nymeria_dw

AERYN'S JOURNEY - WSS1: FETAL ATTRACTION
(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-13

Setting: Season 4 Episode 19

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Oaths are so easily broken. So are people.

The will to fight might be still there, humming through nerve and bone and muscle like a power conduit waiting to pour its energy into its intended receptacle. But if the outlet is blocked the power sizzles away, circling and circling on an endless loop until it dies, slowly leaking out into nothingness.

I have tried, so many times I have tried.

First there was the guard who brought the food, another soulless Sebacean like that sordid Vreena: subduing him gave me a great sense of satisfaction, like flexing long-unused muscles, and gained me access to the corridor. And to a few motra long freedom.

When they chained me to the cell's wall, I scraped my wrists against the metal until they bled, making the skin slippery and allowing me to painfully slide the hands through the manacles. When the door opened I threw myself with all the strength I could muster against the form coming through it, only to bounce against a wall of unyielding Scarran flesh.

So they gave me back to that frelling woman and her own brand of chains.

"This won't harm the baby, but it will keep you docile." More needles. More drugs. "You see? I could make things so much easier for you. If only you'd trust me."

Trust you? I'd rather trust a fire snake, you slave bitch!

But the words refuse to come out and a great weight settles over me. Then darkness.

Mind and body disconnected, never truly awake or asleep, I float in a formless limbo made of faces swimming before my eyes, of voices now distinct, now faint, their words a jumble of sounds.

One thought manages to stay sharp and clear in my mind, the safety of my child, the need to be away from here, to be in some other place - it doesn't matter where, just as it's not here, where they will harm her.

Need and hope and dreams crystallize into vision, and for a few moments I'm at peace.

"It's time. You're doin' good." John's hands are on my distended belly, our child ready to come out into the world. "You're doin' great." But when I reach out to touch his face, he leans away from me, withdrawing into darkness.

The chain that ties me down yanks me back to reality, denying me even the escape into hallucinations. There was no rescue, there is no safety and there is no John. My hopes of getting away from here, of ever seeing him again, evaporate like the dreams, and the anguished keening coming from my lips is the only thing that manages to flee.

"Why do you keep on struggling?" She is always here, tough. And enjoys reminding me of the hopelessness of my situation. "There's no point in fighting. You know that."

There is no point in hoping either, not anymore. They took that away with my strength and my will, and I mourn their loss with greater sorrow than all the rest, because without them I am not me any longer. The tears I'm unable to stop are for this loss more than for my vanishing hopes.

Don't trust the dreams. They come only to torture you.

Don't give that wretch the satisfaction of seeing you struggle to reach out to your phantoms, so she can laugh in your face and pump some more dren into you.

Yet dreams are all I have here.

Xhalax comes to scold me, to remind me I'm weak, useless, a disgrace to the Peacekeepers. When I ask for her help, for some of her strength, she turns away and plunges once again into the abyss.

Zhaan lays a cool hand on my forehead, driving away for a moment the oppressive heat of this place. There is so much sadness in her face as she looks down at me, but she fades away before I can summon the strength to speak.

D'Argo tries to give me his Qualta blade to cut my bonds, but every time I try to grasp the hilt it slips through my fingers and clatters to the floor. In the end he leaves too, shoulders sagging in defeat.

Then it's John's turn: he wakes me up rudely and tries to untie me, but this time I won't let the dream hurt and disappoint me again, so I drive him away. "No it's me! I'm real!" No more dreams, no more illusions. Leave me alone.

In the end, only the silence remains.

The commotion wakes me, really wakes me this time.

Somehow I know it's real, because in this place there is no room for shouting - stillness rules here, as smothering as the heat and the gloom that have become my world.

The words make no sense at first, then their meaning becomes terribly clear: they want to take my child from me! I add my screams to the cacophony filling this room, pleading with the old woman, the one with three eyes - what's her name? I know I should remember it - to save my baby, to keep these monsters from harming her.

Our helplessness becomes plain when Chiana is dragged inside, kicking, screaming and struggling. For both of us.

Finding some of my old strength I try to fight for our safety, mine, my baby's and Chiana's, knowing full well that we are doomed to succumb but not wanting to give up. Not because I can, but because I have to.

When the metal prongs plunge into me, the scream that breaks forth comes more from impotent rage than pain, and goes on and on until the shadows come once again to claim me.

Flashing lights. Alarms. Motion.

Someone's carrying me, running, panting from the exertion.

Is this another dream of safety? Another cruel mirage that's going to disappear as soon as I acknowledge it?

The pain in my body, the scream of tortured muscles and abused flesh seem real enough.

The arms holding me have a familiar feel, so familiar, as does the voice whispering sounds of comfort.

It would be easy to look, and see for myself, but I don't want to open my eyes, not yet.

Those same arms lower me on a soft surface, never relinquishing their hold, and I look, I finally dare to look into John's worried face. Not another dream, please not another dream. Let me the frell out of those cruel dreams!

"It's all right. Aeryn! It's all right. You're here."

Close, so close, warm breath on my skin, anxious gaze and tender hands roaming over my face. Moya's ceiling above my head. Can I trust you? Can I trust you not to go away as soon as I accept you're here?

"Is this real?" My voice sounds so feeble, just a ghost of its former self.

"It's real. You're on Moya. You're safe."

And he does not vanish into thin air, his presence remains solid and substantial. I feel myself giving in to hope, daring to trust my perceptions once again. Then a thought, a terrible thought slices through bubbling elation.

"What about the baby?"

"The baby's fine. Everything's gonna be okay."

Finally I can let go, trust my senses and believe that the nightmare is over. I'm home. The gentle hum of Moya surrounds me like John's physical embrace and I feel myself relaxing, sliding slowly into dazed acceptance.

"Sleep." His arms start to slip away from me, and I can see exhaustion and weariness seeping out of the tender intensity with which he watches me. Much as I know it's selfish, I can't be parted from him, not yet. Not now.

"Stay." I need the contact, I crave this closeness that's been long denied us by circumstances and our own foolishness.

As John kisses my hand and we look at each other in mutual reassurance, I feel he needs it too. I feel we can allow ourselves this luxury.

Because we're finally home.