The trembling wouldn't stop.

The cold whispering threat of hope kept on ringing in his ears.

Katratzi, it said.

Katratzi.

"Crichton!" it yelled in his mind, before that name was smothered by cold waves.

Crichton could almost feel it himself, as the cold spread through his chest.

His hands grip the small cup with a numbing strength, fearing to be overcome by pain when forced to let go.

Fearing to be consumed by it.

By love.

Crichton sat so close to the television set that the electric radiation began to burn his mind and eyes, as he watched Aeryn over and over again on the screen.

Aeryn.

So close, yet so far away.

Katratzi.

Katratzi.

The trembling wouldn't stop.

The cup in Crichton's hand started shaking as his condition worsened.

His eyes had to adjust to his dark surroundings as he and his thoughts returned to the land of the living, instead of the land of painful memories of loves lost.

For a moment he considered turning the television off, but as he reached for the button his hand would not listen to his mind.

His heart told him to keep on watching.

To keep on dreaming.

To cradle hope and to never give up.

The cup slipped from his fingers as his sense of touch abandoned him, dazed and numbed by the insane amount of raslak he had been drinking for arns spent alone in his quarters.

Raslak spilled all over the floor.

The bright images on the television of happy days gone by blinded Crichton as he reached down to get the cup from the floor, resting his heavy head temporarily on his shoulder.

His fingers could touch the metal cup, but not grab it.

He was so tired.

So tired.

He suddenly wanted to scream.

He wanted to make that endless whisper end.

Katratzi, it whispered.

Katratzi.

John did not want to have hope anymore.

Crichton closed his eyes, embracing the sudden darkness underneath his eyelids, but as he opened them again and gazed upon the floor, he saw something familiar. Something he had not seen for a long while.

He touched it gently with his fingers as his hand reached even lower to the ground.

Such a small item, which had probably accidentally found its way on the ground in front of him.

The sample of lakka, Noranti had given him, a long time ago.

"One whiff, and the pain is gone." he remembered her saying.

And it did.

It's been a while since he's used it.

He's been so happy lately.

But every time...

Every single frelling time, when fate hands you a day of happiness, it gives you a year of sorrow.

A season of death.

Every time.

"Why?" John asked the shadows in his room. "Why?"

John grabbed the sample of lakka and held it up high in front of him.

One whiff, and he would forget about everything.

And there would be no more pain.

He would forget about the sorrow and sadness and tears and death.

Or the possibillity of death.

Aeryn was taken from him, and now his hopes too.

John brought the sample closer to his face, but then a voice suddenly stopped him.

Not a voice.

A whisper.

"...we've been through a lot, John and I." Aeryn said to Olivia in a secretly recorded conversation, only now aired on television.

"...we've fought side by side on many occasions, and I know that, if anything were to happen to me, he'd be there. He'd help me. He'd find me. And I would do the same for him. No matter what."

John lowered his hand.

Olivia approached Aeryn slowly as she prepared to ask a question.

"Do you love him?" she asked.

A silenced followed, in which both Aeryn and John froze.

"With all my heart." Aeryn answered.

Katratzi, the voice whispered again.

Find me.

John threw the lakka away.

Find me.

"I will." John said.

He would cling to hope.

He would risk his life for his love and his unborn offspring, without knowing if they were alive or dead.

Because hope was all he got, and it has kept him alive in the Uncharted Territories for many years.

Find me.

John stood up from his chair.

He would not abandon hope.

He would not abandon Aeryn.

And suddenly, the trembling stopped.