nymeria_dw (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nymeria_dw) wrote2010-03-06 04:59 pm
nymeria_dw) wrote2010-03-06 04:59 pm
Entry tags:
AERYN'S JOURNEY - #21 Interlude 1 - FLIGHT
AERYN'S JOURNEY - Interlude 1 - Flight
(a Farscape fanfiction)
Author: Nymeria
Disclaimer: the Farscape universe and its characters do not belong to me - I'm just borrowing them for a little while.
Rating: PG
Setting: the uncharted ground between Seasons 3 and 4
Note: this story carries some slight reference to this one nymeria-55.livejournal.com/11132.html although it's not vital to the enjoyment of this one.
=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*
The boisterous, loud voices float down the corridor from the mess-room, punctuated by the occasional thump of a hand slapping on the table-top, and laughter.
After tossing and turning in my cot for long arns, I thought I’d take a walk and get tired enough to sleep, but I forgot.
Forgot that there is no endless expanse of silent decks to be found here. That these cold, dull metal walls offer no comfort.
But mostly it's the voices.
Familiar and foreign at the same time: the noise attracting me with the hint of familiarity, the difference stopping me a few steps from the threshold.
In that moment of forgetfulness I had come to expect warm, golden walls and a ring of well-known faces looking up at me, before realizing that I'd slipped once again into one of those reality shifts that happen without warning.
I know the faces of the people in there, of course, and their names, assets and liabilities.
Like Kharis and Vreela, former Peacekeepers like me, good fighters, fine pilots, reliable; or Joofer, once a farm boy looking for adventure, now an expert in explosives; or again Bryn, the youngest, the one who takes care of onboard systems.
And Kremiss, the leader of this group. A good man, rough and kind at the same time, just like his face, where the smiling eyes are offset by an unkempt beard and a crooked nose, maybe the gift of some tavern brawl.
Yes, I know them all, I've come to rely on them as they do on me. Yet something's missing.
I always expect other faces, other voices. Another life.
Wake up, Sun. This is your life, now.
Not what I thought it would be, though.
Helping the helpless is satisfying, no doubt about it. Feeling you made a difference, changed something for the better, gives you a sense of accomplishment.
But it's not enough. Not for me.
The emptiness is always there, lurking at the edge of perception, waiting to come out of hiding and pounce when I lower my guard, or in moments like this, when we are between missions and enjoying the results of our work.
There is no amount of gun cleaning, or ship's maintenance or exercise that can fill the void.
Feeling lonely, soldier?
These snide remarks always come in Xhalax's voice, reminding me of things best left unsaid and unremembered.
Before I can trace my way back, Vreela steps in the corridor, halts, a big smile blossoming on her freckled face.
"Ah, there you are, Aeryn! I was coming to get you. Come on, we're having a bit of fun!"
She takes hold of my arm and drags me into the mess-room, where a chorus of voices greets me, a glass of raslak is pushed in my hand and friendly forcefulness makes me sit in a chair.
Come on soldier, you can manage a little company. They deserve it.
I paste a smile on my face and sip the raslak, while the noise goes on unabated all around me.
They have a right to feel proud. Nobody likes raiders, and those frelling bastards had been preying on the weak for too long.
Then there was the…unexpected bonus I found on that planet.
I give in to the rush of savage satisfaction from the memory (You don't deserve to live!), knowing it will leave a cold, hollow feeling in its wake. But while it lasts, it warms me more than the raslak, and it's just as heady.
Though in the end the chill always wins.
I empty my glass in a futile attempt to keep it at bay, and that's when my gaze crosses with Kremiss'. He's watching me. Again.
What started as puzzled curiosity has now turned into undisguised concern.
Something that should make me angry – it used to, once – but now breeds only sadness, and guilt.
Kremiss gets up from his seat and crosses the short space down the table to come sit beside me. He uncaps the raslak bottle in his hand and fills both our glasses.
"So, you've come out of hiding at last!" The grin is friendly, but the eyes look troubled.
"I am not hiding–"
"Well, whatever you call it, I'm glad you've decided to join us!" Kremiss lowers his voice. "It's not good to spend all that time alone, you know…"
"I'm more comfortable on my own–"
"Dren!" He beats a fist on the table. "That's just a big load of dren, and we both know it!"
The others still pretend to be going on about their business, but they're listening, with the same concern on their faces.
Suddenly I feel short of breath. "I'll go back to quarters now. Thank you for the drink."
Getting to my feet, I step quickly out of the mess-room and into the corridor, I pay no heed to the echo of Kremiss' steps behind me. If I ignore him, if I give him the "cold shoulder treatment", as John called it, he might give up and leave me alone.
But he's not so easily sidetracked. Not this time.
"Aeryn…" Half pleading and half frustrated.
Suddenly too tired to keep fighting, I halt at the entrance of the deserted room where we hold tactical meetings.
He seizes the chance and motions me inside with a nod.
"You know I take care of my people," no preambles, no hesitation. "And that doesn't mean just providing for food, water and air. Or weapons. We're like a family. We share dangers and rewards – and troubles, when it comes to that. Tell me yours."
"There is no trouble, Kremiss. Nothing at–"
"Do you take me for a drannit?" He's angry now, and he doesn't notice me flinching at his choice of word. "Even a blind man would see that something is eating you from the inside out." His voice softens. "Let me help you. Let us help you, Aeryn."
Words stuck in a constricted throat, I just shake my head. He won’t understand that I'm beyond what he wants to offer.
"You haven't exactly been forthcoming when you joined our group," Kremiss is relentless, "and we all respect that, but since the mission on Tequaen you've been…frell, you've been worse than a ghost!" He almost – almost – grabs my shoulders, then lets his hands fall to his sides. "What happened there? Because I know something did."
"Nothing happened." Just that I found vengeance, and it tasted like ashes.
"Then what–?"
"I'm leaving at our next stopover, Kremiss." The decision is suddenly there, surprising me more that it does him. "It's nothing to do with you or the group, it's–"
"I've seen this happen before, Aeryn." Kremiss looks sad. Defeated. "Running is not the answer, you know."
"I'm not running. I just need something more…demanding. Challenging."
"You call it challenge, I call it a death wish!" He cuts through my attempt to reply. "I've already seen it. I know the signs." He turns around and moves toward the corridor, looking tired. Then he glances back at me over his shoulder.
"Next port is a frelling mudball, it's only good for supplies and other dren. If you can wait until we land on Rijalk, I can give you a contact for the…challenge you're looking for."
"Thank you, Kremiss."
"Don't thank me!" He's angry again, the kind of anger that masks sorrow. "Don't frelling thank me!"
Listening to his receding footsteps down the corridor, I lean my forehead against the metal wall. It's warmer than I am.
"You haven't said goodbye to the others…"
"I don't like goodbyes, Kremiss."
A gust of wind shakes the brightly colored marquees hanging over the shops in the plaza. It's warm, with just a hint of dampness, but I see Kremiss shiver. Someone's walking on my grave. Another one of John's nonsensical sayings, but it seems appropriate, somehow.
"He's in there," he motions with his chin to a doorway in the far corner. "He's expecting you. Name's Lechna."
"Thank you, Kremiss. For everything."
"Don't waste your life, Aeryn. Whatever you do, don't waste it. Please."
"I won't." I grasp his shoulder in reassurance. Mine, his, I don’t know. "I won't, I promise."
Kremiss just shakes his head, and turns toward the spaceport and the waiting shuttle, without a backward glance.
The shadowed doorway beckons to me, the slant of the sun hiding what's beyond it.
Not that it matters.
(a Farscape fanfiction)
Author: Nymeria
Disclaimer: the Farscape universe and its characters do not belong to me - I'm just borrowing them for a little while.
Rating: PG
Setting: the uncharted ground between Seasons 3 and 4
Note: this story carries some slight reference to this one nymeria-55.livejournal.com/11132.html although it's not vital to the enjoyment of this one.
=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*
The boisterous, loud voices float down the corridor from the mess-room, punctuated by the occasional thump of a hand slapping on the table-top, and laughter.
After tossing and turning in my cot for long arns, I thought I’d take a walk and get tired enough to sleep, but I forgot.
Forgot that there is no endless expanse of silent decks to be found here. That these cold, dull metal walls offer no comfort.
But mostly it's the voices.
Familiar and foreign at the same time: the noise attracting me with the hint of familiarity, the difference stopping me a few steps from the threshold.
In that moment of forgetfulness I had come to expect warm, golden walls and a ring of well-known faces looking up at me, before realizing that I'd slipped once again into one of those reality shifts that happen without warning.
I know the faces of the people in there, of course, and their names, assets and liabilities.
Like Kharis and Vreela, former Peacekeepers like me, good fighters, fine pilots, reliable; or Joofer, once a farm boy looking for adventure, now an expert in explosives; or again Bryn, the youngest, the one who takes care of onboard systems.
And Kremiss, the leader of this group. A good man, rough and kind at the same time, just like his face, where the smiling eyes are offset by an unkempt beard and a crooked nose, maybe the gift of some tavern brawl.
Yes, I know them all, I've come to rely on them as they do on me. Yet something's missing.
I always expect other faces, other voices. Another life.
Wake up, Sun. This is your life, now.
Not what I thought it would be, though.
Helping the helpless is satisfying, no doubt about it. Feeling you made a difference, changed something for the better, gives you a sense of accomplishment.
But it's not enough. Not for me.
The emptiness is always there, lurking at the edge of perception, waiting to come out of hiding and pounce when I lower my guard, or in moments like this, when we are between missions and enjoying the results of our work.
There is no amount of gun cleaning, or ship's maintenance or exercise that can fill the void.
Feeling lonely, soldier?
These snide remarks always come in Xhalax's voice, reminding me of things best left unsaid and unremembered.
Before I can trace my way back, Vreela steps in the corridor, halts, a big smile blossoming on her freckled face.
"Ah, there you are, Aeryn! I was coming to get you. Come on, we're having a bit of fun!"
She takes hold of my arm and drags me into the mess-room, where a chorus of voices greets me, a glass of raslak is pushed in my hand and friendly forcefulness makes me sit in a chair.
Come on soldier, you can manage a little company. They deserve it.
I paste a smile on my face and sip the raslak, while the noise goes on unabated all around me.
They have a right to feel proud. Nobody likes raiders, and those frelling bastards had been preying on the weak for too long.
Then there was the…unexpected bonus I found on that planet.
I give in to the rush of savage satisfaction from the memory (You don't deserve to live!), knowing it will leave a cold, hollow feeling in its wake. But while it lasts, it warms me more than the raslak, and it's just as heady.
Though in the end the chill always wins.
I empty my glass in a futile attempt to keep it at bay, and that's when my gaze crosses with Kremiss'. He's watching me. Again.
What started as puzzled curiosity has now turned into undisguised concern.
Something that should make me angry – it used to, once – but now breeds only sadness, and guilt.
Kremiss gets up from his seat and crosses the short space down the table to come sit beside me. He uncaps the raslak bottle in his hand and fills both our glasses.
"So, you've come out of hiding at last!" The grin is friendly, but the eyes look troubled.
"I am not hiding–"
"Well, whatever you call it, I'm glad you've decided to join us!" Kremiss lowers his voice. "It's not good to spend all that time alone, you know…"
"I'm more comfortable on my own–"
"Dren!" He beats a fist on the table. "That's just a big load of dren, and we both know it!"
The others still pretend to be going on about their business, but they're listening, with the same concern on their faces.
Suddenly I feel short of breath. "I'll go back to quarters now. Thank you for the drink."
Getting to my feet, I step quickly out of the mess-room and into the corridor, I pay no heed to the echo of Kremiss' steps behind me. If I ignore him, if I give him the "cold shoulder treatment", as John called it, he might give up and leave me alone.
But he's not so easily sidetracked. Not this time.
"Aeryn…" Half pleading and half frustrated.
Suddenly too tired to keep fighting, I halt at the entrance of the deserted room where we hold tactical meetings.
He seizes the chance and motions me inside with a nod.
"You know I take care of my people," no preambles, no hesitation. "And that doesn't mean just providing for food, water and air. Or weapons. We're like a family. We share dangers and rewards – and troubles, when it comes to that. Tell me yours."
"There is no trouble, Kremiss. Nothing at–"
"Do you take me for a drannit?" He's angry now, and he doesn't notice me flinching at his choice of word. "Even a blind man would see that something is eating you from the inside out." His voice softens. "Let me help you. Let us help you, Aeryn."
Words stuck in a constricted throat, I just shake my head. He won’t understand that I'm beyond what he wants to offer.
"You haven't exactly been forthcoming when you joined our group," Kremiss is relentless, "and we all respect that, but since the mission on Tequaen you've been…frell, you've been worse than a ghost!" He almost – almost – grabs my shoulders, then lets his hands fall to his sides. "What happened there? Because I know something did."
"Nothing happened." Just that I found vengeance, and it tasted like ashes.
"Then what–?"
"I'm leaving at our next stopover, Kremiss." The decision is suddenly there, surprising me more that it does him. "It's nothing to do with you or the group, it's–"
"I've seen this happen before, Aeryn." Kremiss looks sad. Defeated. "Running is not the answer, you know."
"I'm not running. I just need something more…demanding. Challenging."
"You call it challenge, I call it a death wish!" He cuts through my attempt to reply. "I've already seen it. I know the signs." He turns around and moves toward the corridor, looking tired. Then he glances back at me over his shoulder.
"Next port is a frelling mudball, it's only good for supplies and other dren. If you can wait until we land on Rijalk, I can give you a contact for the…challenge you're looking for."
"Thank you, Kremiss."
"Don't thank me!" He's angry again, the kind of anger that masks sorrow. "Don't frelling thank me!"
Listening to his receding footsteps down the corridor, I lean my forehead against the metal wall. It's warmer than I am.
"You haven't said goodbye to the others…"
"I don't like goodbyes, Kremiss."
A gust of wind shakes the brightly colored marquees hanging over the shops in the plaza. It's warm, with just a hint of dampness, but I see Kremiss shiver. Someone's walking on my grave. Another one of John's nonsensical sayings, but it seems appropriate, somehow.
"He's in there," he motions with his chin to a doorway in the far corner. "He's expecting you. Name's Lechna."
"Thank you, Kremiss. For everything."
"Don't waste your life, Aeryn. Whatever you do, don't waste it. Please."
"I won't." I grasp his shoulder in reassurance. Mine, his, I don’t know. "I won't, I promise."
Kremiss just shakes his head, and turns toward the spaceport and the waiting shuttle, without a backward glance.
The shadowed doorway beckons to me, the slant of the sun hiding what's beyond it.
Not that it matters.