AERYN'S JOURNEY # 25 - NATURAL ELECTION
Jun. 10th, 2010 10:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nymeria_dwAERYN'S JOURNEY - Natural Election
(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: Season 4 Episode 6
=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*
I have never been one to hesitate.
I used to go into battle with a smile on my face, excitement drowning out the fear, squashing it into a corner of the mind until it was all over. When it didn't matter anymore.
I used to enjoy flying a Prowler as an extension of myself, pitching it - us - against our foes, playing a game of wits, reflexes and speed.
Yet now I stand here, uncertain (fearful) at the mere prospect of a simple talk.
Pacing up and down, trying to work up the courage to go in and frelling do it.
Losing your nerve, soldier?
Shut up, Xhalax.
Go, Sun. Now.
"Can I speak to you?" I can't ignore the profound irony in this role-reversal. "Quite a few things I'd like to say."
Trepidation sets in, but it's soon dispelled by the faint smile that seems to flash behind his eyes.
"There's a lot of things I'd like to hear. I'd like to offer you a drink, but–"
Humor, definitely. The old, playful kind, although still a bit guarded. Everything's going to be all right.
"My quarters." Away from prying eyes and ears.
Then the blue flare comes up, reflecting off Moya's walls, and he stops in his tracks, enthralled as he always is by the view before him, every other consideration easily discarded.
The noisy celebration that follows, where everyone joins in like a bunch of first-year cadets on planetary leave, makes me feel like a distant observer, like standing outside looking in.
And it tastes like sudden decompression, like air being sucked right out of your lungs.
I have never liked to wait, or hang back. Never understood procrastination and uncertainty.
Yet now here I am, troubled by a task I used to carry out without even thinking about it.
Because now it's different.
"Leak?" Chiana's voice forces me back from my reverie.
"Scalon vapor return duct. Can linger in your bloodstream."
She doesn't understand, and looks at me as she would a stranger. Because this is what I have become - to myself and the others. I see how they all watch me, as if unsure of their footing. Wary.
But Chiana, carefree Chiana, doesn't hide it behind hooded lids, no. She stares at me with open curiosity, not afraid to ask her questions. "Never stopped ya before".
Well, for that she deserves a reply.
"This time I'm pregnant." It feels good to let it out in the open, to just say the word I could only mouth without sound, hardly able to wrap my mind around it.
It's good to share doubts - fears - with someone who doesn't judge or pressure.
Not something I would have done before, or something I would have considered doing, like accepting this closeness and finding comfort in it.
It feels strange, yes, but….fine.
I have never been keen on speeches, and explanations, always letting my actions speak for me.
Not anymore.
This is the most profound change I've undergone, this need to bridge the gap, to set things right.
Too much has happened, too many silences have deepened the chasm and it's now time to fill it.
Not an easy task though.
John is unusually quiet and remote, a new and disturbing behavior that marks the changes I have felt in him. I can sense he wants me to be the one to close the distance, something he would not have done before. I got pretty good at waiting.
Remembering now that off-hand remark, almost overlooked in the pressure of the moment, I feel a chill of foreboding but I can't afford to give in to it. Life is too precious and fragile to be wasted in fear.
No more hesitation. No more procrastination.
"I didn't want to tell you about the pregnancy until I was sure."
"Sure you were pregnant, or...sure who the father was?"
The shock of betrayal hits me like a vicious blow. It's not just pain for the careless sharing of a piece of my soul I gave in faith and friendship, but realization that the Universe - Fate - has once more intruded turning the tables on us and…screwing us in the fine print. Whatever that means.
"It's the other Crichton’s."
Is this what you fear, John? That I might see you as a pale imitation of another man? Is this the reason for your withdrawal?
Even before going away I told you I loved John Crichton. That was not the reason I needed to leave.
"There's no distinction in my mind any more." Will this be enough?
"Okay. Now you've confused me."
Now that the door has been opened, it's easier to let it all through, and again I find myself wondering at the flow of words that comes from me, and at the way it breaks against his stillness, his uncharacteristic silence.
There is no relief when I'm done, though, when he finally looks at me. Because a stranger stares out of those familiar eyes. I don't know how to trust you. I would put my life…in your hands. But not my heart.
And this…this feels like hurtling through the void, knowing that nothing will be there to break your plunge.
Despite the overpowering grief, I understand this is just the beginning of the road, one I must walk all the way through. It's the beginning of the battle, one I intend to fight.
But not alone. Not alone.
"What do I have to do?"
"Just come back...when you have your story straight."
Alone, then.
Whatever it takes.
(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: Season 4 Episode 6
=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*
I have never been one to hesitate.
I used to go into battle with a smile on my face, excitement drowning out the fear, squashing it into a corner of the mind until it was all over. When it didn't matter anymore.
I used to enjoy flying a Prowler as an extension of myself, pitching it - us - against our foes, playing a game of wits, reflexes and speed.
Yet now I stand here, uncertain (fearful) at the mere prospect of a simple talk.
Pacing up and down, trying to work up the courage to go in and frelling do it.
Losing your nerve, soldier?
Shut up, Xhalax.
Go, Sun. Now.
"Can I speak to you?" I can't ignore the profound irony in this role-reversal. "Quite a few things I'd like to say."
Trepidation sets in, but it's soon dispelled by the faint smile that seems to flash behind his eyes.
"There's a lot of things I'd like to hear. I'd like to offer you a drink, but–"
Humor, definitely. The old, playful kind, although still a bit guarded. Everything's going to be all right.
"My quarters." Away from prying eyes and ears.
Then the blue flare comes up, reflecting off Moya's walls, and he stops in his tracks, enthralled as he always is by the view before him, every other consideration easily discarded.
The noisy celebration that follows, where everyone joins in like a bunch of first-year cadets on planetary leave, makes me feel like a distant observer, like standing outside looking in.
And it tastes like sudden decompression, like air being sucked right out of your lungs.
I have never liked to wait, or hang back. Never understood procrastination and uncertainty.
Yet now here I am, troubled by a task I used to carry out without even thinking about it.
Because now it's different.
"Leak?" Chiana's voice forces me back from my reverie.
"Scalon vapor return duct. Can linger in your bloodstream."
She doesn't understand, and looks at me as she would a stranger. Because this is what I have become - to myself and the others. I see how they all watch me, as if unsure of their footing. Wary.
But Chiana, carefree Chiana, doesn't hide it behind hooded lids, no. She stares at me with open curiosity, not afraid to ask her questions. "Never stopped ya before".
Well, for that she deserves a reply.
"This time I'm pregnant." It feels good to let it out in the open, to just say the word I could only mouth without sound, hardly able to wrap my mind around it.
It's good to share doubts - fears - with someone who doesn't judge or pressure.
Not something I would have done before, or something I would have considered doing, like accepting this closeness and finding comfort in it.
It feels strange, yes, but….fine.
I have never been keen on speeches, and explanations, always letting my actions speak for me.
Not anymore.
This is the most profound change I've undergone, this need to bridge the gap, to set things right.
Too much has happened, too many silences have deepened the chasm and it's now time to fill it.
Not an easy task though.
John is unusually quiet and remote, a new and disturbing behavior that marks the changes I have felt in him. I can sense he wants me to be the one to close the distance, something he would not have done before. I got pretty good at waiting.
Remembering now that off-hand remark, almost overlooked in the pressure of the moment, I feel a chill of foreboding but I can't afford to give in to it. Life is too precious and fragile to be wasted in fear.
No more hesitation. No more procrastination.
"I didn't want to tell you about the pregnancy until I was sure."
"Sure you were pregnant, or...sure who the father was?"
The shock of betrayal hits me like a vicious blow. It's not just pain for the careless sharing of a piece of my soul I gave in faith and friendship, but realization that the Universe - Fate - has once more intruded turning the tables on us and…screwing us in the fine print. Whatever that means.
"It's the other Crichton’s."
Is this what you fear, John? That I might see you as a pale imitation of another man? Is this the reason for your withdrawal?
Even before going away I told you I loved John Crichton. That was not the reason I needed to leave.
"There's no distinction in my mind any more." Will this be enough?
"Okay. Now you've confused me."
Now that the door has been opened, it's easier to let it all through, and again I find myself wondering at the flow of words that comes from me, and at the way it breaks against his stillness, his uncharacteristic silence.
There is no relief when I'm done, though, when he finally looks at me. Because a stranger stares out of those familiar eyes. I don't know how to trust you. I would put my life…in your hands. But not my heart.
And this…this feels like hurtling through the void, knowing that nothing will be there to break your plunge.
Despite the overpowering grief, I understand this is just the beginning of the road, one I must walk all the way through. It's the beginning of the battle, one I intend to fight.
But not alone. Not alone.
"What do I have to do?"
"Just come back...when you have your story straight."
Alone, then.
Whatever it takes.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2010-06-11 01:10 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-06-11 04:28 pm (UTC)When I reach this point in the story-arc I keep wondering how things would have worked out differently if Zhaan had still been alive.
I'm sure she would have provided some necessary balance!
Miss Zhaan.... *sigh*
(no subject)
Date: 2010-06-12 06:33 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-06-12 01:34 pm (UTC)And maybe kicked some eemas.... :-D
(no subject)
Date: 2010-06-12 01:37 pm (UTC)Though on the more serious note - she had her own problems to deal with, maybe she would have her own part of "vacations" and more secrets hidden. I kind of doubt it would be simple. Nothing in Farscape is.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-06-15 06:39 pm (UTC)John's comment would have gotten him slapped a year before, and shot the year before that, yet she's become More. And so much less into the bargain.
I'm reminded of Chiana's comment of "You adapt to me" and wish that Aeryn had had that confidence, but you do a lot to... recompense her here (and they should have had women on Farscape's writing team).
(no subject)
Date: 2010-06-15 08:36 pm (UTC)Luckily not for long... :)
As I see it, she's still in a state of flux: having just discovered that there is no safety net in the past, and that you have to go forward, because there is no other direction, she is still without a manual on how to do this. Therefore she is indeed rudderless and weak.
This condition will bring her to try and be what she is NOT and I agree with you, it's a painful sight to behold. But take heart, she is soon going to realize that to be more - again - she has to be herself, her old self.
That's why the slap she administers in Twice Shy is such a *relief* - not just for us spectators, but for Crichton as well: it looks to me as if, through that, he realizes that 'his' Aeryn is back and he's just as relieved as we are.
Just a little time and patience, and we'll get there...
you do a lot to... recompense her here (and they should have had women on Farscape's writing team)
And thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for your kind words. They mean a great deal to me.