Disclaimer: Farscape is the property of the Henson Company, Rockne
O'Bannon, Hallmark Entertainment and Channel 9. I do not own any of these
characters.
Feedback: esoap524@yahoo.com
Premise/Spoilers: Post Infinite Possbilities: Icarus Abides . This was written immediately after the first airing of Infinite Possibilities: Icarus Abides.
1 The Space Between
"It's time."
Stark's voice was soft but it cut through Aeryn's reverie like a rifle blast. She sat on the bed, her head down, black hair hanging in her face. Her hands cradled John's worn, paper notebook as she vainly tried to decipher what was written there. She closed the notebook and placed it carefully in John's tan knapsack with the few other possessions he'd brought with him aboard Talyn.
Her eyes rested on his audio recorder, lying off to the side of the knapsack. She had tried to hear the recordings, repeatedly pressing the button with the arrow on it until she'd remembered him asking almost a cycle ago, "I don't suppose we can pick up some ever readys on the next commerce planet?" It was another Crichtonism that played through her head like she had her own audio recording, enough to make her heart stop when she actually thought she heard him saying it.
"I can escort you, if you wish," Stark offered. He stepped forward and kneeled so that he was level with her and closer than she felt was necessary.
"No, I'm fine." She picked up the knapsack and slung it over her shoulder, using it as a barrier between herself and Stark. In spite of his hovering, he was the only one whom she'd allowed near her, if only for the healing powers he possessed. He understood loss better than anyone.
"Where's Crais?" she asked, tying her hair into a ponytail.
"He's already gone ahead to Moya. He thought it best to tell the others about Crichton so you wouldn't have to explain it." Stark clasped his hands together nervously.
She stood, her back straight, chin high. "To tell them about John? Or to tell him about John so I wouldn't have to see his satisfaction?"
Stark scrambled to his feet and stepped back a little at the forcefulness of her words. "Aeryn, he is still Crichton."
"Yes?" She grabbed her own duffel bag and threw it over her other shoulder. "Well, he's not my Crichton, is he, Stark?" She breathed in deeply. "How long did I sleep?"
"Long enough," Stark said, looking away.
"Your doing?" she asked.
He nodded and stepped back further, his only eye registering fear of her anticipated reaction. Her mouth fell into a straight line that gave away nothing.
"After the memorial.Crais thought you should rest," Stark began.
"Yes, yes," she said. She and Crais had decided to conduct the service in a manner befitting a Peacekeeper hero. They had no other frame of reference. They'd draped John's body in the familiar red and black that surrounded them. Crais had spoken of John's selflessness and of Crais' own belief that he himself had changed due to the human's influence. Rygel had prayed for John's peaceful journey to his spirit's resting grounds. Stark too had likened John to his own people who had died at the hands of their oppressors.
She.she had said nothing, too numb to speak, only able to look at John's lifeless form wrapped in the colors of her people and to wish that she had died with him.
They had given him the Peacekeeper burial in space, in spite of Crais' suggestion that the crew of Moya be allowed their grief as well. What grief, she had wanted to ask, but she had merely held her ground as Crais had committed the body to space. There would be no magical resurrection, no Zhaan to intervene in the afterlife. The John Crichton she'd loved had sacrificed himself and died in her arms, taking her hopes with him.
She had returned to their quarters alone, stoic. Then she'd seen his knapsack and the notebook lying beside it, open to the page where he'd written the two simple words in his native tongue-"sun", "gun". Emotion had been ripped loose from her then, everything the Peacekeepers had conditioned out of her and that John had awakened within her. Her cries had been like an animal in pain, trapped, until Stark had granted her a vision of John, their hands pressed together, fingers intertwined, the first time she'd realized that she loved him.
She took one last look at the room, empty of their few possessions, and turned to Stark. "Let's go," she said.
________________________
"What the hezmana are we going to say to her?" Chiana asked. She sat at the workbench in the maintenance bay, D'Argo at her side staring uselessly at his hands. Jool paced back and forth, hands on her hips.
"For frell's sake," Jool said. "I would think a trelk like you would appreciate that there's another one right here. Of course, it's unfortunate, but it also solves the dilemma."
Chiana jumped from her seat but D'Argo held her back, something he seemed to be doing a lot of these days.
"Listen, Princess," Chiana said. "Why don't you just tell Aeryn that? I'm sure she's just itching for an excuse to shoot something. You're as good a target as any." She shrugged a shoulder and cocked her head to one side. "Maybe better."
"Now, girls," D'Argo began. He stood up and spread his arms wide, palms down, to calm them. "A little decorum please? John Crichton is-was-is." D'Argo fumbled, not sure which tense to use. "John's our friend. So is Aeryn. Let's try to be adult about this, difficult as I know that can be for you two. "
"Sure, D'Argo." Chiana tossed her hair back and eyed Jool. "I just think some people should keep their frelling stupid opinions in their frelling little brains, you know?"
Jool crossed her arms over her chest. "Someone has to be practical," she said. "I'm only thinking of an alternative."
"As if anyone really cares what you think," Chiana said. She looked around then turned to D'Argo. "Say, where is Crichton anyway?"
_____________________
John Crichton stood in his room, arms crossed over his bare chest as he contemplated the two t-shirts lying side by side on his bed-one black and one green-and wondering when his life had been reduced to a scene from "American Gigolo". He felt the rattlers in his stomach like the little kid who'd watched his dad launch into space, excited at what his dad would find there and scared shitless that he'd never return. This was it, his reunion with Aeryn, and it was going to be nothing like he'd imagined.
Equal and original, Karvok had advertised. After having Jool test their DNA to satisfy his curiosity, John had stopped pursuing the question of which one was live and which one was Memorex. Even without the test, he'd known he was John Crichton, equal and original to the Crichton who'd walked out of Moya at Aeryn's side, taking with him every material thing with which John had come to identify himself.
Crais had been uncharacteristically tactful in describing the situation between Aeryn and Crichton but John knew himself too well. He and Aeryn- Crichton and Aeryn-had become lovers while John had sat on Moya, fighting with his friends, obsessing over wormholes and getting drunk and rolled by a couple of alien women with feathers growing out of their heads. If adversity was a test of character, he'd flunked big time.
"John, John, John." Harvey looked over John's shoulder at the two t-shirts on the bed. "Why not confuse the issue and wear red?"
"Bad time, Harvey." John pressed his thumb to his lips. Black, green.would it be worse for Aeryn to see him the way she'd seen the other Crichton or would it give her some comfort to see that he was still there? "Kind of busy right now," he finished.
"You haven't had this much trouble dressing yourself since senior prom. Remember? Black cummerbund-very distinguished. Red cummerbund-school colors. Do you remember what you did then?"
"Yeah, I caught the flu and missed the whole damn thing. Shoo fly, you bother me." He picked up the black shirt then tossed it back onto the bed and slipped into his green one.
"Obfuscation, John. Oh, how I like that word. It's really not the shirt, you realize, but the man in it."
"Ya think? That's what I like about you, Harvey. You're so.obvious."
Harvey sat on the bed and looked at him with that same patronizing smile that John had come to recognize and despise. Two Johns, two Harveys and a Scorpius. Would that qualify as a full house?
"One John now," Harvey corrected. "And only one of me." He sighed. "Not that we miss them, do we."
"'We'. What's this 'we' crap?" Crais had described Crichton's death in full, play by play detail. John had felt his stomach fall to his feet. His feelings towards Crichton were something he couldn't describe. Not a brother, not a friend, not a rival.There was no compatible experience.
"Be honest with yourself, John." Harvey pressed on. "You must be overjoyed at the death of your twin. Your rival is gone and you can just ride in and sweep the girl off her feet and into your arms." He shook his head. "Pity, Aeryn Sun needs comfort and you're exactly like the man who should give it."
"You know, Harvey, the day I take advice from you on my relationship with Aeryn is the day I put a bullet through my head."
"Relationship? Well, that's quite a word, considering the circumstances. You know, if I were you, I wouldn't refer so blithely to my own death. There is only one of you now." Harvey crossed his legs. "It intrigues me, though, our doppelganger's demise. Crais said the ancients had unlocked the wormhole technology that would have gotten Crichton-you-home." He tapped two fingers to his chin. "Now we're back to square one, as you say. No home, no wormhole, no Aeryn." He shook his head. "Bad karma, dude."
"God, he sounds like me," John said as Harvey went back to wherever it was he came from.
"Crichton?" Rygel slid to a stop at John's room, his little hand over his little heart. "I will never grow accustomed to this. I saw them jettison you into space. What are you doing there? Hiding?"
"Buckwheat! My man!" John came out of his room, feigning cheerfulness, and offered a high five. Rygel kept his hands to himself and slid backwards, just out of reach.
"Sparky, I'm not diseased," John said disgustedly.
"Yes, well, you're frightening nevertheless. You shouldn't see Aeryn."
"From a dominar with many wives and countless concubines. Thanks for the advice, Rygel. I'll take it under advisement."
"You do that. Yotz!" Rygel slid away, shaking his head and muttering.
John went back to his room and threw the black t-shirt into the trash then turned towards the maintenance bay to meet his fate.
___________
Aeryn made her way to Pilot's den where she found him engrossed in his tasks, seemingly oblivious to the turmoil that had surrounded Talyn's return to Moya. Talyn had remained in close orbit to his mother, while Stark, Rygel and Crais had all gone back and forth between the two ships for the last forty-eight arns. She had stayed behind, delaying the inevitable, until today. Today had no more significance than the day before except for her realization that the inevitable always arrived.
"Pilot," she said, approaching him. He looked up, eyes blinking in surprise.
"Officer Sun? It is very good to see you." His eyes gazed at her and then at the knapsack and duffel she still carried. "Moya and I are very sorry to hear of Commander Crichton's death," he said. He closed his eyes momentarily in honor of the dead.
"Thank you, Pilot." She stood over his console and patted one claw. He reached out another and unexpectedly stroked her face. She closed her eyes, comforted.
"Will you be returning to Moya?" he asked hopefully.
She opened her eyes and he withdrew his arm, a little embarrassed that he'd offered it so spontaneously.
"I don't know that yet." The spaciousness and quiet of Pilot's den was a relief after the claustrophobia of the last few weekens but it came with the price of seeing John Crichton's double every single day. "Crais has asked me to stay with him and Talyn," she said.
"Moya knows Talyn would certainly welcome that. But we also appreciate your presence here. The others-" He stopped himself. "I hope you are able to make the choice that is best for you," he finished.
"What about the others?" she asked.
"They all miss you, and Rygel and Stark. As do Moya and I."
"That's all, then. There's no more?"
Pilot, never a good liar, heaved a sigh. "Commander.Crichton is not himself, not since you left."
"What happened?" Her breath hitched in her chest and her stomach tightened. Not himself? That could mean so many things, not the least of which had to do with his twinning.
"No, not in a physical way," Pilot said, reading her expression. "He's pushed himself too far in his pursuit of wormholes. And he's brought.other troubles to himself, some of which I should not mention."
"It's all right, Pilot." She patted his claw reassuringly. "You've said enough."
"I am sorry if I've upset you, Officer Sun."
"Upset me?" She offered him a sad smile. "You cannot upset me. Where are they-the others, I mean."
"Maintenance bay, I believe. I think they've been waiting for you."
"Then perhaps I shouldn't make them wait any longer. I will leave you to your tasks, Pilot."
"Good fortune to you, Officer Sun."
She nodded. "Thank you, Pilot." She turned on her heel and started towards the maintenance bay.
___________________
"You're wearing that." D'Argo crossed his arms over his broad chest, Chiana to his right and Jool to his left, all three of them eyeing John like he had tentacles growing out of his head. He looked down at the green shirt and the short black leather jacket he'd thrown over it at the last minute.
"You're not planning to jump ship, are you, John?" Chiana asked. "I mean, it's a great jacket and all, but you look like you're going somewhere else."
"Crichton, you look ridiculous." Jool, as always, cut through the crap. John took the jacket off and threw it on the workbench.
"Hey, it's not like we have a Banana Republic just down the road. And where the hell were you fashion critics when I was making this decision?" He shook his head. "This is crazy. All this energy over a stupid shirt." He paced back and forth, head down in thought.
"You know, John, it's probably not about the shirt," D'Argo said.
John stopped and faced him. "It's not about the shirt. Of course, it's not. About. The. Shirt."
"Hey, hey," D'Argo said. "We know you're upset, John, and anxious but this isn't going to help. You're acting like a heldock and Aeryn won't like that at all."
John blinked and shook his head. "A what? What the hell is that?" He walked towards the passageway then back, listening for Aeryn's footsteps. It was a sound he'd memorized almost from the moment he'd arrived on Moya; a quick, stealthy step that always managed to catch him by surprise even when he knew she was just around the corner.
It was just one of the sensations he'd missed after she'd left with-after she'd gone, he corrected himself. After Moya and Talyn had taken their separate paths, he'd lain in bed at night, his ears straining to hear the husky sound of her voice, his fingers imagining her thick, black hair curled around them. He could remember everything, her full lips firmly on his, her hand stroking his hair while he'd battled the Scorpius in his head .her death, her return.all of it so vivid but none of it enough. When they'd separated, her life with John Crichton had changed into that thing he'd wanted most, the opportunity to share their lives and return to Earth. His life with her had ended with his being in the right place at the wrong time.
"Heldock," D'Argo continued. "It's a little creature that camouflages itself to hide its fear then burrows into the ground where it usually dies."
"Oh, thanks," John said. "I feel a lot better now."
"Back off, D'Argo," Chiana said. She sidled up to John and picked a piece of fuzz off his shirt then watched it flutter to the ground. She looked up at him and smiled reassuringly. "You'll do all right."
"Why not just wear a big sign that says, 'I'm the other one,'" Jool said. "You're acting like you're somebody else. I told you, you and he were identical."
"I am somebody else," John said. "I'm the guy who's been acting like a freak while the other guy is saving the universe and loving Aeryn. Y'all just don't get it. Do you really think she's going to see me the way she saw him?"
"You're John Crichton," Chiana said. She kissed him on the cheek. "You'll know what to do."
"And that's just what she needs to see," D'Argo said, obviously irritated at Chiana's display of affection. "'Look what I've been doing while you were gone, honey.' Hezmana!"
"Well, like we don't all know what Aeryn was doing," Jool said.
"Okay, okay," John said. "Shut up, all of you. Pip, I appreciate the support but could you all just scram? I need to clear my head."
"All right," D'Argo said. "Girls?"
"I don't need to see this anyway," Jool said, tossing her hair back. "Since I've met all of you, I've seen enough tragedy to last a hundred cycles."
"We're just the good ship lollipop," John said.
"There you go," D'Argo said. "Empathy from Jool, or as close as you're going to get." He clapped John on the shoulder. "Are you sure you don't want us here? I can stay with you."
"Hey, thanks, man, but no. I have to do this alone." He turned to D'Argo and his eyes must have said more than he'd imagined because before he knew it, D'Argo had bear-hugged him.
"What the hell was that?" John said.
"John, the pain is in your eyes. Chiana and I lost our doubles before we even realized they existed." D'Argo rested his hands on John's shoulders. "You've lost more than any of us. Be honest with her and yourself. Chiana is right. You are still John Crichton and you still love Aeryn. She has to know that."
"Don't go getting all Yoda on me, D. But thanks. All of you. Thanks for putting up with me."
"It's been a privilege," Jool said as she walked away, hardly sounding sarcastic.
"Good luck." Chiana gave him another kiss then D'Argo pulled her away as they followed Jool out.
John leaned against the workbench and covered his face with his hands. What had it been like to be his other self, to feel Aeryn next to him every night and to wake up alongside her every morning? He'd only had a taste of it. Was it he or circumstance? Would he have done the same thing in the other Crichton's place?
"Jo-Crichton." Aeryn's voice was loud and clear but a little unsteady. He uncovered his face and watched for her reaction, not wanting to move so that he wouldn't scare her away. His knapsack hung over her shoulder, her duffel over the other. Her eyes registered surprise for just a moment, shock at seeing him but then quickly changed to the flat, impassive stare he'd also known so well. Peacekeeper Aeryn, his thoughts whispered as he studied the set mouth, squared shoulders, narrowed eyes. But he could see beyond that. Her PK self was his t-shirt conundrum and D'Argo's analogy applied to both of them.
"Aeryn." He pushed himself away from the bench and went towards her but stopped when he saw her take a step back away from him. "I-I'm sorry."
"Are you?" She looked away, then cleared her throat and looked up again. "This is yours." She slid the knapsack off her shoulder and held it out to him, both hands clutching the sides till her knuckles were white.
"No, no, no, it belongs to you," he said, pushing it back towards her gently. "His stuff-" John shrugged. "I'm sorry for your loss, Aeryn." He reached out to touch her hair then pulled back. "I.he-crap." He threw his arms up in surrender. "There's no getting around how awkward and weird this is. And I'm sorry for that too."
She put the knapsack over her shoulder again then, to his surprise, took a step towards him. She closed her eyes and reached out her hand, her long fingers tracing his eyebrows, his nose, mouth, chin.He stood very still, studying her expression as he saw the barest trace of a smile play at her lips. Then she dropped her hand to her side like a dead weight.
"I won't do this." Her voice broke and she turned away from him as though to readjust her mask. He laid his hand on her shoulder and felt it stiffen beneath him.
"You don't have to do anything," he said. "Aeryn, I'm John Crichton. I know you. I know how it feels to get a second chance, Aeryn, how it felt to see you out there with guns blazing when I never thought I'd see you again." He smiled at the memory. "It was like my life had started again."
"Don't," she said, clearing her throat. She turned back to him and he let his hand fall to his side. She bit her lip, her eyes brimming with tears. He wanted to hold her and comfort her but he just stood there and waited.
"You're not him," she said. "You look like him and you sound like him but you're not."
"Aeryn," he said softly. "When the diagnosan was getting rid of the Scorpy chip, he touched all my memories. The last ones he hit were you. You, kicking my ass the first day I was here. You, helping me get rid of some critter or another. Kissing me on that stupid transport when we both thought we were going to die. You, saying good-bye to me when you went with Crais on Talyn. That was the first time I truly realized how much I depended on you and how much I love you."
He heard his own voice crack, caught up in the emotion of what he was saying. She looked down, PK Aeryn a wash. Tears slid down her cheeks and she made no move to hide them. Taking a chance, he reached out and brushed one away then withdrew his hand.
"I don't have your memories of John Crichton," he said. "And I'm not going to act like I can just jump right in and pick up where he left off. But I'm still you're friend, Aeryn. And I can live with that."
"I don't know if I can," she said. "He's dead, Crichton. He's dead because he chose the lives of all of us over-" She turned away. "He did the frelling right thing." She hitched the duffel higher on her shoulder, her posture straight. He couldn't let her go, not like this. He caught her hand and she stopped then faced him, her face grim, eyes determined to look past him.
"You're changed, Aeryn," he said. "Don't shut yourself off from everything you've experienced. Do you understand? It would be a great loss to all of us. You've become so much more than you ever thought possible." He realized his hands were on her shoulders, holding on to her before she could turn away again.
"More. You never said more would hurt so frelling much." She took a deep breath. He could feel the quick beat of her heart and he released her.
"I have to return to Talyn," she said.
When he'd played football, he'd been knocked down by a guy twice his size who'd left him lying on his back, gasping for air and staring up at the faces that had hovered over him. This is it, he'd thought then, truly thinking he'd never take another breath again. He felt that way now, all the air sucked out of him at once. Maybe if he got on his knees and begged, wrapped his arms around her ankles while she dragged him out of Moya and never looked back, leaving the rest of the crew shaking their heads at his final loss of sanity. Maybe then she'd agree to stay.
"I.I understand," he said finally. He did and he didn't. He wasn't John Crichton, the martyr, but he was still John Crichton and he still found his heart breaking for the woman who stood before him. Her expression was etched in stone; if she moved, the façade would crack and he would see her- Aeryn Sun-her feelings raw, eyes filling with tears she couldn't control. All because of him, or maybe in spite of him. He didn't want to do that to her again.
"I won't make this any worse than it has to be," he said. "Good-bye, Aeryn." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead without touching any other part of her then turned away and walked towards the passageway.
The footsteps were the first thing he heard, tentative at first, then falling into a familiar rhythm with his own. Then the rhythm ended and he heard a loud thud as the duffel hit Moya's deck. He stopped and turned, finding himself face to face with her. She had done it again, managed to step within a foot of him without his even realizing it.
She looked at him and he could see that it was taking all her willpower to maintain her composure. She turned her attention to the knapsack and he watched as she unzipped it as though she was afraid to break something.
"This was his." Aeryn faltered, the usually firm voice almost girlish. She pulled the notebook from the top of the bag and held it out to him. Its pages were creased with his own fingertips, and he took it. "I can't read what's written," she finished.
He nodded. "I remember this." He flipped through the pages slowly, hoping to catch a glimpse of what he'd missed. "My starcharts." he murmured, then looked at her. She squinted at the pages, intent solely on the notebook.
"I used to stare out at the stars and give them names," he began. "The brightest one always ended up named after you." He laughed softly. "How crazy is that? Somewhere in here is a whole page of Aeryns."
She looked at him, a smile fighting with the tears in her eyes, and nodded in recognition. "Yes, I remember that too," she said. She extended her hand towards him, her palm open to him, and he raised his own hand to meet hers.
**************************************FIN*****************************
Feedback: esoap524@yahoo.com
Premise/Spoilers: Post Infinite Possbilities: Icarus Abides . This was written immediately after the first airing of Infinite Possibilities: Icarus Abides.
1 The Space Between
"It's time."
Stark's voice was soft but it cut through Aeryn's reverie like a rifle blast. She sat on the bed, her head down, black hair hanging in her face. Her hands cradled John's worn, paper notebook as she vainly tried to decipher what was written there. She closed the notebook and placed it carefully in John's tan knapsack with the few other possessions he'd brought with him aboard Talyn.
Her eyes rested on his audio recorder, lying off to the side of the knapsack. She had tried to hear the recordings, repeatedly pressing the button with the arrow on it until she'd remembered him asking almost a cycle ago, "I don't suppose we can pick up some ever readys on the next commerce planet?" It was another Crichtonism that played through her head like she had her own audio recording, enough to make her heart stop when she actually thought she heard him saying it.
"I can escort you, if you wish," Stark offered. He stepped forward and kneeled so that he was level with her and closer than she felt was necessary.
"No, I'm fine." She picked up the knapsack and slung it over her shoulder, using it as a barrier between herself and Stark. In spite of his hovering, he was the only one whom she'd allowed near her, if only for the healing powers he possessed. He understood loss better than anyone.
"Where's Crais?" she asked, tying her hair into a ponytail.
"He's already gone ahead to Moya. He thought it best to tell the others about Crichton so you wouldn't have to explain it." Stark clasped his hands together nervously.
She stood, her back straight, chin high. "To tell them about John? Or to tell him about John so I wouldn't have to see his satisfaction?"
Stark scrambled to his feet and stepped back a little at the forcefulness of her words. "Aeryn, he is still Crichton."
"Yes?" She grabbed her own duffel bag and threw it over her other shoulder. "Well, he's not my Crichton, is he, Stark?" She breathed in deeply. "How long did I sleep?"
"Long enough," Stark said, looking away.
"Your doing?" she asked.
He nodded and stepped back further, his only eye registering fear of her anticipated reaction. Her mouth fell into a straight line that gave away nothing.
"After the memorial.Crais thought you should rest," Stark began.
"Yes, yes," she said. She and Crais had decided to conduct the service in a manner befitting a Peacekeeper hero. They had no other frame of reference. They'd draped John's body in the familiar red and black that surrounded them. Crais had spoken of John's selflessness and of Crais' own belief that he himself had changed due to the human's influence. Rygel had prayed for John's peaceful journey to his spirit's resting grounds. Stark too had likened John to his own people who had died at the hands of their oppressors.
She.she had said nothing, too numb to speak, only able to look at John's lifeless form wrapped in the colors of her people and to wish that she had died with him.
They had given him the Peacekeeper burial in space, in spite of Crais' suggestion that the crew of Moya be allowed their grief as well. What grief, she had wanted to ask, but she had merely held her ground as Crais had committed the body to space. There would be no magical resurrection, no Zhaan to intervene in the afterlife. The John Crichton she'd loved had sacrificed himself and died in her arms, taking her hopes with him.
She had returned to their quarters alone, stoic. Then she'd seen his knapsack and the notebook lying beside it, open to the page where he'd written the two simple words in his native tongue-"sun", "gun". Emotion had been ripped loose from her then, everything the Peacekeepers had conditioned out of her and that John had awakened within her. Her cries had been like an animal in pain, trapped, until Stark had granted her a vision of John, their hands pressed together, fingers intertwined, the first time she'd realized that she loved him.
She took one last look at the room, empty of their few possessions, and turned to Stark. "Let's go," she said.
________________________
"What the hezmana are we going to say to her?" Chiana asked. She sat at the workbench in the maintenance bay, D'Argo at her side staring uselessly at his hands. Jool paced back and forth, hands on her hips.
"For frell's sake," Jool said. "I would think a trelk like you would appreciate that there's another one right here. Of course, it's unfortunate, but it also solves the dilemma."
Chiana jumped from her seat but D'Argo held her back, something he seemed to be doing a lot of these days.
"Listen, Princess," Chiana said. "Why don't you just tell Aeryn that? I'm sure she's just itching for an excuse to shoot something. You're as good a target as any." She shrugged a shoulder and cocked her head to one side. "Maybe better."
"Now, girls," D'Argo began. He stood up and spread his arms wide, palms down, to calm them. "A little decorum please? John Crichton is-was-is." D'Argo fumbled, not sure which tense to use. "John's our friend. So is Aeryn. Let's try to be adult about this, difficult as I know that can be for you two. "
"Sure, D'Argo." Chiana tossed her hair back and eyed Jool. "I just think some people should keep their frelling stupid opinions in their frelling little brains, you know?"
Jool crossed her arms over her chest. "Someone has to be practical," she said. "I'm only thinking of an alternative."
"As if anyone really cares what you think," Chiana said. She looked around then turned to D'Argo. "Say, where is Crichton anyway?"
_____________________
John Crichton stood in his room, arms crossed over his bare chest as he contemplated the two t-shirts lying side by side on his bed-one black and one green-and wondering when his life had been reduced to a scene from "American Gigolo". He felt the rattlers in his stomach like the little kid who'd watched his dad launch into space, excited at what his dad would find there and scared shitless that he'd never return. This was it, his reunion with Aeryn, and it was going to be nothing like he'd imagined.
Equal and original, Karvok had advertised. After having Jool test their DNA to satisfy his curiosity, John had stopped pursuing the question of which one was live and which one was Memorex. Even without the test, he'd known he was John Crichton, equal and original to the Crichton who'd walked out of Moya at Aeryn's side, taking with him every material thing with which John had come to identify himself.
Crais had been uncharacteristically tactful in describing the situation between Aeryn and Crichton but John knew himself too well. He and Aeryn- Crichton and Aeryn-had become lovers while John had sat on Moya, fighting with his friends, obsessing over wormholes and getting drunk and rolled by a couple of alien women with feathers growing out of their heads. If adversity was a test of character, he'd flunked big time.
"John, John, John." Harvey looked over John's shoulder at the two t-shirts on the bed. "Why not confuse the issue and wear red?"
"Bad time, Harvey." John pressed his thumb to his lips. Black, green.would it be worse for Aeryn to see him the way she'd seen the other Crichton or would it give her some comfort to see that he was still there? "Kind of busy right now," he finished.
"You haven't had this much trouble dressing yourself since senior prom. Remember? Black cummerbund-very distinguished. Red cummerbund-school colors. Do you remember what you did then?"
"Yeah, I caught the flu and missed the whole damn thing. Shoo fly, you bother me." He picked up the black shirt then tossed it back onto the bed and slipped into his green one.
"Obfuscation, John. Oh, how I like that word. It's really not the shirt, you realize, but the man in it."
"Ya think? That's what I like about you, Harvey. You're so.obvious."
Harvey sat on the bed and looked at him with that same patronizing smile that John had come to recognize and despise. Two Johns, two Harveys and a Scorpius. Would that qualify as a full house?
"One John now," Harvey corrected. "And only one of me." He sighed. "Not that we miss them, do we."
"'We'. What's this 'we' crap?" Crais had described Crichton's death in full, play by play detail. John had felt his stomach fall to his feet. His feelings towards Crichton were something he couldn't describe. Not a brother, not a friend, not a rival.There was no compatible experience.
"Be honest with yourself, John." Harvey pressed on. "You must be overjoyed at the death of your twin. Your rival is gone and you can just ride in and sweep the girl off her feet and into your arms." He shook his head. "Pity, Aeryn Sun needs comfort and you're exactly like the man who should give it."
"You know, Harvey, the day I take advice from you on my relationship with Aeryn is the day I put a bullet through my head."
"Relationship? Well, that's quite a word, considering the circumstances. You know, if I were you, I wouldn't refer so blithely to my own death. There is only one of you now." Harvey crossed his legs. "It intrigues me, though, our doppelganger's demise. Crais said the ancients had unlocked the wormhole technology that would have gotten Crichton-you-home." He tapped two fingers to his chin. "Now we're back to square one, as you say. No home, no wormhole, no Aeryn." He shook his head. "Bad karma, dude."
"God, he sounds like me," John said as Harvey went back to wherever it was he came from.
"Crichton?" Rygel slid to a stop at John's room, his little hand over his little heart. "I will never grow accustomed to this. I saw them jettison you into space. What are you doing there? Hiding?"
"Buckwheat! My man!" John came out of his room, feigning cheerfulness, and offered a high five. Rygel kept his hands to himself and slid backwards, just out of reach.
"Sparky, I'm not diseased," John said disgustedly.
"Yes, well, you're frightening nevertheless. You shouldn't see Aeryn."
"From a dominar with many wives and countless concubines. Thanks for the advice, Rygel. I'll take it under advisement."
"You do that. Yotz!" Rygel slid away, shaking his head and muttering.
John went back to his room and threw the black t-shirt into the trash then turned towards the maintenance bay to meet his fate.
___________
Aeryn made her way to Pilot's den where she found him engrossed in his tasks, seemingly oblivious to the turmoil that had surrounded Talyn's return to Moya. Talyn had remained in close orbit to his mother, while Stark, Rygel and Crais had all gone back and forth between the two ships for the last forty-eight arns. She had stayed behind, delaying the inevitable, until today. Today had no more significance than the day before except for her realization that the inevitable always arrived.
"Pilot," she said, approaching him. He looked up, eyes blinking in surprise.
"Officer Sun? It is very good to see you." His eyes gazed at her and then at the knapsack and duffel she still carried. "Moya and I are very sorry to hear of Commander Crichton's death," he said. He closed his eyes momentarily in honor of the dead.
"Thank you, Pilot." She stood over his console and patted one claw. He reached out another and unexpectedly stroked her face. She closed her eyes, comforted.
"Will you be returning to Moya?" he asked hopefully.
She opened her eyes and he withdrew his arm, a little embarrassed that he'd offered it so spontaneously.
"I don't know that yet." The spaciousness and quiet of Pilot's den was a relief after the claustrophobia of the last few weekens but it came with the price of seeing John Crichton's double every single day. "Crais has asked me to stay with him and Talyn," she said.
"Moya knows Talyn would certainly welcome that. But we also appreciate your presence here. The others-" He stopped himself. "I hope you are able to make the choice that is best for you," he finished.
"What about the others?" she asked.
"They all miss you, and Rygel and Stark. As do Moya and I."
"That's all, then. There's no more?"
Pilot, never a good liar, heaved a sigh. "Commander.Crichton is not himself, not since you left."
"What happened?" Her breath hitched in her chest and her stomach tightened. Not himself? That could mean so many things, not the least of which had to do with his twinning.
"No, not in a physical way," Pilot said, reading her expression. "He's pushed himself too far in his pursuit of wormholes. And he's brought.other troubles to himself, some of which I should not mention."
"It's all right, Pilot." She patted his claw reassuringly. "You've said enough."
"I am sorry if I've upset you, Officer Sun."
"Upset me?" She offered him a sad smile. "You cannot upset me. Where are they-the others, I mean."
"Maintenance bay, I believe. I think they've been waiting for you."
"Then perhaps I shouldn't make them wait any longer. I will leave you to your tasks, Pilot."
"Good fortune to you, Officer Sun."
She nodded. "Thank you, Pilot." She turned on her heel and started towards the maintenance bay.
___________________
"You're wearing that." D'Argo crossed his arms over his broad chest, Chiana to his right and Jool to his left, all three of them eyeing John like he had tentacles growing out of his head. He looked down at the green shirt and the short black leather jacket he'd thrown over it at the last minute.
"You're not planning to jump ship, are you, John?" Chiana asked. "I mean, it's a great jacket and all, but you look like you're going somewhere else."
"Crichton, you look ridiculous." Jool, as always, cut through the crap. John took the jacket off and threw it on the workbench.
"Hey, it's not like we have a Banana Republic just down the road. And where the hell were you fashion critics when I was making this decision?" He shook his head. "This is crazy. All this energy over a stupid shirt." He paced back and forth, head down in thought.
"You know, John, it's probably not about the shirt," D'Argo said.
John stopped and faced him. "It's not about the shirt. Of course, it's not. About. The. Shirt."
"Hey, hey," D'Argo said. "We know you're upset, John, and anxious but this isn't going to help. You're acting like a heldock and Aeryn won't like that at all."
John blinked and shook his head. "A what? What the hell is that?" He walked towards the passageway then back, listening for Aeryn's footsteps. It was a sound he'd memorized almost from the moment he'd arrived on Moya; a quick, stealthy step that always managed to catch him by surprise even when he knew she was just around the corner.
It was just one of the sensations he'd missed after she'd left with-after she'd gone, he corrected himself. After Moya and Talyn had taken their separate paths, he'd lain in bed at night, his ears straining to hear the husky sound of her voice, his fingers imagining her thick, black hair curled around them. He could remember everything, her full lips firmly on his, her hand stroking his hair while he'd battled the Scorpius in his head .her death, her return.all of it so vivid but none of it enough. When they'd separated, her life with John Crichton had changed into that thing he'd wanted most, the opportunity to share their lives and return to Earth. His life with her had ended with his being in the right place at the wrong time.
"Heldock," D'Argo continued. "It's a little creature that camouflages itself to hide its fear then burrows into the ground where it usually dies."
"Oh, thanks," John said. "I feel a lot better now."
"Back off, D'Argo," Chiana said. She sidled up to John and picked a piece of fuzz off his shirt then watched it flutter to the ground. She looked up at him and smiled reassuringly. "You'll do all right."
"Why not just wear a big sign that says, 'I'm the other one,'" Jool said. "You're acting like you're somebody else. I told you, you and he were identical."
"I am somebody else," John said. "I'm the guy who's been acting like a freak while the other guy is saving the universe and loving Aeryn. Y'all just don't get it. Do you really think she's going to see me the way she saw him?"
"You're John Crichton," Chiana said. She kissed him on the cheek. "You'll know what to do."
"And that's just what she needs to see," D'Argo said, obviously irritated at Chiana's display of affection. "'Look what I've been doing while you were gone, honey.' Hezmana!"
"Well, like we don't all know what Aeryn was doing," Jool said.
"Okay, okay," John said. "Shut up, all of you. Pip, I appreciate the support but could you all just scram? I need to clear my head."
"All right," D'Argo said. "Girls?"
"I don't need to see this anyway," Jool said, tossing her hair back. "Since I've met all of you, I've seen enough tragedy to last a hundred cycles."
"We're just the good ship lollipop," John said.
"There you go," D'Argo said. "Empathy from Jool, or as close as you're going to get." He clapped John on the shoulder. "Are you sure you don't want us here? I can stay with you."
"Hey, thanks, man, but no. I have to do this alone." He turned to D'Argo and his eyes must have said more than he'd imagined because before he knew it, D'Argo had bear-hugged him.
"What the hell was that?" John said.
"John, the pain is in your eyes. Chiana and I lost our doubles before we even realized they existed." D'Argo rested his hands on John's shoulders. "You've lost more than any of us. Be honest with her and yourself. Chiana is right. You are still John Crichton and you still love Aeryn. She has to know that."
"Don't go getting all Yoda on me, D. But thanks. All of you. Thanks for putting up with me."
"It's been a privilege," Jool said as she walked away, hardly sounding sarcastic.
"Good luck." Chiana gave him another kiss then D'Argo pulled her away as they followed Jool out.
John leaned against the workbench and covered his face with his hands. What had it been like to be his other self, to feel Aeryn next to him every night and to wake up alongside her every morning? He'd only had a taste of it. Was it he or circumstance? Would he have done the same thing in the other Crichton's place?
"Jo-Crichton." Aeryn's voice was loud and clear but a little unsteady. He uncovered his face and watched for her reaction, not wanting to move so that he wouldn't scare her away. His knapsack hung over her shoulder, her duffel over the other. Her eyes registered surprise for just a moment, shock at seeing him but then quickly changed to the flat, impassive stare he'd also known so well. Peacekeeper Aeryn, his thoughts whispered as he studied the set mouth, squared shoulders, narrowed eyes. But he could see beyond that. Her PK self was his t-shirt conundrum and D'Argo's analogy applied to both of them.
"Aeryn." He pushed himself away from the bench and went towards her but stopped when he saw her take a step back away from him. "I-I'm sorry."
"Are you?" She looked away, then cleared her throat and looked up again. "This is yours." She slid the knapsack off her shoulder and held it out to him, both hands clutching the sides till her knuckles were white.
"No, no, no, it belongs to you," he said, pushing it back towards her gently. "His stuff-" John shrugged. "I'm sorry for your loss, Aeryn." He reached out to touch her hair then pulled back. "I.he-crap." He threw his arms up in surrender. "There's no getting around how awkward and weird this is. And I'm sorry for that too."
She put the knapsack over her shoulder again then, to his surprise, took a step towards him. She closed her eyes and reached out her hand, her long fingers tracing his eyebrows, his nose, mouth, chin.He stood very still, studying her expression as he saw the barest trace of a smile play at her lips. Then she dropped her hand to her side like a dead weight.
"I won't do this." Her voice broke and she turned away from him as though to readjust her mask. He laid his hand on her shoulder and felt it stiffen beneath him.
"You don't have to do anything," he said. "Aeryn, I'm John Crichton. I know you. I know how it feels to get a second chance, Aeryn, how it felt to see you out there with guns blazing when I never thought I'd see you again." He smiled at the memory. "It was like my life had started again."
"Don't," she said, clearing her throat. She turned back to him and he let his hand fall to his side. She bit her lip, her eyes brimming with tears. He wanted to hold her and comfort her but he just stood there and waited.
"You're not him," she said. "You look like him and you sound like him but you're not."
"Aeryn," he said softly. "When the diagnosan was getting rid of the Scorpy chip, he touched all my memories. The last ones he hit were you. You, kicking my ass the first day I was here. You, helping me get rid of some critter or another. Kissing me on that stupid transport when we both thought we were going to die. You, saying good-bye to me when you went with Crais on Talyn. That was the first time I truly realized how much I depended on you and how much I love you."
He heard his own voice crack, caught up in the emotion of what he was saying. She looked down, PK Aeryn a wash. Tears slid down her cheeks and she made no move to hide them. Taking a chance, he reached out and brushed one away then withdrew his hand.
"I don't have your memories of John Crichton," he said. "And I'm not going to act like I can just jump right in and pick up where he left off. But I'm still you're friend, Aeryn. And I can live with that."
"I don't know if I can," she said. "He's dead, Crichton. He's dead because he chose the lives of all of us over-" She turned away. "He did the frelling right thing." She hitched the duffel higher on her shoulder, her posture straight. He couldn't let her go, not like this. He caught her hand and she stopped then faced him, her face grim, eyes determined to look past him.
"You're changed, Aeryn," he said. "Don't shut yourself off from everything you've experienced. Do you understand? It would be a great loss to all of us. You've become so much more than you ever thought possible." He realized his hands were on her shoulders, holding on to her before she could turn away again.
"More. You never said more would hurt so frelling much." She took a deep breath. He could feel the quick beat of her heart and he released her.
"I have to return to Talyn," she said.
When he'd played football, he'd been knocked down by a guy twice his size who'd left him lying on his back, gasping for air and staring up at the faces that had hovered over him. This is it, he'd thought then, truly thinking he'd never take another breath again. He felt that way now, all the air sucked out of him at once. Maybe if he got on his knees and begged, wrapped his arms around her ankles while she dragged him out of Moya and never looked back, leaving the rest of the crew shaking their heads at his final loss of sanity. Maybe then she'd agree to stay.
"I.I understand," he said finally. He did and he didn't. He wasn't John Crichton, the martyr, but he was still John Crichton and he still found his heart breaking for the woman who stood before him. Her expression was etched in stone; if she moved, the façade would crack and he would see her- Aeryn Sun-her feelings raw, eyes filling with tears she couldn't control. All because of him, or maybe in spite of him. He didn't want to do that to her again.
"I won't make this any worse than it has to be," he said. "Good-bye, Aeryn." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead without touching any other part of her then turned away and walked towards the passageway.
The footsteps were the first thing he heard, tentative at first, then falling into a familiar rhythm with his own. Then the rhythm ended and he heard a loud thud as the duffel hit Moya's deck. He stopped and turned, finding himself face to face with her. She had done it again, managed to step within a foot of him without his even realizing it.
She looked at him and he could see that it was taking all her willpower to maintain her composure. She turned her attention to the knapsack and he watched as she unzipped it as though she was afraid to break something.
"This was his." Aeryn faltered, the usually firm voice almost girlish. She pulled the notebook from the top of the bag and held it out to him. Its pages were creased with his own fingertips, and he took it. "I can't read what's written," she finished.
He nodded. "I remember this." He flipped through the pages slowly, hoping to catch a glimpse of what he'd missed. "My starcharts." he murmured, then looked at her. She squinted at the pages, intent solely on the notebook.
"I used to stare out at the stars and give them names," he began. "The brightest one always ended up named after you." He laughed softly. "How crazy is that? Somewhere in here is a whole page of Aeryns."
She looked at him, a smile fighting with the tears in her eyes, and nodded in recognition. "Yes, I remember that too," she said. She extended her hand towards him, her palm open to him, and he raised his own hand to meet hers.
**************************************FIN*****************************