Return to Dad's Worst Nightmares
The battered pod lurched in its wounded flight. The Peacekeeper weapon had been effective. Even with Aeryn at the controls the pod struggled in the attempt to return to Talyn, in the escape from Moya.
There was no attempt at conversation between the two occupants. Aeryn concentrating on her task, John staring blankly between his feet, afraid to look at the screen and perhaps accidentally catch a glimpse of the horror they had abandoned. Not that he needed to look, he already had it on instant replay.
~
"Pilot! Talyn's already moved out, Starburst now!" Yeah, he was always in control. That was the way it always had to be; John Crichton, master of all he surveyed.
"Commander, Moya senses something is not right!" Pilot, as nervous as usual. Paranoid Moya.
"Hey, pal? See that big gun? Well, it's gonna do unto us what it did unto the pod. Tell the damn ship to *move*!"
There hadn't been a response, only the surge of Starburst. Then the fireworks had started, Scorpius' getting even for two cycles of disappointment. The explosion felt like a ripple. John had been in a bad earthquake once, had seen Aunt Ruth's porcelain gnomes dying on her polished hardwood floors. The frame of the house had rippled like Moya rippled under his feet then. He had almost expected to hear his mom screaming to get outside. Instead it was Pilot who screamed as unimaginable pain coursed through the Leviathan.
He hadn't wanted to leave, even when the atmosphere started rushing out, and flames roared through the tiers. He had always ended up on top, right? There had to be a solution, a way to beat the odds again.
"Crichton! We have to get to the pod now," Aeryn shoving him away from the devastation of an elegant ship.
She had gotten so good at watching out for him…without looking at him, or even letting him talk to her. His Sunshine, letting him know just where he stood. At first he hoped her care was because they had a future; after a couple of months he'd realized it was simply a matter of duty and honor and loyalty and that sort of Peacekeeper bullshit. His guess was that she thought she owed the dead John.
So he'd let her shove him onto the pod, not surprised that once she pushed him through the door, she brushed by him without a word. He was the copy, and they all knew it. The rotting bird just hanging around Aeryn's neck.
~
The pod skipped again, almost throwing him out of his seat. He clung to the edge desperately, very aware that falling out would mean landing on the stains on the floor that he couldn't help but stare at. Somehow he thought his mind might crack if he touched the smudges that had been Chiana and Jool and Rygel.
Yep, the Peacekeeper weapon had been most effective. But before he had seen that first-hand, it had been D'Argo's turn.
"Crais! Open the frelling bay door!" Aeryn's voice cut through the memory, turning off the replay for the moment, as habit made John's fingers dance over the controls of the pod.
"Let us in, let us in," he called. He pressed another control, nodding as the bay door opened. "Ala-kazam," he looked at Aeryn, smiling thinly as she was surprised into a question.
"What did you do to him?"
"Covered the locking mechanism with tape when he went inside to get his checkbook." Yeah, he knew the bit of his culture would freeze her up again. When she looked away, he snorted in derision. Somehow he got the idea that Aeryn's new mission in life was only to torture herself by being near him. He wasn't sure if it was working for her, but she had long since killed the part of him that cared about anything.
Isn't it odd how quickly only love of the deepest kind can sour? How the months of averted eyes and never being quite good enough to win even one smile could make you a little nuts?
The pod smacked against Talyn's deck, and John came close to putting a hand *into* one of those marks on the floor as he tumbled out of the seat. By the time he had regained his footing, Aeryn was gone, probably to calm Crais down. He was going to be pissed at the fact that Crichton had put in a door override when he wasn't looking.
John would have gone straight for his quarters, except for the shouting. Crais and Aeryn having it out. Did he care? No, but at least Aeryn hadn't put him in the kill file; better to back her up and stay on the good list.
He should have realized Talyn would blame him. That wasn't a big shock; the cannon pointed at a pale Aeryn was. When he stepped through the door, Crais' eyes opened wide at the sight of him, and he started shaking his head, maybe in warning. Then Talyn started his assault on his captain again.
"Get off this ship now! I cannot guarantee your safety from Talyn any longer!" Crais clenched his fists at his sides, as if by sheer will he could rein in the ship. The cannon suspended from the ceiling wavered, swinging away from John and Aeryn as Crais somehow wrested control again.
"Crais. No one could have known," Aeryn tried to placate, her words as much for the ship as for its captain. She tried to hold back the tears, standing there with hands outstretched; an offering in the strange light from the view screen that etched her cheeks and lips in surreal relief. Standing there with the light of Moya's burning hull making *her* look like the corpse.
"Talyn blames both of you! I place the guilt where it belongs!" he shouted as his ship's emotions threatened. The cannon wavered back to point at John.
"Don't you *dare* try to put this on me, *Bialar*! It was Scorpius. He - he *knew* we would Starburst. Maybe you’re the one that tipped him off! Huh?" John almost screamed back, well aware that he was about to snap, at the same time that little inner voice accusing that he already had.
"You are stupid, human, a very poor copy indeed. If only you had half the courage of the other! I can still hear them screaming! Frell you, do you *know* how long a Leviathan can burn before it dies?" Crais' eyes closed, pressed tight against his pain, as he seemed to plead and struggle with the inner demon he had made in his own image. Struggled, muscles so tight his hands shook and blood trailed, dripping down where fingernails bit deep. When he collapsed on the deck, it was obvious that he had lost.
"Talyn. Wait," John's eyes opened wider as the cannon swung around, trained on him. He opened his arms wide, as if in surrender. As if to end it all in one gory splash against the deck. Better this way, the inner voice whispered, you've hurt them all enough, the ones that trusted you. And in that split moment all he could picture was D'Argo.
~
Of course John went to the rescue. Wasn't that what he did, hadn't he been cast as the rube this time around? And as the rube, he had believed Scorpius.
The Prowler set down with usual John Crichton panache, propulsion systems winking out. The guards that surrounded the fighter acted twitchy. Maybe that should have warned him. Duh, the inner voice laughed in its high maniacal style. They just stood there and watched him step down, walking his walk as they parted for him like the biblical sea. Bringing him so that he could talk his talk to the freak that ran the show.
'Where is he Scorpius?"
No words, just that casual nod to a Braca, with the grotesque head tilted a little as if to record every nuance of the human's reaction. Capturing every precious moment of hope and fear and anguish, and finally that rage.
Braca was smug. He tossed the rings through the air in a lazy arc. John caught them, clenching them tight in his hand, knowing exactly what they were before he even opened his hand. Two black-stained rings. About the size you'd need to keep a Luxan chained to a wall.
'You psychotic motherfucker,' he had to whisper, his throat was too tight to scream. Pale as a ghost he stared at the rings, before the blood of anger filled his face. His rage was thick, perfect. And Scorpius drank from it, smiling his satisfaction at this course.
'John! Natira may have been foolish enough to fall for such a rescue, but I am not.' The half-Scarran looked to the guards flanking them. 'Look for a device on his Prowler, something…incendiary, I should imagine. And Braca? I also believe there will be another vessel –another Prowler, John? No? A transport? - approaching soon. It will try to keep its trajectory within the null portions of our scanning systems. Have the techs alter the frequencies.'
~
"Frell! Look out!" Aeryn's hands tangled in the sleeve of his shirt, pulling him roughly back to reality, away from the bursts of light that he had almost welcomed. Once again he let Aeryn save him, push him to the pod. For whatever reasons, compassion the least likely, Talyn let them go. Let them fly free.
John stared as Moya and Talyn faded from view, that inner voice keening in his mind. Biting and clawing, it made Harvey seem like a comfy pair of shoes, this new echo of his own voice. He could feel the ends of his sanity fraying.
"Get back here now! Scorpius' frelling web did something to the environmentals, I need you to be *here* to help with this," she didn't add the 'at least', but they both heard it.
"You haven't needed *me* for a long time," he snapped back, kneeling beside her. He ignored the anger boiling in her eyes as he waded into those dangerous waters. Pulling at the tangle of wires, hoping for an easy fix, he almost grinned as the voice whispered to him. Wading? Shit. Why not plunge headfirst?
"You should have let Talyn finish it. Splat. No more copy around to *remind* you," he yanked another wire, the sparks showering his hand.
"You have no frelling idea what you're talking about, Crichton," she sat back, perhaps a little surprised he had even pushed that hard. She pushed back. "I trusted you as much as I would have John. So did the others."
He let a slow trickle of air escape his tight lips. She's right, they *did* trust you, the voice ranted. Look where it got them!
~
John had been there when the pod was opened, hands trussed behind him and Scorpius' friendly hand on his shoulder. But before that he had begged. Pleaded for this Fate to spare the threads of the girls and Ryg.
"Scorpius, they are in a frelling pod! Let me talk to them, tell them to just go away! Please." He fought tears as the audio picked up one-way. The girls and Rygel, coming to save the day; they had believed the trajectory he outlined would keep them invisible. The pod struggled in the web, clinging to invisible strands spun on Scorpius' wheel.
"I'm sorry. They would only try foolishly to rescue you again. They are dedicated, aren't they, John?" again with the head tilt, seemingly reluctant to break eye contact with his captive even as he gave his next order. "Lieutenant Braca, fire at will."
Yeah, the Peacekeepers were always trying out new weapons. Funny how Scorpius was the only one that called him John anymore. The deadly wave bled through the pod. Snip, snip, snip. Stains on the floor.
Living components had broken down even more rapidly than any of the techs could have hoped. Scorpius had been especially pleased that the ship had been only minimally damaged, while the occupants had been reduced to a liquid.
Scorp hadn't counted on Aeryn, though. He should have read her training records more closely. Officer Sun was true to her breeding, if nothing else.
~
Sparks flew from the wires, as once again he was distracted from the pain that was his.
"Well, Aeryn. You can just add this to the list of things I've screwed up. I can't fix it," he shoved the wires back into the hole, not caring when the pod lurched.
He fell backward, landing against her, the closest he'd been in half a cycle. He froze, the habit of not invading her space engrained with so much practice. He had forgotten that she smelled like…Aeryn. Her breathing hitched against him. When she didn't shove him away, he dared to turn to look at her.
What had he expected? Her eyes were clenched shut against a memory that had nothing to do with him. Of course it had everything to do with him, that was the problem. The hot press of her hand against his face was a surprise. He wanted to pull back, scream at her to open her eyes, but did neither.
When her lips found his neck with a silken kiss, he knew how perfect *they'd* been together, and had no illusions as to what she was pretending. Pretending as she tugged at his clothes, quick hands in the front of his pants as she plied him with silvery kisses. It would be so easy to play along, just give in and let himself enjoy being used, he thought. He leaned closer, found the tab of the zipper, pulling it down with a jerk. She trembled as he let his fingertips trail over the skin of her stomach, lifting herself up to help him get her pants off. Her hands moved faster, and he almost let himself be caught inside of her fantasy. Instead he slid the flat of his hand down, fingers pushing her legs apart a little, letting her pull him closer. Pressed down tight against her, he looked bitterly at the still closed eyes. Well, there was no way he was going to let her off that easy.
"But will you still call me Crichton in the morning?" he whispered against her ear as he thrust forward, feeling her heat take him in.
"Bastard," was all she managed, her hips slamming into him almost painfully as she led their joyless rhythm. Her mouth found his neck again, teeth at his neck bruising his flesh, and her nails dug deep into his sides as he moved with her. He grabbed away her hands, squeezing the slender wrists too hard, smashing them down on the deck, ignoring and welcoming the pain when she bit deep into his shoulder. There was nothing of the slow sweet time they had shared once on a false Earth. It was soulless and brutal, each taking what they could, with neither giving anything.
It became obvious, maybe even to both of them, that what they were doing wasn't about love, or sex, or recreation, but about revenge. Both of them taking revenge on each other, and at the same time the one who had died. It was over before it really began. The lay gasping for breath, tangled bodies tense with so much anger that they both knew the situation was about to get ugly.
"It's too hot. Get off me," she said clearly, but now she was looking at him. He had the feeling that she had just given up on watching out for him. Maybe she'd decided that duty wasn't all it was cracked up to be.
"Yeah, sorry for the inconvenience. I'll go back to this panel now, but when you feel like fucking a ghost again, just let me know," his voice and face were tight as he refastened his pants. He hadn't known before just how *furious* he was about the way she had treated him, or how much the bitterness of being the 'copy' had stuck in his throat.
"Does this mean your need for self-pity is filled for today?" she wasn't done pushing. So she pushed as hard as she could. "Crais was right, you know. You are a poor copy."
"That's real good, Aeryn. Put your clothes on," he tossed her pants at her, turning back to the panel. He heard her move away to the front of the pod.
The voice almost made him giggle as he looked at the nest of wires. You can't fix this, you can't fix her, you are so *screwed*, it sang. We are all gonna die!
"Didn't we do that once?" he whispered, the grin that twitched the corners of his mouth absurdly out of place. Aeryn was right about one thing, he thought, it was too hot in the pod. And he had been right about another; he couldn't fix the wiring, not before it got too hot.
"Are any of the suits left?" It was funny how his voice seemed to echo when there was no emotion left.
"No," she answered without looking away from the star-filled screen. "We can't vent the atmosphere, either. I checked the oxygen sensors."
Too much pure oxygen, the voice wondered? He didn't answer it, refusing to think of what felt like another life. Instead he sat in the other seat, staring at the stars, feeling the voice crawl around his head, antennae brushing his mind. He wondered vacantly what Harvey thought of the new addition to the family.
"We can't put out a distress beacon," she muttered.
He glanced at her; this was the most she'd spoken to him since they had been put back together. Understanding hit him as he saw the sweat beading on her forehead. She *was* getting too hot. He remembered it from the last time; the shakes and the memory lapses and the promise he hadn't had to keep. He found that he couldn't look away, only watch as her hand trembled when she pushed a piece of hair away from her face.
The voice started giggling madly, and he felt like joining it. Yeah, things were about to go pear-shaped.
An arn later she could barely move, only lay on the floor gasping. The last words had been to tell John to get frelled, so he had retreated to sweat in his own corner, thinking about promises, wondering how close she'd get. He twisted a piece of wiring in his hands, twining it around first one finger and then another, winding it up, letting it uncoil. It was nice to have something to keep the voice away.
He looked up when she started to seize. Stood up with Wynona in hand, glad that he hadn't taken it with him when Scorpius had taken him. Only thing he'd done right in a long time was leaving the stupid gun on Talyn.
"Aeryn?" he asked as he squatted next to her slowing jerking frame. He was glad there was no answer. As long as he just didn't *think* he'd be okay. It would be no big deal. Just blast once, and it would all be over. At least she'd be back with the one she had loved.
He shifted the pistol slightly, aiming. "Forgive me once more," he whispered.
Why the tears? Why do you mourn? Frelling voice, he thought. Well, it didn't realize it was next in line, was going to get up close and personal with Wynona.
He closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. And felt his stomach roll when nothing at all happened. No burst of light, no easy way out.
"Fuck," he whispered to no one in particular as he looked at the pulse pistol. He hefted it in his hand, feeling the weight and the balance. It was heavy, but was it heavy enough? He had thought of venting the pod, but the voice had kept him from it. Once again, he wondered about Harvey. Had he been killed off, too? Re-focusing on the pistol, he felt Aeryn twitch again.
He decided the pistol was heavy enough. It was at that moment he actually heard his sanity snap. It sounded like teeth being broken, he thought. He didn't even realize he was giggling insanely when his first swing the peppered the wall of the pod with a fine spray of blood.
***
The Sebacean cargo ship docked the pod carefully. The small vessel had seen some hard times, and the single life sign inside might not withstand a heavy jolt.
Armed guards ringed the small vessel, suspicious of the lack of communications from the occupant. They weren't really prepared for the horror that stepped from the pod.
"How badly are you injured?" the medic shouted, trying to press forward. There was so much blood covering the Sebacean male that the medic wondered how he could still walk.
All of them jumped when the stranger laughed. At least the medic's reports would read that he had laughed; to those there it had sounded more like a hysterical shriek. The medic shivered involuntarily, feeling the short hairs on the back of his neck stand.
It was when one of the guards finally slipped into the pod and surprised his comrades by racing back out to gag onto their shining deck, that things got chaotic.
John looked blearily at the ring of weapons pointed at him, barely heard the voices shouting for him to drop his pulse pistol, and didn't even close his eyes to the explosion of flame that erupted around him.
