . .” The rest of her sentence was muffled by sobs.

Tears formed in John’s eyes as well as the strong-willed Aeryn let down her guard in his presence. “Aeryn . . .” he breathed into her hair. Judging by Aeryn’s description of what had happened, how shocked she had been to see him, and how emotional she seemed to be, John knew more than three days must have passed. After a moment of holding her, he asked in a barely audible voice, “How-how long has it been?”

“Over three cycles!” she whimpered.

John just then spied a small figure cowering behind Aeryn. “Who’s this? Another refugee Moya picked up?”

Aeryn’s attention was turned from John to the child. “No, John. This is my-our daughter.”

“Daughter?” his lips formed the words cautiously. Had he heard her right? “Our daughter?” His mind was reeling. “I come back and it’s like a day-and-a-half passed, when it’s been nearly two years and then Aeryn comes after I’ve been here three days and she tells me it’s been three cycles,” he thought.

He pushed his thoughts to the back of his head. This was here and now. Aeryn stood before him with their daughter by the hand. Though part of Aeryn’s cheek was scarred, the glow of motherhood had not left and to him, she would always be the most beautiful woman in all the Universes.

He kissed Aeryn’s forehead and whispered, “I love you, Aeryn.” Then, he bent down to be at eye level of their child. He looked from the girl to Aeryn. “What’s her name?”

“Cylaera,” Aeryn murmured just as quietly as John had breathed. She said with more confidence, “Cylaera Crichton.”

“Hey, Cylaera,” John said like a true father.

Cylaera hid behind her mother’s leg.

Aeryn bent down like John and faced the child. “Cylaera,” she said matter-of-factly, “this is your father.” She glanced at John. “Go on . . .”

Cylaera saw John as her father, recognizing him from the logs on Moya which her mother had shown her many times, but always with a great sense of sorrow and loss. She fell into her father’s welcoming arms.

“Cylaera,” he repeated. He stroked her startling blonde locks and stared. “She looks just like you, Aeryn.”

“I’ve been waiting-hoping for this moment for so long,” Aeryn said partially to herself.

John picked up the giggling three-cycle-old and said, “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

Aeryn curtly replied, “No. What would your father say? To him, you haven’t even left! There’s no way he’d believe—“

“Aeryn, he’ll understand. I’ll make him understand.”

“No, really—”

“It’s fine. Come on.”

As he expected, Aeryn finally gave in and he led them to his house. His father was much more understanding than either of them had thought.

Aeryn made no arguments about sleeping arrangements, but actually suggested that she and John would stay together. She was tired of being alone.