Title: "The Last Word"
Author: Sorlk Lewis
Rating: PG13 VL (Violence, Language)
Spoilers: "Die Me, Dichotomy"
Summary: Several months after "Die Me, Dichotomy" Crichton finally catches up with Scorpius and exacts his revenge.
Disclaimer: The beautiful genius of Farscape belongs to its wonderful creator, Rockne S. O'Bannon, and all the lovely people involved with it such as Nine Networks, Jim Henson Productions, Animal Logic, etc. If I was making money from writing this stuff, do you honestly think I would still be writing only fanfic? ;)
~*~*~*~*~*~
His once bright blue eyes glared out at the group from the shadows as he took a deep and biting breath of the cold air. It tasted bitter in his mouth...not the sweet and fresh flavor it should have been, but sour and vile. It was comforting, though. Where in only a month earlier he would have tasted nothing...not felt the pain of the cold air nipping at his bare hands...only hollowness in his heart...any feeling was now a reassuring one.
Pain was good. His pain. Others pain. Any pain meant that he was still alive, that his heart had not stopped beating yet.
Clenching his fists tightly, Crichton stood up from his crouched position, relishing in the fact his nerves protested and shot pain through his legs. It felt good.
The drunken Peacekeepers that stumbled out of the bar he was watching didn't even notice each other, let alone a single figure in a dark alleyway. It only made his personal mission easier.
His blue eyes sparkled for a moment as he thought he saw the man he sought step out of the cantina's door and into the midst of drunken officers. The brightness quickly faded as he saw it was only another Sebacean...but there was something unusual about this one.
The way this Peacekeeper carried himself...it was eerily familiar. He knew this person. No, he knew the rank. A captain. A sober Peacekeeper captain.
The clean-cut man looked around the crowded street...his subordinates bumping into each other and falling down in the dirt. 'Drunk' now had a new meaning all together.
Glancing behind him once more, the captain straightened his uniform and began briskly walking down the street.
Crichton tipped his head to the side in a curious gesture...his eyes following the captain down the street until he disappeared. Briefly glancing at the door to the cantina he had been watching, Crichton made a pivotal decision...
~*~
The captain swiftly brushed his way through the crowd of aliens. A few Sebaceans where scattered throughout the area, but regardless of what he did to avoid the others, the contact was unavoidable. It was suffocating.
Crichton followed him from the other side of the street...watching and mirroring the Peacekeepers every step. This was his last shot and he had risked it all on a frelling gut feeling. He could barely even feel his gut, so how could he trust it? Because he had to.
The Peacekeeper stopped in front of an elegant stone building. The intricate carvings of beasts and birds briefly reminded him of far-off lands and dragons and elves, wizards and kings. He laughed sourly at the memory. He could remember fairy tales, but not his mothers maiden name...he should remember his mothers name. He should remember it all.
Shaking himself from his reverie, he watched the captain step towards the door nervously...pausing before taking the final step through the doorway and disappearing inside.
Noting the exterior of the building, Crichton turned to go back to the abandoned building that had been serving as his home for the last weeken or two. A strong hand firmly grabbed his shoulder before he could even take a step.
Drawing his pulse pistol, Crichton spun around...the weapon aiming squarely at his company's chest. D'Argos hand quickly grabbed the barrel of the weapon, effectively disarming the Human quickly.
Anger and then hurt flashed through Crichton's eyes before he snatched his weapon back. Holstering Wynona, he brushed past the Luxan angrily...there was nothing to say. There never had been.
D'Argo turned to face Crichton's retreating back; "Wait, John..."
Pausing in his step, Crichton closed his eyes in pain. That's what *she* had come to call him in latter days. John. Crichton was his name to the crew...his name to everyone. But John...that meant something. No one called him that unless something was wrong or unless *she* was talking to him.
This pain was not good. This pain made the dull ache in his heart intensify. He hated this pain because it the worst kind.
Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Crichton spoke with a rough and angry tone, "Get the frell out of here, D'Argo."
"Crichton, we've been looking for you..."
"Heh, looking for me? Why? I told you what I was going to do. You all had other plans. It was any easy choice for everyone. It was an easy goodbye."
"That's not true..."
Turning around to face D'Argo, Crichton resisted the urge to let his fist meet the Luxans face and wipe his pity for him out of his expression. That look...that forced pity made something in him snap and the dam holding back his feelings about the past quarter of a cycle spilled over in a bubbling mess...
"Screw you and the universe, D'Argo...screw you. All you have already screwed me, so I think turn-about is fair play. You wanted to go off and grow frelling Prowsifruit with your ass-hole son...maybe have Chiana go with you so you wouldn't get 'lonely'."
D'Argo shook his head...his expression one of pity and remorse now, "Crichton, you don't understand."
"Shut the frell up. Now, Stark and Zhaan...they didn't care about anything. They would rather meditate than face the real world. Pilot and Moya? They hated me for what happened...both of them. Rygel could care less about anything unless it affects him. And what did I want and care about? What did I have? I had her. She was everything. And now what do I have? Jack-shit. That's what I have now. That and this empty feeling only filled with pain, day-after-day."
Glancing at the building across the busy street, Crichton choked back the dry tears that threatened to surface before continuing...
"I only have one thing anymore, D'Argo. And Rygel knows what it is because he has the same thing. A thirst for revenge. That cadaverous son-of-a-bitch is the reason she is gone...the reason my chance to go home is gone. And since none of you will help me, I'll do it myself. So don't frelling tell me you have been looking for me. It's been months since I left Moya and you know what? I don't care. I don't give a rat's ass about any of you because you sure didn't give one about me before."
Turning away from D'Argo once again, Crichton started on his way 'home' for the day...he had dealed with enough shit for a many lifetimes over already, and all he wanted was to fall into the black oblivion of sleep...even if nightmares accompanied it.
Before he was out of earshot of D'Argo, he made sure to drive in the knife of guilt one last time..."Don't follow me, don't bother me, and stay the frell away from me...I don't need any of you, D'Argo...you've already shown how much my friendship means to you the last time we parted."
D'Argo watched Crichton quickly disappear into the crowd of beings on the cold and dusty street before he defeatedly turned to go back to Moya and her crew. The news would have to be delivered by another...Crichton just would not believe anything said from D'Argo's lips in his current state of blood thirsty revenge...
~*~
He licked his dry and cracked lips gingerly as he watched the quiet building front. The hustle and bustle of the streets died down considerably around midnight due to the extreme cold...but Sebaceans could handle it. They could handle it well.
The door suddenly opened and out stepped a Peacekeeper...he couldn't see his face, though. Crichton muttered a colorful array of phrases he had recently picked up, yet his translator microbes couldn't.
The lieutenant turned around to survey the street before continuing on, and in that brief moment, Crichton saw what he needed to. Braca. That Peacekeeper was Braca.
Smiling to himself, Crichton fingered his pulse pistol at his side and trailed Braca...he knew exactly how he would find Scorpius now.
~*~
Crichton shoved the barrel of Wynona into Braca's neck; "Good to see you, Lt. Expendable."
"Crichton?!"
"Didn't expect to see me so soon, huh, honey?" And with a quick pantak jab, Braca's lights went out.
Smirking to himself, Crichton hoisted the Peacekeeper up on his shoulder. "Time for the third round."
~*~
Walking through the door of the large stone building, a younger Peacekeeper nodded Crichton through...just another lieutenant off to fetch his captain.
~*~
"Lt. Braca, back so soon?" questioned Scorpius as the door hissed shut...his back to the door as he studied the hollo image in front of him.
"I'm sorry, Scorpy, my buddy Braca had a bit of a problem with the food here...you know, it doesn't exactly agree well with the stomach."
Scorpius stood up swiftly, knocking his chair over as he turned around to face the intruder. "Crichton," he growled as he reverted to his Scarran voice.
"You look surprised to see me..." laughed Crichton as he shifted the pulse pistol to his other hand, its aim never wavering from the half-breeds chest.
Regaining his composure, Scorpius picked up the chair, "Surprised isn't the word I would have used...although, I'm certainly intrigued as to how your speech was restored and how you found me."
"Oh, cut the shit, Scorpius. You don't really care. You have your precious wormhole technology and that's all you wanted...you said it yourself. And do you remember that little thing about revenge, well, let's just say that is how I found you."
"John, I wouldn't do anything rash if I were you. This building is filled with Peacekeepers...all of them my subordinates."
Crichton tipped his head to the side, studying Scorpius's face for a microt; "You know, even with that damn chip of yours out of my head, you never really left. I still know how you think."
He looked past Scorpius to the table with the imager on it, stepping closer to it for a better look. "Ah, so this is what you obsessed over for a cycle?"
"Crichton..."
"Shut up, Scorpy."
Switching off the device, Crichton picked it up...examining it closely. "A cycle of torment for this...hardly seems worth it all."
Scorpius took a step towards Crichton, wanting to secure the hollo crystal. "It was worth it to me, John."
Dropping the whole machine on the floor, he turned towards the Scarran/Sebacean and shoved his weapon into his chest; "Well it wasn't worth it to me."
Scorpius closed his eyes and hissed through his teeth as he heard a sickening crunch...it was all too easy to guess what the noise was from.
Crichton stepped over to the wall to examine an interesting tapestry, dropping his hand that gripped the gun to his side.
"Oh, and yes, I know you must have copies of it somewhere, but I'm not sure you will be able to enjoy them in your latter days." Snickered Crichton gleefully.
"John, don't do this. I left you alive. Coming back here could now drastically change my views on your current state."
"And what are you going to do about it? Well, I guess being the poster-child for gingivitis that you are, you could always kill my with your halitosis...right?"
Stepping up behind Crichton, Scorpius gently took the gun from his hand, setting it on the table. Walking back over to his seat, he picked up the shattered remains of the imager; "It amazes me, John. Regardless of what you suffer through, you retain your bizarre wit...I wonder, is this a trait found in all humans?"
"No. Remember, I'm unique."
A sinister smile fell on Scorpius's lips, "Only in this end of the universe. Although, I do wonder if there are any other humans out here."
Crichton turned back around to face his nemesis. This was certainly not the confrontation he expected from the Peacekeeper scientist.
Reaching for the pulse pistol sitting on the edge of the table, Crichton kept his eyes on Scorpius.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Crichton." He said without turning around.
His hand froze mere denches from the butt of the gun. "Well, yeah, you might have said that to me a cycle or two ago on the Gammak base, but then again, perhaps I should have said it myself."
"John, you do not understand the power of a wormhole...in the right hands."
"Yeah...foreign worlds, foreign people..."
Shifting his conference chair around to face Crichton, the smile on the Scarran-Sebaceans face was sickening; "You do know about the Nebari, do you not?"
Crichton's silence stretched on for what seemed to be an eternity all its own...it was all the answer needed.
"As I thought. Well, with wormholes, the Peacekeepers could prevent their plan from ever going into action. It would save trillions of lives."
"Trillions of alien lives that the Peacekeepers would most likely execute later."
Sour and vile laughter slipped past Scorpius's thin lips; "You give them too much credit, my dear boy."
"Do I give you too much credit?"
"Sometimes. But you also underestimate me a great deal." Flippantly commented the hybrid as he steepled his gloved hands.
Crichton stepped up to Scorpius, resting his hands on either side of the chair as he leaned down to whisper in the Peacekeepers ear a warning, "You also underestimate me."
On the last word, Crichton drove the knife he had into the Scarran/Sebaceans stomach...piercing the black leather suit. Twisting the knife around, he drove the jagged metal edge deeper into Scorpius...
When Crichton pulled back, the same smile Scorpius had had earlier was now painted on his face. "Krakran hand made knife...made for gutting and skinning the Jaxx'Itant. Curious creature, you know...very, very thick skin...impenetrable to everything...but this knife. And when tipped with poison...well, I'm sure you can guess the rest."
Gasping for a breath of air, Scorpius pulled his hand away from his wound...the dark red, almost black blood not very visible on his leather glove. "You can't kill me, John Crichton..."
Wiping the blood off of the knife and then retrieving his pulse pistol, the self-satisfied smirk on Crichton's face never wavered; "Oh, and I know that. But time. That can kill you. And with a wound like that, it won't take much time."
"John...Crichton. You cannot do this." Gargled the Peacekeeper.
"I don't have your damn chip in my head anymore!" screamed Crichton as he picked up a nearby vase and threw it across the room...it shattering into a million pieces, reminiscent of Crichton's own mind and memories.
Leaning close to him once more, Crichton hissed through his teeth, "It's your fault she's dead, you son of a bitch. But you know what, I live with her blood on my hands every day. It may have been the chip acting, but I killed her. So you know what, I can do anything I damn well please."
Crichton shoved over the chair Scorpius was sitting in...the dying hybrid spilling to the floor in a heap. The sound of the door hissing open and then shut once again alerted Scorpius to the exit of the human.
Reaching for the alert switch on the underside of the table, his blood covered hand slipped on the knobs smooth surface...
~*~
Crichton walked out of the building...his whole body numb. The same numbness it had been months ago. No pain. No cold. No nothing.
It was a bad feeling. He hated it more than he hated Scorpius. More than he hated himself. That was the only thing that hurt. The numbness.
Crichton stopped in the middle of the street...it still fairly empty and dark. He looked around like a lost little boy searching for his parents amidst the crowd at the local mall on a warm Sunday summer afternoon.
Dropping the knife to the dusty street, he stared at it lying there in the dirt. The little light that was around bounced off the blade...it shimmering like a diamond. A streak of dark blood was still traceable at the hilt of the weapon and on the handle.
Reaching behind his back, Crichton gripped the butt of the pulse pistol shoved into his belt, drawing it out and studying the worn barrel. Raising the weapon to his temple, Crichton closed his eyes tightly as his finger slowly squeezed the trigger...
He hit the ground face down, the unfired gun sliding out of his hand and across the dirt as someone heavy pinned him down. Crichton started thrashing about as vaguely familiar voices yelled at him.
"Crichton! Stop it! Stop, Crichton!"
"John, you have to stop thrashing!"
"You have to listen to us!"
When he wouldn't stop, his assailants' had to take drastic measures...and Crichton's world quickly faded to black nothingness.
~*~
As consciousness resurfaced, Crichton became panicked, half falling, half leaping off the bed he was on. The room, even thought dark, felt familiar. He had been here before.
Taking a deep breath to calm himself down, he took survey of the room...something in the far corner catching his eye. Without even noting his change of clothes from Braca's uniform to the black cargo pants and black t-shirt he had worn long ago, he tentatively walked over to the object.
Sitting on the corner table, hanging from the small lamp, was Aeryn's locket. He captured the small piece of jewelry in his hand, untangling it from the lamp stem. Looking closely at the small sphere, Crichton thumbed the latch carefully.
The person who had been watching him from the doorway of the darkened cell cleared her throat, startling Crichton out of his thoughts and causing him to drop the locket...
He spun around to see a very much alive, yet tired looking, Aeryn Sun standing at the door with her arms crossed. He couldn't believe his eyes...she was dead. He had watched D'Argo pull her cold and lifeless body from the frozen lake...
"You're dead." He stated flatly.
Aeryn nodded, "I was."
He didn't move. She couldn't even see him breath in the dark room. "No, you still are. There is no way we could have revived you. There is still no way. You're dead."
Unfolding her arms, Aeryn took a few steps towards him, stopping when he began to back up. "I'm not dead, John."
"Yes you are! You're DEAD! I killed you!" he screamed as he shoved the corner table over and punched the wall savagely.
"I'm alive, John! You never killed me!" Aeryn yelled back as she stepped towards him again to try to stop him from hurting himself. This time he snapped.
Tackling Aeryn to the ground, he tried to hit her, make her disappear. To him, she still wasn't real, despite the texture of her skin and warmth radiating out from her.
Aeryn grabbed his arms and flipped him over before he could get in even one swing at her. Still thrashing about and screaming wildly, Aeryn held Crichton down, whispering in his ear, pleading with him to calm down.
Finally he stilled beneath her and she sat up enough to look at his face. His eyes were clenched shut, but tears were still running down his cheeks as he continued to mumble that she was dead...that he had killed her.
Cupping his face in her hands, Aeryn whispered her words to him; "John, you didn't kill me. I'm still alive. I'm right here and I've been looking for you since Crais found another Diagnosian. The Diagnosian was able to heal me. John, please listen to me. I can't lose you again..."
Crichton stopped his mumbling when he heard the last words. He remembered what happened in the neural-cluster...after the chip was out, he remembered.
Opening his eyes, he looked at Aeryn's face...even in the darkness of the room he could make out all of her features. Taking a deep breath, he wetted his lips before murmuring, "I would be lost without you..."
A sad smile formed on Aeryn's lips; "Then you'll never be lost..."
Crichton tilted his head up enough to capture her lips in a tender and chaste kiss. She released his arms as he pulled back from the short kiss...running one of his hands through her hair.
"I love you." She said softly.
"I love you too..."
Fin
Author: Sorlk Lewis
Rating: PG13 VL (Violence, Language)
Spoilers: "Die Me, Dichotomy"
Summary: Several months after "Die Me, Dichotomy" Crichton finally catches up with Scorpius and exacts his revenge.
Disclaimer: The beautiful genius of Farscape belongs to its wonderful creator, Rockne S. O'Bannon, and all the lovely people involved with it such as Nine Networks, Jim Henson Productions, Animal Logic, etc. If I was making money from writing this stuff, do you honestly think I would still be writing only fanfic? ;)
~*~*~*~*~*~
His once bright blue eyes glared out at the group from the shadows as he took a deep and biting breath of the cold air. It tasted bitter in his mouth...not the sweet and fresh flavor it should have been, but sour and vile. It was comforting, though. Where in only a month earlier he would have tasted nothing...not felt the pain of the cold air nipping at his bare hands...only hollowness in his heart...any feeling was now a reassuring one.
Pain was good. His pain. Others pain. Any pain meant that he was still alive, that his heart had not stopped beating yet.
Clenching his fists tightly, Crichton stood up from his crouched position, relishing in the fact his nerves protested and shot pain through his legs. It felt good.
The drunken Peacekeepers that stumbled out of the bar he was watching didn't even notice each other, let alone a single figure in a dark alleyway. It only made his personal mission easier.
His blue eyes sparkled for a moment as he thought he saw the man he sought step out of the cantina's door and into the midst of drunken officers. The brightness quickly faded as he saw it was only another Sebacean...but there was something unusual about this one.
The way this Peacekeeper carried himself...it was eerily familiar. He knew this person. No, he knew the rank. A captain. A sober Peacekeeper captain.
The clean-cut man looked around the crowded street...his subordinates bumping into each other and falling down in the dirt. 'Drunk' now had a new meaning all together.
Glancing behind him once more, the captain straightened his uniform and began briskly walking down the street.
Crichton tipped his head to the side in a curious gesture...his eyes following the captain down the street until he disappeared. Briefly glancing at the door to the cantina he had been watching, Crichton made a pivotal decision...
~*~
The captain swiftly brushed his way through the crowd of aliens. A few Sebaceans where scattered throughout the area, but regardless of what he did to avoid the others, the contact was unavoidable. It was suffocating.
Crichton followed him from the other side of the street...watching and mirroring the Peacekeepers every step. This was his last shot and he had risked it all on a frelling gut feeling. He could barely even feel his gut, so how could he trust it? Because he had to.
The Peacekeeper stopped in front of an elegant stone building. The intricate carvings of beasts and birds briefly reminded him of far-off lands and dragons and elves, wizards and kings. He laughed sourly at the memory. He could remember fairy tales, but not his mothers maiden name...he should remember his mothers name. He should remember it all.
Shaking himself from his reverie, he watched the captain step towards the door nervously...pausing before taking the final step through the doorway and disappearing inside.
Noting the exterior of the building, Crichton turned to go back to the abandoned building that had been serving as his home for the last weeken or two. A strong hand firmly grabbed his shoulder before he could even take a step.
Drawing his pulse pistol, Crichton spun around...the weapon aiming squarely at his company's chest. D'Argos hand quickly grabbed the barrel of the weapon, effectively disarming the Human quickly.
Anger and then hurt flashed through Crichton's eyes before he snatched his weapon back. Holstering Wynona, he brushed past the Luxan angrily...there was nothing to say. There never had been.
D'Argo turned to face Crichton's retreating back; "Wait, John..."
Pausing in his step, Crichton closed his eyes in pain. That's what *she* had come to call him in latter days. John. Crichton was his name to the crew...his name to everyone. But John...that meant something. No one called him that unless something was wrong or unless *she* was talking to him.
This pain was not good. This pain made the dull ache in his heart intensify. He hated this pain because it the worst kind.
Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Crichton spoke with a rough and angry tone, "Get the frell out of here, D'Argo."
"Crichton, we've been looking for you..."
"Heh, looking for me? Why? I told you what I was going to do. You all had other plans. It was any easy choice for everyone. It was an easy goodbye."
"That's not true..."
Turning around to face D'Argo, Crichton resisted the urge to let his fist meet the Luxans face and wipe his pity for him out of his expression. That look...that forced pity made something in him snap and the dam holding back his feelings about the past quarter of a cycle spilled over in a bubbling mess...
"Screw you and the universe, D'Argo...screw you. All you have already screwed me, so I think turn-about is fair play. You wanted to go off and grow frelling Prowsifruit with your ass-hole son...maybe have Chiana go with you so you wouldn't get 'lonely'."
D'Argo shook his head...his expression one of pity and remorse now, "Crichton, you don't understand."
"Shut the frell up. Now, Stark and Zhaan...they didn't care about anything. They would rather meditate than face the real world. Pilot and Moya? They hated me for what happened...both of them. Rygel could care less about anything unless it affects him. And what did I want and care about? What did I have? I had her. She was everything. And now what do I have? Jack-shit. That's what I have now. That and this empty feeling only filled with pain, day-after-day."
Glancing at the building across the busy street, Crichton choked back the dry tears that threatened to surface before continuing...
"I only have one thing anymore, D'Argo. And Rygel knows what it is because he has the same thing. A thirst for revenge. That cadaverous son-of-a-bitch is the reason she is gone...the reason my chance to go home is gone. And since none of you will help me, I'll do it myself. So don't frelling tell me you have been looking for me. It's been months since I left Moya and you know what? I don't care. I don't give a rat's ass about any of you because you sure didn't give one about me before."
Turning away from D'Argo once again, Crichton started on his way 'home' for the day...he had dealed with enough shit for a many lifetimes over already, and all he wanted was to fall into the black oblivion of sleep...even if nightmares accompanied it.
Before he was out of earshot of D'Argo, he made sure to drive in the knife of guilt one last time..."Don't follow me, don't bother me, and stay the frell away from me...I don't need any of you, D'Argo...you've already shown how much my friendship means to you the last time we parted."
D'Argo watched Crichton quickly disappear into the crowd of beings on the cold and dusty street before he defeatedly turned to go back to Moya and her crew. The news would have to be delivered by another...Crichton just would not believe anything said from D'Argo's lips in his current state of blood thirsty revenge...
~*~
He licked his dry and cracked lips gingerly as he watched the quiet building front. The hustle and bustle of the streets died down considerably around midnight due to the extreme cold...but Sebaceans could handle it. They could handle it well.
The door suddenly opened and out stepped a Peacekeeper...he couldn't see his face, though. Crichton muttered a colorful array of phrases he had recently picked up, yet his translator microbes couldn't.
The lieutenant turned around to survey the street before continuing on, and in that brief moment, Crichton saw what he needed to. Braca. That Peacekeeper was Braca.
Smiling to himself, Crichton fingered his pulse pistol at his side and trailed Braca...he knew exactly how he would find Scorpius now.
~*~
Crichton shoved the barrel of Wynona into Braca's neck; "Good to see you, Lt. Expendable."
"Crichton?!"
"Didn't expect to see me so soon, huh, honey?" And with a quick pantak jab, Braca's lights went out.
Smirking to himself, Crichton hoisted the Peacekeeper up on his shoulder. "Time for the third round."
~*~
Walking through the door of the large stone building, a younger Peacekeeper nodded Crichton through...just another lieutenant off to fetch his captain.
~*~
"Lt. Braca, back so soon?" questioned Scorpius as the door hissed shut...his back to the door as he studied the hollo image in front of him.
"I'm sorry, Scorpy, my buddy Braca had a bit of a problem with the food here...you know, it doesn't exactly agree well with the stomach."
Scorpius stood up swiftly, knocking his chair over as he turned around to face the intruder. "Crichton," he growled as he reverted to his Scarran voice.
"You look surprised to see me..." laughed Crichton as he shifted the pulse pistol to his other hand, its aim never wavering from the half-breeds chest.
Regaining his composure, Scorpius picked up the chair, "Surprised isn't the word I would have used...although, I'm certainly intrigued as to how your speech was restored and how you found me."
"Oh, cut the shit, Scorpius. You don't really care. You have your precious wormhole technology and that's all you wanted...you said it yourself. And do you remember that little thing about revenge, well, let's just say that is how I found you."
"John, I wouldn't do anything rash if I were you. This building is filled with Peacekeepers...all of them my subordinates."
Crichton tipped his head to the side, studying Scorpius's face for a microt; "You know, even with that damn chip of yours out of my head, you never really left. I still know how you think."
He looked past Scorpius to the table with the imager on it, stepping closer to it for a better look. "Ah, so this is what you obsessed over for a cycle?"
"Crichton..."
"Shut up, Scorpy."
Switching off the device, Crichton picked it up...examining it closely. "A cycle of torment for this...hardly seems worth it all."
Scorpius took a step towards Crichton, wanting to secure the hollo crystal. "It was worth it to me, John."
Dropping the whole machine on the floor, he turned towards the Scarran/Sebacean and shoved his weapon into his chest; "Well it wasn't worth it to me."
Scorpius closed his eyes and hissed through his teeth as he heard a sickening crunch...it was all too easy to guess what the noise was from.
Crichton stepped over to the wall to examine an interesting tapestry, dropping his hand that gripped the gun to his side.
"Oh, and yes, I know you must have copies of it somewhere, but I'm not sure you will be able to enjoy them in your latter days." Snickered Crichton gleefully.
"John, don't do this. I left you alive. Coming back here could now drastically change my views on your current state."
"And what are you going to do about it? Well, I guess being the poster-child for gingivitis that you are, you could always kill my with your halitosis...right?"
Stepping up behind Crichton, Scorpius gently took the gun from his hand, setting it on the table. Walking back over to his seat, he picked up the shattered remains of the imager; "It amazes me, John. Regardless of what you suffer through, you retain your bizarre wit...I wonder, is this a trait found in all humans?"
"No. Remember, I'm unique."
A sinister smile fell on Scorpius's lips, "Only in this end of the universe. Although, I do wonder if there are any other humans out here."
Crichton turned back around to face his nemesis. This was certainly not the confrontation he expected from the Peacekeeper scientist.
Reaching for the pulse pistol sitting on the edge of the table, Crichton kept his eyes on Scorpius.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Crichton." He said without turning around.
His hand froze mere denches from the butt of the gun. "Well, yeah, you might have said that to me a cycle or two ago on the Gammak base, but then again, perhaps I should have said it myself."
"John, you do not understand the power of a wormhole...in the right hands."
"Yeah...foreign worlds, foreign people..."
Shifting his conference chair around to face Crichton, the smile on the Scarran-Sebaceans face was sickening; "You do know about the Nebari, do you not?"
Crichton's silence stretched on for what seemed to be an eternity all its own...it was all the answer needed.
"As I thought. Well, with wormholes, the Peacekeepers could prevent their plan from ever going into action. It would save trillions of lives."
"Trillions of alien lives that the Peacekeepers would most likely execute later."
Sour and vile laughter slipped past Scorpius's thin lips; "You give them too much credit, my dear boy."
"Do I give you too much credit?"
"Sometimes. But you also underestimate me a great deal." Flippantly commented the hybrid as he steepled his gloved hands.
Crichton stepped up to Scorpius, resting his hands on either side of the chair as he leaned down to whisper in the Peacekeepers ear a warning, "You also underestimate me."
On the last word, Crichton drove the knife he had into the Scarran/Sebaceans stomach...piercing the black leather suit. Twisting the knife around, he drove the jagged metal edge deeper into Scorpius...
When Crichton pulled back, the same smile Scorpius had had earlier was now painted on his face. "Krakran hand made knife...made for gutting and skinning the Jaxx'Itant. Curious creature, you know...very, very thick skin...impenetrable to everything...but this knife. And when tipped with poison...well, I'm sure you can guess the rest."
Gasping for a breath of air, Scorpius pulled his hand away from his wound...the dark red, almost black blood not very visible on his leather glove. "You can't kill me, John Crichton..."
Wiping the blood off of the knife and then retrieving his pulse pistol, the self-satisfied smirk on Crichton's face never wavered; "Oh, and I know that. But time. That can kill you. And with a wound like that, it won't take much time."
"John...Crichton. You cannot do this." Gargled the Peacekeeper.
"I don't have your damn chip in my head anymore!" screamed Crichton as he picked up a nearby vase and threw it across the room...it shattering into a million pieces, reminiscent of Crichton's own mind and memories.
Leaning close to him once more, Crichton hissed through his teeth, "It's your fault she's dead, you son of a bitch. But you know what, I live with her blood on my hands every day. It may have been the chip acting, but I killed her. So you know what, I can do anything I damn well please."
Crichton shoved over the chair Scorpius was sitting in...the dying hybrid spilling to the floor in a heap. The sound of the door hissing open and then shut once again alerted Scorpius to the exit of the human.
Reaching for the alert switch on the underside of the table, his blood covered hand slipped on the knobs smooth surface...
~*~
Crichton walked out of the building...his whole body numb. The same numbness it had been months ago. No pain. No cold. No nothing.
It was a bad feeling. He hated it more than he hated Scorpius. More than he hated himself. That was the only thing that hurt. The numbness.
Crichton stopped in the middle of the street...it still fairly empty and dark. He looked around like a lost little boy searching for his parents amidst the crowd at the local mall on a warm Sunday summer afternoon.
Dropping the knife to the dusty street, he stared at it lying there in the dirt. The little light that was around bounced off the blade...it shimmering like a diamond. A streak of dark blood was still traceable at the hilt of the weapon and on the handle.
Reaching behind his back, Crichton gripped the butt of the pulse pistol shoved into his belt, drawing it out and studying the worn barrel. Raising the weapon to his temple, Crichton closed his eyes tightly as his finger slowly squeezed the trigger...
He hit the ground face down, the unfired gun sliding out of his hand and across the dirt as someone heavy pinned him down. Crichton started thrashing about as vaguely familiar voices yelled at him.
"Crichton! Stop it! Stop, Crichton!"
"John, you have to stop thrashing!"
"You have to listen to us!"
When he wouldn't stop, his assailants' had to take drastic measures...and Crichton's world quickly faded to black nothingness.
~*~
As consciousness resurfaced, Crichton became panicked, half falling, half leaping off the bed he was on. The room, even thought dark, felt familiar. He had been here before.
Taking a deep breath to calm himself down, he took survey of the room...something in the far corner catching his eye. Without even noting his change of clothes from Braca's uniform to the black cargo pants and black t-shirt he had worn long ago, he tentatively walked over to the object.
Sitting on the corner table, hanging from the small lamp, was Aeryn's locket. He captured the small piece of jewelry in his hand, untangling it from the lamp stem. Looking closely at the small sphere, Crichton thumbed the latch carefully.
The person who had been watching him from the doorway of the darkened cell cleared her throat, startling Crichton out of his thoughts and causing him to drop the locket...
He spun around to see a very much alive, yet tired looking, Aeryn Sun standing at the door with her arms crossed. He couldn't believe his eyes...she was dead. He had watched D'Argo pull her cold and lifeless body from the frozen lake...
"You're dead." He stated flatly.
Aeryn nodded, "I was."
He didn't move. She couldn't even see him breath in the dark room. "No, you still are. There is no way we could have revived you. There is still no way. You're dead."
Unfolding her arms, Aeryn took a few steps towards him, stopping when he began to back up. "I'm not dead, John."
"Yes you are! You're DEAD! I killed you!" he screamed as he shoved the corner table over and punched the wall savagely.
"I'm alive, John! You never killed me!" Aeryn yelled back as she stepped towards him again to try to stop him from hurting himself. This time he snapped.
Tackling Aeryn to the ground, he tried to hit her, make her disappear. To him, she still wasn't real, despite the texture of her skin and warmth radiating out from her.
Aeryn grabbed his arms and flipped him over before he could get in even one swing at her. Still thrashing about and screaming wildly, Aeryn held Crichton down, whispering in his ear, pleading with him to calm down.
Finally he stilled beneath her and she sat up enough to look at his face. His eyes were clenched shut, but tears were still running down his cheeks as he continued to mumble that she was dead...that he had killed her.
Cupping his face in her hands, Aeryn whispered her words to him; "John, you didn't kill me. I'm still alive. I'm right here and I've been looking for you since Crais found another Diagnosian. The Diagnosian was able to heal me. John, please listen to me. I can't lose you again..."
Crichton stopped his mumbling when he heard the last words. He remembered what happened in the neural-cluster...after the chip was out, he remembered.
Opening his eyes, he looked at Aeryn's face...even in the darkness of the room he could make out all of her features. Taking a deep breath, he wetted his lips before murmuring, "I would be lost without you..."
A sad smile formed on Aeryn's lips; "Then you'll never be lost..."
Crichton tilted his head up enough to capture her lips in a tender and chaste kiss. She released his arms as he pulled back from the short kiss...running one of his hands through her hair.
"I love you." She said softly.
"I love you too..."
Fin