SquidgeWorld Archive

It was broken. Cracked, shattered, spilled and totally useless. It must have broken when I fell. No, I didn't fall, I was hit with... something. And then I fell. I knocked myself unconscious and now we're out of time. I can't fix the environmentals. All I can do now is save Crichton. Only the nerve shot isn't an option.

"Crichton," I say, almost as if he can answer me back. I'm hoping against hope that he will.

I get up and go to him, reviewing in my head the things he taught me for that CPR thing of his. Am I ever glad I was listening. The steps are simple enough, but in times of crisis even the simplest of information can flee your memory.

My heart's pounding so hard it hurts. I admit, I'm terrified. I don't want this to happen the way it's happening. As I slide my arms around his back, lifting him enough so that I can pull him to the floor, I'm sure he'd be able to feel my rapid heartbeat if he was conscious. Conscious? If he were alive.

I lay him on the floor, straddling him. Once again running through the steps in my head. No. I can't let him die. Not like this. He needs to wake up.

I can't do this alone... I don't want to die alone.

As he showed me, I place my hands on his chest and start the compressions, counting aloud as I do them. "Come on, Crichton, wake up," I say, as if my words are somehow what is going to bring him back. I'm watching his face as I count, watching for movement, some sign of life.

Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen.

I remove my hands from his chest, covering his nose and tilting his head up like he showed me. I place my mouth over his, breathing out twice, hoping to feel his air come back to me. It doesn't.

John, please. Come on.

After the two breaths, and I begin compressions again. Again counting aloud, trying to verbally coax him back to consciousness. I'm not even thinking anymore. I'm counting, and praying to any higher power that will listen that he'll start breathing on his own again.

"Thirteen, fourteen... Come on!" I yell at him. I know my yelling is not helping. I don't care. He has to wake up. That's all I care about.

Two more breaths, and I realize that I am willing to do this for as long as it takes to bring him back. I am not letting him go that easy. He's all I have here. And I am not giving up on him. I promised I wouldn't let him down.

I start pounding onto his chest once again, trying to restart his heart. "Come on," I plead. Yes, I'm pleading now.

Don't leave me here like this, Crichton. Come back. Please...

I'm starting to lose track of my counting as I wonder how long is too long. What if this doesn't work? What if I can't bring him back? What if he never wakes up? Enough what ifs already! It was so much easier when I was not thinking...

Forgetting what number I'm on, I breathe for him again, then start compressions once again-

And he gasps.

He's alive. He's alive!

"Crichton," I say. I put my gloved hands to his face, trying to shake him back into consciousness a little. I move off of him just before he rolls onto his side towards me. He's alive. He's breathing. He's awake.

It's a short moment before he turns his head back up to me. "Oh, God," he mutters, "you did it, Aeryn."

I smile down at him. I never thought I'd be so happy to hear this man speak.

"But you lied like a dog," Crichton says. "God, that hurt like hell!"

It's slowly coming back to me, that I *didn't* do it. The environmentals were still in need of repair that could no longer be done. I'd brought him back to life only for him to die alongside me.

He struggles a little, almost as if he's going to try to get up. "How'd it go?" he asks me. "The environmentals... They fixed?"

I'm sure my smile is completely gone now. I don't want to tell him this. "I didn't finish," I say.

He obviously wasn't expecting that answer. Crichton surprises me, grabbing me by the front of my suit and pulling me down towards him. I can't blame him for his reaction, though. "You didn't *what*?" he said.

"Your time was running out," I tell him. I don't want to tell him the rest. He can figure that out for himself.

Crichton blinks. He definitely figured it out. "Wait a minute. You stopped because-"

I won't let him finish. I can't bear to hear it. When I stopped working the repairs and started toward him before I was knocked out, I'd realized what my reasoning was, and I will stand by it. I just don't want to hear it said. "We have about half an arn of breathable atmosphere left," I tell him.

He lets me go as he looks down. He knows it, too. Unless by some miracle, neither one of us are going to make it out of here alive.