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2020-11-04
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Interlude I: Reflections

Summary:

The following is in no way intended to infringe upon any copyrights; those belong to Sci Fi Channel, Jim Henson Co., Hallmark Entertainment, Nine Network Australia, the Farscape writers, producers, etc. This is for entertainment purposes only and is NOT FOR PROFIT, so please don't sue me.
Rating: G
Summary: Crichton's late-night ruminations over the recent past and his new life among strangers.
This is a character interlude that takes place sometime after "Rhapsody in Blue," and before "The Flax." Spoilers for Premiere, Exodus from Genesis, PK Tech Girl, That Old Black Magic, DNA Mad Scientist, They've Got a Secret, Till The Blood Runs Clear, and Rhapsody in Blue." This was definitely written before "Jeremiah Crichton!"

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(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

Interlude I: Reflections
By Roshni Santiago

John's eyes fluttered open into darkness. The shiny gold sheet that clung to his skin was damp with perspiration, and there was an odd nervousness in the pit of his stomach-

"Damned rattlers!" he muttered, rolling over. After several moments of trying to quell the unpleasant sensation, he gave up. Abruptly, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the low bed. His shoulders shifted uneasily as he bent forward, leaning his elbows on his knees. Sleep had fled, leaving him empty and restless. Wearily, he raised his head and listened.

It still amazed him: this was a ship. An amazing, living ship whose walls fairly breathed with warmth. He lifted his eyes and looked around, a feeling of wonderment filling him as it often did whenever he contemplated the cavernous beauty that was now the only home left to him in this strange, unfamiliar world. During his waking hours it was sometimes easy to forget that Moya was as alive as he was and subject to emotion and sensation and filled with needs, like any other living being. But alive she was. He could feel her beneath his bare feet.

John closed his eyes briefly, as a sudden wave of emotion flooded him. He stood, the shiny sheet falling away from him and forming a puddle of gold at his feet. He brushed a hand over his face and rubbed his head absently until the short hair stood straight up. He found his discarded clothes, a pair of black trousers and a black T-shirt, which he quickly donned before he made for the corridor.

It was weird being awake at this hour. Arn. Whatever. There was something slightly creepy about pacing Moya's empty curving passageways while the others were asleep. He truly felt like he was within the 'belly of the beast.' The lights were dim now and Crichton fancifully imagined the shadows sliding about just beyond his visual range, like children at play.

Nervous energy, fueled by the rattlers that curled coldly into his intestines, wouldn't allow him to be still quite yet. So he wandered aimlessly, his bare feet silent against Moya's warm surface, going wherever they took him. Which was how he found himself on the terrace sometime later.

The emotion that had banished sleep and driven him from darkness, was an ache in his gut. It was loneliness, plain and simple. Before, despite the isolation of the astronaut program and research labs, he had always felt the warm embrace of family and friendship, even after Alex had gone. D.K. and Dad-they had always been there. There had always been someone to talk to, to share triumphs and failures with-until now.

Now he was truly a stranger in a strange land and when he needed to talk, he didn't have family and friendship to fall back on when the rattlers struck.

John Crichton had always considered himself a fairly confident and self-reliant man. It had taken balls to do what he'd done-to pilot a test craft on an experimental voyage, and accomplish what no one had thought possible before. Instead, through luck or ill fortune, he had done what no one had *imagined*--shot through a damned wormhole. His current occupation went far beyond putting his life on the line just to prove a theory.

Now he was a fugitive. Every day was filled with countless pitfalls, and if he wasn't careful, some of them were fatal. Plus, he had Crais to worry about-that insane, vengeance-blinded idiot who hung over him like a guillotine primed for execution. Oh, yeah-this was the stuff adventure was made of!

It had taken every bit of his natural bravado to make it through the days, weeks, months that he'd been trapped here, in this part of the universe they called the Uncharted Territories. He had never thought of himself as lacking in the courage department, which was fortunate-he was forced to draw on it constantly, and his innate practicality and common sense rarely deserted him. Dealing with overgrown insects, fire-spitting froggies, insane PK captains, corrupt clergy, bounty hunters, mad scientists and magicians, among so many other adventures, required a certain aplomb; it also required steel nerves and John Wayne-style true grit. It all boiled down to one thing: this new lifestyle was incredibly stressful, and it was taking its toll.

It's a wonder I haven't developed an ulcer yet, John thought ruefully. Nah, he had the Crichton constitution-iron stomach, rattlers be damned. Instead insomnia was what the doctor ordered.

It was all the toughness that got to him-the showy bravado that his shipmates dished out in grand packages. Got a problem? Let's blast our way through it! For Aeryn & D'Argo, fear was not option; sometimes, he thought, using their brains wasn't either.

He *had* seen fear, though, a couple times, in Aeryn's eyes-when she had faced the Living Death and had begged him to kill her-and when Namtar's "research" had begun to destroy her inside and out. *That* had freaked him out, big time. When *Aeryn* showed fear, it was time to run for the hills.

But he couldn't do that-he had to be tough enough for both of them. The Vorkarian Blood Trackers had made that point painfully clear-Aeryn couldn't save them then, so he'd played the only card he had. And Zhaan...well, he'd rather not think about what had happened down there with the blue people, only... now he had to forget Alex all over again.

He missed her now. That whole Delvian mind-altering crap had done more of a number on him than he'd been willing to admit, even to himself. He'd been able to forgive Lorana, but now he found himself carrying Alex around with him, wondering what it would have been like if their lives had spun together-what it would be like if she was here, in this psychotic landscape.

Okay, well, he realized that was mostly the loneliness talking-and a little bit was genuine regret for what could have been-they *had* been great together, and last he'd heard, she had done brilliantly for herself at Stanford, and had not yet married. At least he hadn't had to deal with her 'getting over' him too soon...but if only...

Dad...D.K...Alex...Earth. So far from home and anything recognizable, yet...

He'd like to think that the six of them were beginning to gel. He and D'Argo had finally declared a truce and Aeryn was slowly warming up to him (or just learning to tolerate him-ha!) so maybe he didn't need to worry about being knocked out cold every ten microts. Zhaan was heading back to sanity, and could hopefully be counted on for clear thinking, and Rygel was...Rygel. At least he knew he could trust Pilot, but Pilot wasn't exactly what he had in mind for a bosom buddy. And Moya was going to be a mom, so she had other things on her mind than making nice with her passengers. Aeryn was the closest thing to a friend he had, but they weren't there yet, and as far as he knew, they might never get there. The Sebacean female rarely let down her guard enough for them to form any kind of connection...and so far their only bonds had developed out of crisis.

Trust was such a big factor amongst them. There had been so much deception and flaunting of personal agendas that it made it hard to depend on anyone. He wanted to trust Aeryn. But he didn't know if she was quite ready for that yet.

Sometimes, he reflected, it would be really nice to just vent and let it all out. He'd love to give it all an airing, if only to get it out of his system-all the fears and doubts and frustrations that he tried to keep under tight wraps most of the time. The constant condescension and the backhanded insults were sometimes more than he could stomach-most of the time he felt like a punching bag-and his normally even temper was wearing painfully thin. It was so very tempting to just let them all have it one of these days-to give them all a taste of their own medicine-it would be very *satisfying* to lose his temper! Show them all that he wasn't their whipping boy! But, when he was thinking rationally, he knew he couldn't afford to do that, not with his very survival on the line, and sometimes the survival of his companions as well. There was no time for it these days, nor was there a place for it in the daily lives of fugitives.

John folded his hands, cradle-like, beneath his head and stared out at the stars from his supine position on the floor of the terrace. Gazing outward, with the enormity of the universe hanging like a jewel-encrusted canopy overhead, was humbling and awe-inspiring, even if it didn't dispel the loneliness. Instead as he lay there, he found himself wanting more and more to just talk to someone, anyone, and share the thoughts and memories that were churning inside. Instead, he shifted his shoulders and rolled his head from side to side in an attempt to shake the mood that had seized him. That was when he caught the flash of something in the corner of his eye and he violently started.

"What the *hell*--?" He had half-risen, his torso propped on his elbows, before he realized it was only a dim outline of the enigmatic Sebacean curled into the shadows near the entrance of the terrace. Of all the people to run into right now...

*"Jesus,* Aeryn!" He forced himself to relax and his racing pulse to slow after a healthy dose of adrenaline. "You startled me."

"I did not wish to disturb you," he heard her say, her low, grave voice emerging from the shadow. As he watched her swiftly unwind her lithe, long-limbed form, he wondered how long she'd been there. In one smooth motion, she rose to her feet. It was hard to remember that she wasn't human as he gazed up at her. Long dark hair tumbled in tousled waves about her proud shoulders; she was dressed in a thin black tank top and a pair of loose black drawstring trousers that looked much like something he'd seen D'Argo wear. Did the woman 'borrow' clothes from everyone?

"You're not disturbing me," Crichton said quickly. He sat up and twisted away from her, returning his gaze to the stars. He had seen a strange expression in her face...something vulnerable. He didn't want her to leave. He waited, hoping he hadn't scared her off. Well, scare wasn't the right word-after all; she was the big macho PK soldier. But he'd seen something this time...stark emotion had lined a young face that was tight and frozen with something he couldn't decipher.

Right now, he just didn't want her to leave. He didn't want to think too hard about her-he was at least smart enough to know that danger lay that way. But in his mood, company would certainly be welcome.

He felt rather than saw her settle onto the floor near him, imitating his posture with her arms loosely draped over upraised knees drawn toward her chest. He waited a few beats.

"I didn't think anyone else was awake," he said lightly, with a small sideways glance.

"Neither did I."

He turned to face her. "So what are you doing up?"

She made a tiny shrugging motion. "Something woke me...I couldn't get back to sleep."

John nodded thoughtfully in response. "Me too."

"It's too quiet!" she said, softly explosive. "The silence just...gives me the willies sometimes."

He looked at her again, surprised by both her candor and her (finally correct) use of his human expression. A few seconds later she looked over at him, one dark eyebrow arched slightly, and a faint smile widened to touch her eyes.

"That is the correct expression?"

John couldn't keep the huge grin from spreading over this face. "Yeah, Aeryn, it is." She was one amazing, exasperating woman. He paused. "Why does it bug you?"

"What?" she replied absently. "Oh, that. Remember the Zelbinion?" When he nodded, she continued. "Command carriers like that were my home. There was always something going on, something happening, It was never really quiet, not like this anyway." She paused, wrapping her arms around herself tightly. She began again, her eyes taking on a distant expression. "Also...they were filled with Peacekeepers. When I slept, there were always soldiers nearby, in the bunks-they were my comrades. I could hear their breathing, and the hum of the ship, the machinery. I was never alone on a command carrier, not for anything. Even when I was out in my Prowler, I was surrounded by pilots flying the same maneuvers or mission that I was." She wouldn't meet his eyes. John remembered what she'd told him before Namtar had done his dirty work on her: *"I've never been on my own, John, never been alone. Ever."*

"So...this kinda freaks you out then," he said lightly.

"Freaks?" He could sense her begin to bristle (Annoyance? Confusion?) as she struggled with the translation.

"I mean, this must make you uncomfortable." He stole a look at her. Once again, her face was tight, opaque. "There are only six of us on this-" he paused "- *huge ship,* hardly any noise..."

She made a small movement. "It's necessary."

"Yeah. But you don't have to *like* it, Aeryn, do you?"

There was a long pause. "No," she said finally. "But *I* don't really have a choice now, do I?" There was bitterness in her voice; she was back to being angry with him.

"Yes. You do." He turned toward her, his gaze a mild challenge.

Impatiently she tossed her head. "What do you mean?"

"Well," he began deliberately. "For starters, you're not alone right now, this minute-microt-Right?"

"Right," she replied grudgingly. "But do not assume that your company is the equivalent of my comrades."

"I don't," he said evenly. "You remind me of it all the time, how could I forget? But at least it's something, and God knows we all need a little bit of something right now. Face it, Aeryn, our lives will never be the same-you, me, D'Argo, Zhaan, even Rygel. We're all stuck in this together." The words came out in a rush.

"So?"

God, she was a pain in the butt! He wondered if he wanted company enough to explain further, or whether he was better off keeping his mouth shut. Instead, he changed the subject.

"What went through your mind-when you realized you'd been caught in Moya's starburst?" He lay his cheek against his forearm, gazing directly at her strong profile, softened by the dim light.

"I don't know. I was concerned that I'd lost contact with the command carrier. When Moya's docking web brought my Prowler in, I had no idea what to expect."

"Betcha didn't expect to see me," John murmured almost to himself.

"You look Sebacean," she shrugged.

Crichton laughed at that. *"That* would be the shocker then." The tension between them dissipated somewhat. Aeryn was quiet for a few moments as his chuckles hung in the air.

"What happened down there," she asked hesitantly. "When you were down on the "New Moon of Delvia" with Zhaan and the others?"

John met her eyes and then shook his head. "It was a trip, Aeryn."

"Trip?"

"Yeah, it means it was cool, far out." She was still looking at him without comprehension. "Never mind. It means uh, a *very interesting experience."*

"Why don't you just say that then?" She was looking down her nose again. "I will never understand you, human."

Patience, John told himself wryly. Sometimes Aeryn was like a child to him, a student...he remembered their conversation when they were gathering from the Delvians' food source:

**"Oh, there you go, an untended renewable that's part plant, part animal-total nutrition--what's not to like?" he had said as he'd fished out the long opalescent eel-like creature from the petal-strewn pool.**

**"It amazes me how people mistake theosophy for superiority," Aeryn had said, ignoring him as she gazed about the Delvians' extraordinary ship-turned-temple with that familiar judgmental attitude. He'd turned toward her with a sense of exasperation. Once more, she was missing the point.**

**"You know, I don't think so, Aeryn. I don't think anything amazes you.**

**"Look up. Look at this." He had looked upward, at the shaft above their heads, like the vaulted chamber of a cathedral. The place was beautiful. " This is a ship, Aeryn. And it's incredible. It's also a little creepy..."**

John found himself talking to her like that often, perhaps in a vain attempt to promote in her a sense of curiosity and awe. He just wanted her to open her eyes and see, *really see,* the universe around her.

When he looked at her, John saw a beautiful, vibrant young woman, bursting with potential. But that was just it-right now it was only potential. He also saw a terribly repressed woman, who saw the universe only in terms of her limited experience. She had a brain, but had been taught not to use it. Her macho Peacekeeper training prevented her from appreciating so many of the wonders that the universe held out to them like a gift. But it also kept her alive, he reminded himself. He realized that her cynicism, her disinterested detachment and often outright racism were shields that she used to prevent herself from being hurt or ambushed. For the first time, she was being forced to think outside the box of her culture and education and learn how to be something more than just a soldier, a Peacekeeper, or even a Sebacean. She had to learn how to live and grow.

He remembered what she'd told him, after she'd recovered from what Namtar had done to her: *"I'd always thought of myself in terms of survival, life and death, keeping the body alive. What Namtar did to me...it was me. _Inside_. The _real me_."*

He remembered those words-they reminded him that they were more alike than she thought, and that there was far more to Aeryn Sun than she would have anyone believe. So he kept pushing, and chipping away at her defenses-her cynicism, and her impatience-all the things that shielded her from becoming more than the life she once knew. Somehow he knew it would be worth it.

"Crichton?"

John turned to her in surprise. He hadn't realized he'd been silent so long, caught in his own thoughts. "Yeah, Aeryn." He felt like he hadn't breathed in several minutes.

She looked at him curiously. "Where did you go?"

"Nowhere, Aeryn." He sighed. "Just thinking."

She didn't say anything, but he could see the question in her eyes. Yeah, Aeryn, I was thinking about you. About what an *amazing* and incredibly *frustrating* woman you are. About how much there is to learn, and experience...about how much of all that you try to close yourself off to. I was thinking that...if you were human, I would have kissed you by now, or tried to, and you, well, you probably would have killed me for the presumption. So I'd be dead now, but...happy. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"So I wait," John said aloud. Aeryn threw him another puzzled glance.

"Wait for what?" she asked in curiosity and amusement, an odd expression in her eyes.

"Oh, you know, the usual. Solar flare activity. A way home. My dad and my best friend. Hell, a baseball game on a Saturday afternoon. For the perfect wave. I'm just waitin' for my whole life to come back to me, Aeryn," he drawled expansively.

She was silent for a long moment, and John regretted his flippancy.

"What if...you can't get back, John," she asked finally, looking past him at some distant point of light. "What would you do?"

John shrugged his shoulders uneasily, unconsciously tightening his jaw. That was something he tried not to think about. The prospect of never seeing Earth again, of never seeing Dad and D.K., never meeting the woman he might marry, or becoming a grandfather...

"I don't know, Aeryn," he finally said frankly. "I don't know...*what* I'll do if I can't get home. Find some place to settle where Crais can't find me...maybe stay with Moya...I don't know. Life is a long time. I just can't let myself give up. Do you know what I mean?" Whoops. He'd added that last without thinking and he looked over at her apologetically. "Look--I'm sorry, Aeryn. I know you don't know what I mean--that you can't go home."

"There's no need to apologize, Crichton." She looked at him then, squarely meeting his gaze. Her eyes shone in the dim light. "I'm getting used to it, you know. Never being able to go home."

"But you could still find a place-"

"Alone? With no comrades?" She shook her head. "What kind of life would that be? To always be among strangers..." She rested her chin on her forearms crossed over the top of her upraised knees. There was a sad glint in her eyes.

"You're not alone now, Aeryn. And you can *make* friends, meet people wherever you go." Crichton watched as the smooth mask of her young face rippled with emotion.

"It's easy for you. I don't know how to do that."

Crichton was startled by her admission. "It's not *easy* for me, Aeryn. I do it because I have to. I do it because my species is like that-we strive to make connections with others." He paused. "In general. Then there are all the times when we just try to kick the crap out of each other." They both smiled.

"Aeryn, you have comrades now, whether you like it or not. Me, for one."

"You?" She asked with an attempt at sarcasm.

"Yes, Aeryn, me. And D'Argo, and Zhaan, and Rygel and Pilot and Moya." She was looking at him now, as though she had something to say, but Crichton didn't give her a chance to deny the veracity of his words. *"Look,* Aeryn. We may not all like each other all the time. In fact, I'm pretty sure we're gonna really dislike each other some of the time, *but* I think we all realize that we're in this together. And, " he added. "For what it's worth, you can count on me to watch your six."

"My six?"

"Yeah. Your six-your butt, your back, whatever."

"Oh..." She was watching a spot on the floor intently.

"All right, let me have it."

"Have what?" She looked up at him in surprise.

"Now you're gonna get all Peacekeeper *tough* on me and tell me that you don't need me to watch out for you. It's okay; I'm a big boy. I can take it."

There was a long silence then.

"No, John," she said finally, quietly. "You've saved my life more than once, when I could not help myself, or anyone else. For that, I am...grateful."

John was astonished, but he responded lightly, "Well we lower life forms have our uses." He watched as she smiled. God, she was beautiful when she smiled! On impulse he got to his feet and looked down at her.

"Hey Aeryn, I don't know what time it is, but I'm hungry now. What do you say to an early breakfast? I'll cook-you know, I can fry a mean food cube...care to join me?" He grinned impishly at her.

She looked up at him over her shoulder, the smile not yet faded. He reached out a hand to her. She paused, her eyes on his outstretched palm. Then she slapped her hand onto his in a palm-to-palm clasp and allowed him to haul her up. Wordlessly, she followed him off the terrace.

Yup, he could wait. There was something stirring between them, and it filled him with hope. It was enough that they might still become friends. It was enough that he might still find a way home. After all, he decided, when his whole life had been turned upside down, it was the little things that made this chaotic existence bearable.

end

Notes:

This orphaned work was originally on Pejas WWOMB posted by author winterspel.
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