Aeryn's Journey - # 15 RELATIVITY
Aug. 27th, 2009 11:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nymeria_dw Aeryn's Journey - Relativity
(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 3 - episode 10
=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*
Never enough time.
When reality intrudes, the short-lived spike of irritation flares in the place where once used to be only duty and obedience.
#Talyn’s sensors have picked up another ship–#
Crais' voice over the comms breaks into the self-contained world we wrapped around ourselves for a little while, shattering the illusion but not the bond and the feelings that helped sustain it.
As we scramble around getting dressed, two hands reach simultaneously for the same black shirt – mine, his, who cares? – and we share a quick laugh, the gesture flowing into a fleeting caress.
I suddenly wonder when long-ingrained habits stopped to matter: this jumble of clothes strewn on the floor never had any place in my ordered, orderly life. My old life.
Now it's a statement, and a reminder. You were louder than that, believe it or not.
But there's never enough time.
They– She is here.
Over the cycles, whenever I allowed myself the forbidden sin of thinking about my mother, I used to imagine our meeting: on a battlefield perhaps, fighting side by side and celebrating victory together, united by more than simple comradeship. Or maybe it would be a chance encounter, the one I kept hoping for at each new assignment, that would lead us to sit down and share our experiences over a bottle of raslak.
The many permutations of those…daydreams (call them by their name, Sun!) never contemplated such a bloodthirsty fight.
Finally subdued, Xhalax – my mother – lies unconscious against a tree, real and tangible.
So unlike the memories I've held on to over the cycles, because she's so close.
Close enough to touch.
How many times I wished I'd done it, on that night! Stunned, disbelieving and still half-asleep, I had only managed to stare, and nod, and then obey the command to lie back down.
The big scar is still the most prominent feature in a face that I burned forever in my memory: not so much a disfigurement as the mark of a soldier, the symbol of battles fought and won.
The ridges are hard, smooth, and I trace them with the barest of touches, awe and…something else cutting my breath short.
When she twitches awake, fixing me with a cold, measuring stare that's so different from the intense (loving…) gaze of memory, I barely manage to pull back to safer ground.
"Who are you?"
She doesn't know me, then. Breath catches again in my throat as I consider the odds.
"I'm Aeryn." Nothing but a blank stare. Has it been so long that you've forgotten? "Aeryn Sun." The one you chose to have. The one who was conceived in love. "I'm your daughter."
The revelation does not alter the stare, or melt the ice.
No celebration. No sharing.
Still it's not enough to make me give up hope, a concept I've discovered since I left my old world, learning skills I never suspected I had, learning closeness and respect and compassion.
Learning I can love – and not be afraid or ashamed of it.
If I managed to accomplish that much, so could she.
Procedure insists you terminate all hostile personnel on point of contact. Eliminate the threat. Despite my claim to the contrary, I am flinching at the notion and I want to believe that restraints might be enough.
That the bond stretching between us through the cycles (We wanted you - and we love you) could lead her on a similar journey. Bring recognition, and acceptance.
Transform all those dreams of old into reality.
Wrong. So wrong.
The only bonds she cares about are those tying me down, while I'm forced to watch her determined slaughter of Talyn. Naming it after daddy? It's not amusing, it's sentimental and weak.
No recognition. You are not my daughter!
No acceptance. I have not wasted a microt of my life thinking about you!
I am wide awake, now.
A soldier does not stop fighting, not until there is a possibility to breach the enemy's defenses.
And a part of me, the small, aching part that refuses to let go of long-held dreams, wants to show this harsh, bitter creature that we can connect. That it's not too late.
We are so similar, mother, more than you can imagine…
How did you redeem yourself?
By killing your father.
Don't you see? We were both conditioned to believe that duty always came first, that there could be nothing – no one – more important than that. We both have blood on our hands to prove it.
Yet we also felt – knew – that there was something beyond duty and loyalty and obedience.
We wanted– more.
"You've resisted Peacekeeper doctrine before! Why can't you do it again now?"
"You…are an aberration!"
And you are…lost. Mother.
Hurtling through the jungle, barely aware of my surroundings or of John's presence beside me, I try to run away from the inevitable. From my failure.
To run away from pain. But I'm not fast enough and I can feel its teeth ripping my insides to shreds.
We let her live, she comes, she hunts us down again.
She can't do it! She's afraid!
Do you really want that, Xhalax? Do you really want me to have your blood on my hands, as well? (When I'm dead, you can name your Prowler after me.)
No. You just want me to be like you. Scarred, inside and out.
The marks on your face, that I mapped and traced in my memory so many times, are not symbols for the battles you've won, but signs of the struggles you've lost.
As I've lost the battle to save you…
Wake up Aeryn. Don't be afraid. My name is Xhalax Sun. I'm your mother.
Your corruption is too advanced!
Your life was not an accident.
You are a traitor!
You were conceived in love. Our love.
This is dead history! Your father is dead!
It makes you special. We wanted you.
NO!
But it's already too late.
Goodbye Mother.
"My– Xhalax was my last connection to the Peacekeepers."
There was a time, not long ago, when I was terrified of being alone. When I hung tightly to a set of rules that gave me direction, support, meaning.
As I left them all behind me, one by one, I discovered I felt stronger for that, not weaker. It was like flexing new muscles, gaining new powers.
And as a new world of possibilities started unfolding in front of me, I wanted to bring into it something from my past, something good that was worth saving.
But it was not to be.
So I'm facing this future as naked as the day I was born.
"All my ties to them are now completely severed."
"I know."
But not alone.
(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 3 - episode 10
=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*
Never enough time.
When reality intrudes, the short-lived spike of irritation flares in the place where once used to be only duty and obedience.
#Talyn’s sensors have picked up another ship–#
Crais' voice over the comms breaks into the self-contained world we wrapped around ourselves for a little while, shattering the illusion but not the bond and the feelings that helped sustain it.
As we scramble around getting dressed, two hands reach simultaneously for the same black shirt – mine, his, who cares? – and we share a quick laugh, the gesture flowing into a fleeting caress.
I suddenly wonder when long-ingrained habits stopped to matter: this jumble of clothes strewn on the floor never had any place in my ordered, orderly life. My old life.
Now it's a statement, and a reminder. You were louder than that, believe it or not.
But there's never enough time.
They– She is here.
Over the cycles, whenever I allowed myself the forbidden sin of thinking about my mother, I used to imagine our meeting: on a battlefield perhaps, fighting side by side and celebrating victory together, united by more than simple comradeship. Or maybe it would be a chance encounter, the one I kept hoping for at each new assignment, that would lead us to sit down and share our experiences over a bottle of raslak.
The many permutations of those…daydreams (call them by their name, Sun!) never contemplated such a bloodthirsty fight.
Finally subdued, Xhalax – my mother – lies unconscious against a tree, real and tangible.
So unlike the memories I've held on to over the cycles, because she's so close.
Close enough to touch.
How many times I wished I'd done it, on that night! Stunned, disbelieving and still half-asleep, I had only managed to stare, and nod, and then obey the command to lie back down.
The big scar is still the most prominent feature in a face that I burned forever in my memory: not so much a disfigurement as the mark of a soldier, the symbol of battles fought and won.
The ridges are hard, smooth, and I trace them with the barest of touches, awe and…something else cutting my breath short.
When she twitches awake, fixing me with a cold, measuring stare that's so different from the intense (loving…) gaze of memory, I barely manage to pull back to safer ground.
"Who are you?"
She doesn't know me, then. Breath catches again in my throat as I consider the odds.
"I'm Aeryn." Nothing but a blank stare. Has it been so long that you've forgotten? "Aeryn Sun." The one you chose to have. The one who was conceived in love. "I'm your daughter."
The revelation does not alter the stare, or melt the ice.
No celebration. No sharing.
Still it's not enough to make me give up hope, a concept I've discovered since I left my old world, learning skills I never suspected I had, learning closeness and respect and compassion.
Learning I can love – and not be afraid or ashamed of it.
If I managed to accomplish that much, so could she.
Procedure insists you terminate all hostile personnel on point of contact. Eliminate the threat. Despite my claim to the contrary, I am flinching at the notion and I want to believe that restraints might be enough.
That the bond stretching between us through the cycles (We wanted you - and we love you) could lead her on a similar journey. Bring recognition, and acceptance.
Transform all those dreams of old into reality.
Wrong. So wrong.
The only bonds she cares about are those tying me down, while I'm forced to watch her determined slaughter of Talyn. Naming it after daddy? It's not amusing, it's sentimental and weak.
No recognition. You are not my daughter!
No acceptance. I have not wasted a microt of my life thinking about you!
I am wide awake, now.
A soldier does not stop fighting, not until there is a possibility to breach the enemy's defenses.
And a part of me, the small, aching part that refuses to let go of long-held dreams, wants to show this harsh, bitter creature that we can connect. That it's not too late.
We are so similar, mother, more than you can imagine…
How did you redeem yourself?
By killing your father.
Don't you see? We were both conditioned to believe that duty always came first, that there could be nothing – no one – more important than that. We both have blood on our hands to prove it.
Yet we also felt – knew – that there was something beyond duty and loyalty and obedience.
We wanted– more.
"You've resisted Peacekeeper doctrine before! Why can't you do it again now?"
"You…are an aberration!"
And you are…lost. Mother.
Hurtling through the jungle, barely aware of my surroundings or of John's presence beside me, I try to run away from the inevitable. From my failure.
To run away from pain. But I'm not fast enough and I can feel its teeth ripping my insides to shreds.
We let her live, she comes, she hunts us down again.
She can't do it! She's afraid!
Do you really want that, Xhalax? Do you really want me to have your blood on my hands, as well? (When I'm dead, you can name your Prowler after me.)
No. You just want me to be like you. Scarred, inside and out.
The marks on your face, that I mapped and traced in my memory so many times, are not symbols for the battles you've won, but signs of the struggles you've lost.
As I've lost the battle to save you…
Wake up Aeryn. Don't be afraid. My name is Xhalax Sun. I'm your mother.
Your corruption is too advanced!
Your life was not an accident.
You are a traitor!
You were conceived in love. Our love.
This is dead history! Your father is dead!
It makes you special. We wanted you.
NO!
But it's already too late.
Goodbye Mother.
"My– Xhalax was my last connection to the Peacekeepers."
There was a time, not long ago, when I was terrified of being alone. When I hung tightly to a set of rules that gave me direction, support, meaning.
As I left them all behind me, one by one, I discovered I felt stronger for that, not weaker. It was like flexing new muscles, gaining new powers.
And as a new world of possibilities started unfolding in front of me, I wanted to bring into it something from my past, something good that was worth saving.
But it was not to be.
So I'm facing this future as naked as the day I was born.
"All my ties to them are now completely severed."
"I know."
But not alone.
