JEREMIAH'S RETURN
Aug. 17th, 2009 10:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nymeria_dwJeremiah's Return
(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 1 - episode 14
Written for TerraFirma's 36th Starburst Challenge
=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*
After a while, the tropical heat had stopped being something he was aware of, or that bothered him. Now it was just a pleasant sensation.
Of course, much had to do with his decision to give a more fashionable cut to his clothing, 'cut' being the operative word: when the lower part of his pants had become too frayed he had stripped it off, and his jacket's sleeves had gone the same way. His garb was now more similar to the locals', and just as comfortable, although it lacked the bright colors they favored.
Yeah, you're really goin' native, Johnny boy…
He grinned. Not completely native: while the Aquarans were all clean-shaven, he now sported a bushy beard that never failed to attract the good-natured laughter of the kids, or the occasional curious glance from the adults.
A regular Robinson Crusoe. Minus the faithful Friday…
He turned his face to the sun, absently scratching an itchy spot on his jaw: the warmth felt good, welcome, reminding him of the summer he'd spent with his MIT colleague, Peter Ndaba, at his family's seaside villa off Abidjan.
Another place. Another lifetime.
A stray cloud moving across the sun mirrored the shift in his mood, the feeling of well-being partly obscured by the returning awareness of his displacement. His loneliness.
John shook his head, as if to clear it from these thoughts: given all that had happened to him since the day he had…stepped through the mirror, he could count himself lucky just to be alive. Even if it meant that his hopes of ever seeing his home again had to be sacrificed on the altar of survival.
There was nothing to be done about that, anyway.
Adjusting his makeshift fishing-line, he settled more comfortably on the hull of the Farscape 1. From state-of-the-art technology to sunning lounger and fishing cabin. The grin felt somewhat bitter, now.
He had yearned for sun and wind in the months (monens…) he'd spent on the Leviathan, and now that he could revel in those very sensations, he found himself thinking about Moya, and the people who traveled aboard her.
The way they had parted…
"I'm sick of it Aeryn. I'm sick of Napoleon the Sixteenth. I'm sick of blue. I'm sick of tentacle boy. And guess what? I'm sick of you. I'm sick of this whole turd-burp end of the universe!"
His pent-up frustration had made him lash out at them in uncharacteristic viciousness: once out in space, aboard the module, his temper had cooled and he had started to regret the outburst and his petty words. That is, until he saw Moya starburst away, stranding him in the middle of nowhere.
Anger had been his friend, then, helping him to keep despair at bay, at least until he found this paradise, the only safe port available to his dwindling resources. The same anger that now surfaced again when he recalled the others' betrayal – his only means to stave off a fresh wave of bewilderment and pain.
And the realization that he missed them, every single one of those self-serving bastards.
He sighed. He had to resign himself to the fact that, like his home planet, he would not see them again, ever.
Nothing to be done about that, too.
<-->
When Rokon and his cronies materialized in front of him, John was more surprised than worried by their sudden appearance. He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts he had not been paying attention to his surroundings, since the conversation with the Grondeer had given him much to mull over.
Being aware of Lishala's attraction toward him had been one thing, thinking about doing *something* about it was quite another! Of course he had noticed her not inconsiderable charms, and the long looks she favored him with, but still…
"Amongst our people, it is the female who chooses which male she will mate with - for life. It may be out of your hands my dear Crichton."
The prospect was strangely thrilling, and frightening at the same time.
He had to start building a life for himself, sooner or later: he could not spend the rest of his days like a bum on the beach, could he? And he might do much worse than Lishala, with her doe's eyes, pert nose and sunny smile…
Could they go beyond the friendship stage? Did he really want to go that way?
Any further consideration was cut short by Rokon & Friends. Their smiles were all but sunny – hell, they were definitely NOT smiling! – and their intentions were crystal clear.
John tried to talk his way out of the situation, but while he hoped he might somehow reach out to Rokon, who after all was an intelligent and otherwise fine guy, his buddies were another matter. Like the towering mountain of flesh on his right, pin-prick beady eyes looking at him coldly from an otherwise massive head: a cephalometer would have a field day measuring that head, while a brain-wave scanner would die of boredom.
Things were looking very grim in Mudville, when a new player entered the game.
Despite his disbelief, John could not mistake the flying tentacles, the Qualta Blade and the fierce growl. Especially the growl.
D'Argo? *Here*? What the…?
<-->
So it had all been a misunderstanding. One of stellar proportions, mind you, but still a misunderstanding.
As the pod was closing in on Moya, ready to be caught by the docking web, John reviewed all his false assumptions of the past three months (a quarter of a cycle, and they spent all this time looking for me…), and felt deep embarrassment redden his cheeks when he recalled every nasty thought he'd entertained himself with while marooned on Aquara.
He'd made his apologies to both D'Argo and Rygel: despite the all-but-enthusiastic welcome from John, the Luxan had dismissed the whole situation with a shake of his head; as quick to forgive and forget as he was to fall into fits of hyper-rage. And perhaps he felt partly responsible in precipitating the whole sorry situation.
As for Rygel, he'd bestowed his royal pardon on a contrite Crichton from the height of his throne-sled, as full of pompous magnanimity as his stomachs were of Aquaran delicacies.
What John was really worried about was apologizing to Zhaan and Aeryn: he'd been particularly spiteful with them and he worried about not being able to find the right words to express the depth of his regret.
Whatever mistakes his traveling companions – no, his FRIENDS, dammit! – might have made with him, they had more than atoned for them with their long, dangerous search for his whereabouts, and the risks they'd taken for his sake.
The pod landed, and John drew a deep breath. Get up and face the music!
<-->
John's feet had barely touched Moya's floor when Zhaan met him in a swirl of blue gauzy fabrics: holding his shoulders, she touched her forehead with his and kept the contact for a few moments.
"Welcome back, John!" she finally said. "I'm so glad that you're here with us again, safe and sound!"
"I- uh, Zhaan…what I mean is-" He had not felt this tongue-tied since he'd asked Betty Walsh to be his date at the prom.
"No, John, no words are necessary," Zhaan put a gentle finger across his lips. "The Goddess sees into our hearts, and knows everything."
"Thanks, Bluey, it's good to be back." Yet he wondered at the guilty light in the Delvian's gaze, soon hidden by her lowered eyelids. What the hell's going on here? But another welcome distracted him.
"Commander Crichton," Pilot's voice from the comms sounded sincerely pleased. "Moya and I are glad to have you back aboard."
"Hi Pilot! Same here! I've missed you both." John looked around at the others. "I've missed you all!"
And speaking of 'missing', where was Aeryn?
John understood she might still be angry at the verbal lashing he'd subjected her to before leaving, although he had secretly hoped she would be less affected by it, and more inclined to put it behind her back, much as D'Argo had.
But nothing was ever simple where Aeryn Sun was concerned, and he understood he might have to start over from scratch if he wanted to rebuild some form of civil relationship with the former Peacekeeper.
Her absence from the welcoming committee already spoke volumes about her frame of mind.
A little dejected, the euphoria of his return somewhat frayed around the edges (prodigal son, my ass!), John quickened his pace to rejoin the others, who had reached the revolving portal, while talking animatedly about what had happened on the planet.
As soon as he passed beyond the portal he saw her: Aeryn was lounging against the curving corridor's wall and observed him with an unreadable expression.
"Er…Hello Aeryn!"
"So Crichton, you found all the 'space' you wanted, did you?" Her tone was sarcastic but devoid of hostility, and John felt a small measure of relief coursing through him.
She can't be all that pissed if she's still willing to speak to you!
"Too damn much of it! Aeryn–" he felt uncharacteristically at a loss for words, and he forged on before he lost courage. "-I said a lot of things I'm not proud of and…I'm sorry. I've been an idiot."
"Yes, you are. But after a while one gets used to it. More or less."
Aeryn moved away from the wall and started to walk by his side. The others were further on along the corridor and silence hung heavy between them.
John felt the compelling need to break it, and get rid of his awkwardness.
"You know," he said. "I really need to take a long, hot shower. It's one of the things I missed most on Aquara…"
"Yes, I agree." The delicate flare of her nostrils was very eloquent, and John felt even more grubby than he looked. He lowered his gaze in embarrassment. "And while you're at it," she wasn't finished with him. What now? "you had better get rid of that beard. It's so scruffy that it looks like a ghork's nest!"
Looking back up he discovered she was smiling, one of those dazzling smiles which transformed her face and lighted it from inside (Sun, indeed!). Relief – happiness - washed over him as he accepted the implied challenge and asked the question he knew was expected of him.
"What's a ghork?"
It was good to be back home.
(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 1 - episode 14
Written for TerraFirma's 36th Starburst Challenge
=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*
After a while, the tropical heat had stopped being something he was aware of, or that bothered him. Now it was just a pleasant sensation.
Of course, much had to do with his decision to give a more fashionable cut to his clothing, 'cut' being the operative word: when the lower part of his pants had become too frayed he had stripped it off, and his jacket's sleeves had gone the same way. His garb was now more similar to the locals', and just as comfortable, although it lacked the bright colors they favored.
Yeah, you're really goin' native, Johnny boy…
He grinned. Not completely native: while the Aquarans were all clean-shaven, he now sported a bushy beard that never failed to attract the good-natured laughter of the kids, or the occasional curious glance from the adults.
A regular Robinson Crusoe. Minus the faithful Friday…
He turned his face to the sun, absently scratching an itchy spot on his jaw: the warmth felt good, welcome, reminding him of the summer he'd spent with his MIT colleague, Peter Ndaba, at his family's seaside villa off Abidjan.
Another place. Another lifetime.
A stray cloud moving across the sun mirrored the shift in his mood, the feeling of well-being partly obscured by the returning awareness of his displacement. His loneliness.
John shook his head, as if to clear it from these thoughts: given all that had happened to him since the day he had…stepped through the mirror, he could count himself lucky just to be alive. Even if it meant that his hopes of ever seeing his home again had to be sacrificed on the altar of survival.
There was nothing to be done about that, anyway.
Adjusting his makeshift fishing-line, he settled more comfortably on the hull of the Farscape 1. From state-of-the-art technology to sunning lounger and fishing cabin. The grin felt somewhat bitter, now.
He had yearned for sun and wind in the months (monens…) he'd spent on the Leviathan, and now that he could revel in those very sensations, he found himself thinking about Moya, and the people who traveled aboard her.
The way they had parted…
"I'm sick of it Aeryn. I'm sick of Napoleon the Sixteenth. I'm sick of blue. I'm sick of tentacle boy. And guess what? I'm sick of you. I'm sick of this whole turd-burp end of the universe!"
His pent-up frustration had made him lash out at them in uncharacteristic viciousness: once out in space, aboard the module, his temper had cooled and he had started to regret the outburst and his petty words. That is, until he saw Moya starburst away, stranding him in the middle of nowhere.
Anger had been his friend, then, helping him to keep despair at bay, at least until he found this paradise, the only safe port available to his dwindling resources. The same anger that now surfaced again when he recalled the others' betrayal – his only means to stave off a fresh wave of bewilderment and pain.
And the realization that he missed them, every single one of those self-serving bastards.
He sighed. He had to resign himself to the fact that, like his home planet, he would not see them again, ever.
Nothing to be done about that, too.
<-->
When Rokon and his cronies materialized in front of him, John was more surprised than worried by their sudden appearance. He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts he had not been paying attention to his surroundings, since the conversation with the Grondeer had given him much to mull over.
Being aware of Lishala's attraction toward him had been one thing, thinking about doing *something* about it was quite another! Of course he had noticed her not inconsiderable charms, and the long looks she favored him with, but still…
"Amongst our people, it is the female who chooses which male she will mate with - for life. It may be out of your hands my dear Crichton."
The prospect was strangely thrilling, and frightening at the same time.
He had to start building a life for himself, sooner or later: he could not spend the rest of his days like a bum on the beach, could he? And he might do much worse than Lishala, with her doe's eyes, pert nose and sunny smile…
Could they go beyond the friendship stage? Did he really want to go that way?
Any further consideration was cut short by Rokon & Friends. Their smiles were all but sunny – hell, they were definitely NOT smiling! – and their intentions were crystal clear.
John tried to talk his way out of the situation, but while he hoped he might somehow reach out to Rokon, who after all was an intelligent and otherwise fine guy, his buddies were another matter. Like the towering mountain of flesh on his right, pin-prick beady eyes looking at him coldly from an otherwise massive head: a cephalometer would have a field day measuring that head, while a brain-wave scanner would die of boredom.
Things were looking very grim in Mudville, when a new player entered the game.
Despite his disbelief, John could not mistake the flying tentacles, the Qualta Blade and the fierce growl. Especially the growl.
D'Argo? *Here*? What the…?
<-->
So it had all been a misunderstanding. One of stellar proportions, mind you, but still a misunderstanding.
As the pod was closing in on Moya, ready to be caught by the docking web, John reviewed all his false assumptions of the past three months (a quarter of a cycle, and they spent all this time looking for me…), and felt deep embarrassment redden his cheeks when he recalled every nasty thought he'd entertained himself with while marooned on Aquara.
He'd made his apologies to both D'Argo and Rygel: despite the all-but-enthusiastic welcome from John, the Luxan had dismissed the whole situation with a shake of his head; as quick to forgive and forget as he was to fall into fits of hyper-rage. And perhaps he felt partly responsible in precipitating the whole sorry situation.
As for Rygel, he'd bestowed his royal pardon on a contrite Crichton from the height of his throne-sled, as full of pompous magnanimity as his stomachs were of Aquaran delicacies.
What John was really worried about was apologizing to Zhaan and Aeryn: he'd been particularly spiteful with them and he worried about not being able to find the right words to express the depth of his regret.
Whatever mistakes his traveling companions – no, his FRIENDS, dammit! – might have made with him, they had more than atoned for them with their long, dangerous search for his whereabouts, and the risks they'd taken for his sake.
The pod landed, and John drew a deep breath. Get up and face the music!
<-->
John's feet had barely touched Moya's floor when Zhaan met him in a swirl of blue gauzy fabrics: holding his shoulders, she touched her forehead with his and kept the contact for a few moments.
"Welcome back, John!" she finally said. "I'm so glad that you're here with us again, safe and sound!"
"I- uh, Zhaan…what I mean is-" He had not felt this tongue-tied since he'd asked Betty Walsh to be his date at the prom.
"No, John, no words are necessary," Zhaan put a gentle finger across his lips. "The Goddess sees into our hearts, and knows everything."
"Thanks, Bluey, it's good to be back." Yet he wondered at the guilty light in the Delvian's gaze, soon hidden by her lowered eyelids. What the hell's going on here? But another welcome distracted him.
"Commander Crichton," Pilot's voice from the comms sounded sincerely pleased. "Moya and I are glad to have you back aboard."
"Hi Pilot! Same here! I've missed you both." John looked around at the others. "I've missed you all!"
And speaking of 'missing', where was Aeryn?
John understood she might still be angry at the verbal lashing he'd subjected her to before leaving, although he had secretly hoped she would be less affected by it, and more inclined to put it behind her back, much as D'Argo had.
But nothing was ever simple where Aeryn Sun was concerned, and he understood he might have to start over from scratch if he wanted to rebuild some form of civil relationship with the former Peacekeeper.
Her absence from the welcoming committee already spoke volumes about her frame of mind.
A little dejected, the euphoria of his return somewhat frayed around the edges (prodigal son, my ass!), John quickened his pace to rejoin the others, who had reached the revolving portal, while talking animatedly about what had happened on the planet.
As soon as he passed beyond the portal he saw her: Aeryn was lounging against the curving corridor's wall and observed him with an unreadable expression.
"Er…Hello Aeryn!"
"So Crichton, you found all the 'space' you wanted, did you?" Her tone was sarcastic but devoid of hostility, and John felt a small measure of relief coursing through him.
She can't be all that pissed if she's still willing to speak to you!
"Too damn much of it! Aeryn–" he felt uncharacteristically at a loss for words, and he forged on before he lost courage. "-I said a lot of things I'm not proud of and…I'm sorry. I've been an idiot."
"Yes, you are. But after a while one gets used to it. More or less."
Aeryn moved away from the wall and started to walk by his side. The others were further on along the corridor and silence hung heavy between them.
John felt the compelling need to break it, and get rid of his awkwardness.
"You know," he said. "I really need to take a long, hot shower. It's one of the things I missed most on Aquara…"
"Yes, I agree." The delicate flare of her nostrils was very eloquent, and John felt even more grubby than he looked. He lowered his gaze in embarrassment. "And while you're at it," she wasn't finished with him. What now? "you had better get rid of that beard. It's so scruffy that it looks like a ghork's nest!"
Looking back up he discovered she was smiling, one of those dazzling smiles which transformed her face and lighted it from inside (Sun, indeed!). Relief – happiness - washed over him as he accepted the implied challenge and asked the question he knew was expected of him.
"What's a ghork?"
It was good to be back home.
