nymeria_dw (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nymeria_dw) wrote2010-03-12 07:05 pm
nymeria_dw) wrote2010-03-12 07:05 pm
Entry tags:
AERYN'S JOURNEY - #23 Interlude 3 - REBOUND
AERYN'S JOURNEY - Interlude 3 - Rebound
(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
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I wake up from a sleep that is more blackout than rest and for a moment I can't remember where I am.
Then the familiar contours of the Prowler's cockpit come into focus, and with them hazy recall – and the heat.
I am drenched in fire, it runs through my veins, whispers in my lungs, burns away thought and consciousness.
The drugs are not helping anymore – I knew they would fail sooner or later, but I hoped they would give me some more time, allow me to extend the search a little further.
Moya's elusive trail would have been hard to track even in perfect physical condition – in my current state, I might have missed important clues and be unaware of it.
Focus is becoming more an exercise in willpower than the easy reflex it used to be, and despair eats at my waning strength more than heat delirium does.
I know I am going to die, I have come to accept that. But I don't want to die alone.
I'm proud of my life, and I am with you.
I finally understand what John meant, and I want to be with my friends, my family, more than anything else.
It's funny how much time and effort I spent trying to distance myself from them – and him. To sever the bonds we forged through shared adversity, before some cruel turn of events did it for me.
It's funny, when I consider how much pain and loneliness I endured trying to avoid pain and loneliness.
The chuckle that bubbles up at this Crichton-like nonsense becomes a jagged sigh threatening to turn into a sob.
Self-pity will lead you nowhere, soldier! Square those shoulders and get up!
Xhalax is as harsh and unyielding as ever, but I've come to depend on her for support. And I welcome the company.
The places I've been, the people I've questioned, all turn into a meaningless blur: dead ends, all of them, until a glimmer of light – of hope – makes its way through the fog of heat and exhaustion.
Archeological dig. A Luxan. Interons. Leviathan.
Not much, but enough to drive me on. I'm going home.
There is no home. The echoes of those words, in John's anguished voice, run through my head in a never-ending loop, laced with the bitterness of disappointment.
Moya's not here, if she ever was, and my comm signals go unheard and unanswered.
I spent all I had left in me to get here and there's no going any further. This is the end of the road.
"Don't give up, babe. Not now when you're so close."
"I'm exhausted, John. And I don't take advice from hallucinations." But I lean back anyway and let the ghostly hands massage my shoulders, taking what comfort I can from the illusion.
"Ok, so I'm a fake." He snorts a laugh. "But he's still there, and he wouldn't want you to give up and die. You and the baby both."
"At least I'm sparing him the pain of seeing that happen."
"Do you really believe this would ease his grief, Aeryn?" A new voice, one I have not heard in a long time.
"Zhaan?" Her smile is as gentle as I remember it. "What other choice do I have?"
"You once told me that my life for yours was a bad trade. Prove yourself wrong. Be a warrior once more, and fight."
"I don't have the strength anymore, Zhaan. I should just end it now with a nosedive…"
"I told you that self-sacrifice is not the answer! Why nobody ever listens to me?!"
"Hello Rygel. This Prowler is getting crowded, you know…" Not that I mind, though.
And darkness is cool and welcoming.
Movement. Sound.
The hiss of the canopy opening. Colder air on my face. A voice, words muffled by the blood pounding in my ears.
Hot. So hot.
Strong arms lifting me, carrying me– where? Who?
"John?" Am I home?
"No. But we are going to find him. Together."
Familiar. Danger! Treachery!
"Don't fight me. I'm going to help you."
Can't fight.
Too hot.
I remember waking up, once, marveling about being still alive. It's almost the same now, although there is no true relief: I feel the searing fingers of delirium reach out for me, barely held in check by– What?
"Welcome back, Officer Sun! I was starting to think it was too late to reverse your condition…"
"Scorpius?" Another hallucination?
"I am quite real, don’t worry!" Is he reading my mind? "I've watched you converse with your phantom friends for the past several arns, so I understand your…disorientation."
"What have you done to me?" I try to sit up but I'm too weak and movements feels strange, difficult.
"Saved you from the Living Death. You were on the brink of it, when I found you."
He raises my left arm and I see I'm encased in a suit similar to his. With agonizing slowness, I bring a hand toward my face, to find that most of my head is covered with the same material. I claw at it in a feeble attempt to take it off and he pushes my hand away. Easily.
"Now, now, Officer Sun. Be reasonable. This cooling suit has saved your life and it's going to keep your condition from deteriorating."
"Why?"
"Don't you want to live and find your friends? Moya?"
"Again – why?" I'm not so far gone that I'm not suspicious.
"I don't believe that Crichton and the others would welcome me with open arms–"
"So you're using me as a bargaining tool? Frell you–!"
"As a gesture of goodwill, Officer Sun." He sighs, almost hesitates – Scorpius, hesitating? – then goes on. "My career has taken an…unforeseen downward turn, and I don't enjoy my previous…status anymore."
"Yes, losing a Command Carrier does that to you." Viciousness feels good, almost invigorating.
"But my goals haven't changed," he lets my outburst wash over him, unperturbed. "Nor has the threat of the Scarrans. If the knowledge Crichton possesses fell into the wrong hands, it would mean the destruction of the Sebacean race, or even worse, its subjugation. You, as a Peacekeeper, must appreciate the implications."
"I am not a Peacekeeper anymore."
"But you must care about what happens to–" he cuts off the fierce snarl with a visible effort. "Officer Sun, in my present state I am not a threat to John Crichton anymore. I can still offer him my protection, though. And hope – yes, hope – that with time he will come to his senses."
It’s always a matter of choices, isn’t it?
No more running away, I promised myself that. So I must choose.
"Rest now. You need to gather your strength. We will talk again later."
His voice fades into welcome unconsciousness.
"I am glad to see you again, Aeryn. Moya and I missed you very much."
"So did I, Pilot. So did I."
The hot breath of delirium forgotten for a moment, I give myself up to the sheer joy of this encounter: caressing Pilot's head, feeling his huge, soft eyes on me, I feel only safety and contentment.
I am home. Whatever happens now, I'm back home.
"We are worried about your…companion, though."
"He saved my life, Pilot. You have nothing to fear from him."
"Why is he here, and what does he want?"
"He is…he is a fugitive now, like the rest of us. He needs a…place to stay."
- He is a fugitive just as we are. Which means that his goals and ours may no longer conflict.
- Then his loyalties lie only to himself. Which makes him more dangerous. Not less.
I suddenly recall this conversation, and the consequences of misplaced trust. Wondering if I'm not repeating the same mistakes. My choices are even more limited now than they were back then. As is my time.
"The others will not be pleased…"
"I gave my word, Pilot. I owe him that much."
I am not a Peacekeeper anymore, true, but I still abide by the old principles and I always fulfill my obligations.
I have promises to keep.
(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
=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*
I wake up from a sleep that is more blackout than rest and for a moment I can't remember where I am.
Then the familiar contours of the Prowler's cockpit come into focus, and with them hazy recall – and the heat.
I am drenched in fire, it runs through my veins, whispers in my lungs, burns away thought and consciousness.
The drugs are not helping anymore – I knew they would fail sooner or later, but I hoped they would give me some more time, allow me to extend the search a little further.
Moya's elusive trail would have been hard to track even in perfect physical condition – in my current state, I might have missed important clues and be unaware of it.
Focus is becoming more an exercise in willpower than the easy reflex it used to be, and despair eats at my waning strength more than heat delirium does.
I know I am going to die, I have come to accept that. But I don't want to die alone.
I'm proud of my life, and I am with you.
I finally understand what John meant, and I want to be with my friends, my family, more than anything else.
It's funny how much time and effort I spent trying to distance myself from them – and him. To sever the bonds we forged through shared adversity, before some cruel turn of events did it for me.
It's funny, when I consider how much pain and loneliness I endured trying to avoid pain and loneliness.
The chuckle that bubbles up at this Crichton-like nonsense becomes a jagged sigh threatening to turn into a sob.
Self-pity will lead you nowhere, soldier! Square those shoulders and get up!
Xhalax is as harsh and unyielding as ever, but I've come to depend on her for support. And I welcome the company.
The places I've been, the people I've questioned, all turn into a meaningless blur: dead ends, all of them, until a glimmer of light – of hope – makes its way through the fog of heat and exhaustion.
Archeological dig. A Luxan. Interons. Leviathan.
Not much, but enough to drive me on. I'm going home.
There is no home. The echoes of those words, in John's anguished voice, run through my head in a never-ending loop, laced with the bitterness of disappointment.
Moya's not here, if she ever was, and my comm signals go unheard and unanswered.
I spent all I had left in me to get here and there's no going any further. This is the end of the road.
"Don't give up, babe. Not now when you're so close."
"I'm exhausted, John. And I don't take advice from hallucinations." But I lean back anyway and let the ghostly hands massage my shoulders, taking what comfort I can from the illusion.
"Ok, so I'm a fake." He snorts a laugh. "But he's still there, and he wouldn't want you to give up and die. You and the baby both."
"At least I'm sparing him the pain of seeing that happen."
"Do you really believe this would ease his grief, Aeryn?" A new voice, one I have not heard in a long time.
"Zhaan?" Her smile is as gentle as I remember it. "What other choice do I have?"
"You once told me that my life for yours was a bad trade. Prove yourself wrong. Be a warrior once more, and fight."
"I don't have the strength anymore, Zhaan. I should just end it now with a nosedive…"
"I told you that self-sacrifice is not the answer! Why nobody ever listens to me?!"
"Hello Rygel. This Prowler is getting crowded, you know…" Not that I mind, though.
And darkness is cool and welcoming.
Movement. Sound.
The hiss of the canopy opening. Colder air on my face. A voice, words muffled by the blood pounding in my ears.
Hot. So hot.
Strong arms lifting me, carrying me– where? Who?
"John?" Am I home?
"No. But we are going to find him. Together."
Familiar. Danger! Treachery!
"Don't fight me. I'm going to help you."
Can't fight.
Too hot.
I remember waking up, once, marveling about being still alive. It's almost the same now, although there is no true relief: I feel the searing fingers of delirium reach out for me, barely held in check by– What?
"Welcome back, Officer Sun! I was starting to think it was too late to reverse your condition…"
"Scorpius?" Another hallucination?
"I am quite real, don’t worry!" Is he reading my mind? "I've watched you converse with your phantom friends for the past several arns, so I understand your…disorientation."
"What have you done to me?" I try to sit up but I'm too weak and movements feels strange, difficult.
"Saved you from the Living Death. You were on the brink of it, when I found you."
He raises my left arm and I see I'm encased in a suit similar to his. With agonizing slowness, I bring a hand toward my face, to find that most of my head is covered with the same material. I claw at it in a feeble attempt to take it off and he pushes my hand away. Easily.
"Now, now, Officer Sun. Be reasonable. This cooling suit has saved your life and it's going to keep your condition from deteriorating."
"Why?"
"Don't you want to live and find your friends? Moya?"
"Again – why?" I'm not so far gone that I'm not suspicious.
"I don't believe that Crichton and the others would welcome me with open arms–"
"So you're using me as a bargaining tool? Frell you–!"
"As a gesture of goodwill, Officer Sun." He sighs, almost hesitates – Scorpius, hesitating? – then goes on. "My career has taken an…unforeseen downward turn, and I don't enjoy my previous…status anymore."
"Yes, losing a Command Carrier does that to you." Viciousness feels good, almost invigorating.
"But my goals haven't changed," he lets my outburst wash over him, unperturbed. "Nor has the threat of the Scarrans. If the knowledge Crichton possesses fell into the wrong hands, it would mean the destruction of the Sebacean race, or even worse, its subjugation. You, as a Peacekeeper, must appreciate the implications."
"I am not a Peacekeeper anymore."
"But you must care about what happens to–" he cuts off the fierce snarl with a visible effort. "Officer Sun, in my present state I am not a threat to John Crichton anymore. I can still offer him my protection, though. And hope – yes, hope – that with time he will come to his senses."
It’s always a matter of choices, isn’t it?
No more running away, I promised myself that. So I must choose.
"Rest now. You need to gather your strength. We will talk again later."
His voice fades into welcome unconsciousness.
"I am glad to see you again, Aeryn. Moya and I missed you very much."
"So did I, Pilot. So did I."
The hot breath of delirium forgotten for a moment, I give myself up to the sheer joy of this encounter: caressing Pilot's head, feeling his huge, soft eyes on me, I feel only safety and contentment.
I am home. Whatever happens now, I'm back home.
"We are worried about your…companion, though."
"He saved my life, Pilot. You have nothing to fear from him."
"Why is he here, and what does he want?"
"He is…he is a fugitive now, like the rest of us. He needs a…place to stay."
- He is a fugitive just as we are. Which means that his goals and ours may no longer conflict.
- Then his loyalties lie only to himself. Which makes him more dangerous. Not less.
I suddenly recall this conversation, and the consequences of misplaced trust. Wondering if I'm not repeating the same mistakes. My choices are even more limited now than they were back then. As is my time.
"The others will not be pleased…"
"I gave my word, Pilot. I owe him that much."
I am not a Peacekeeper anymore, true, but I still abide by the old principles and I always fulfill my obligations.
I have promises to keep.
no subject
Yes. This.
"Hello Rygel. This Prowler is getting crowded, you know…"
:) I like when Aeyn keeps her own sense of humor.
- He is a fugitive just as we are. Which means that his goals and ours may no longer conflict.
- Then his loyalties lie only to himself. Which makes him more dangerous. Not less.
I suddenly recall this conversation, and the consequences of misplaced trust. Wondering if I'm not repeating the same mistakes.
I like this analogy with Crais and I love that Aeryn sees this connection.
(Sorry for deleting my comment, LJ was messing with it and I can't edit it.)
no subject
Yes, the "Crais connection" literally fell in front of me while I was thinking about Aeryn's decision, and for me it was a way to show that she doesn't completely trust Scorpius, only that she sees - in these circumstances - more advantages than trouble.
And the dream exchange with Rygel always makes me laugh - but I love the little slug... :-)