Hold Out Your Hand

by orchidcactus

AU, following Dog With Two Bones, written during S2/S3 hiatus. Explores the darker aspect of John giving up everything under the right circumstances. Complete, with an alternate POV epilogue.

1. Hold Out Your Hand

Disclaimer: Farscape and the associated characters do not belong to me.

Rating and setting: M. Language, violence, and adult themes. following Dog With Two Bones, complete AU.

Beta: The BBQ. All hail the slayer of clanging words. Errors remaining are my own.

Hold Out Your Hand

Prologue

The Sebacean monitoring the communication array of the cargo freighter Chalista wasn't surprised to hear the door behind her open. She didn't turn, or adjust the headset she wore. She knew who it was, why he had come in the middle of the sleep cycle.

"Anything?" Damasc asked softly, sliding into the seat next to her. The ex-Peacekeeper picked up a stack of flimsies, aimlessly sifting through them as he watched the ops tech manipulate the array. He stifled another question, not wanting to interrupt her. If anyone could find the stray signal, it was Kabel.

Kabel shook her head, fingers darting over the rows of colored lights, assessing hundreds of frequencies. One of the lights stuttered under her fingertips, and she paused, eyes flicking back and forth. Then she shrugged, removing the headset with a small sigh.

"Perhaps another quarter-arn," she said, noticing he had brought a flask of iced lia'a with him. Nodding, she took the container, pleased he had remembered her taste for the drink. He returned her gesture, stretching slightly, hand rubbing at the back of his neck. Kabel carefully put the flask down, fingers brushing lights again.

"Were there difficulties with your mission?" she asked, watching the lights flicker. She hadn't missed the stiffness in his movements, the tired way his eyes trailed her hands.

"None worth noting," his reply was automatic, one soldier to another; but then he laughed, a choppy noise without humor. "They told me they weren't expendable, and we were. Frelling pieces of dren. If the currency wasn't so good, I'd… frell. Didn't want to get their frelling hands dirty…" he trailed off.

Kabel nodded, understanding. It was hard, sometimes, to remember the reason they had become involved in any of it. With Damasc, though, she knew this mission had been too personal. With another shrug, she looked up from the lights, offering him a smile. "Hands?" she smirked, imitating a haughty, raspy voice.

Damasc looked at her, head tilting slightly. When his fatigued mind caught up, he grinned. "Frell. That's good," he chuckled.

Kabel's attention snapped back to the board; one of the lights was blinking. Pulling on the headset, she began to manipulate the array, trying to isolate the signal. Damasc watched her, not interrupting. Her face was tight with concentration, sharp planes in the flash of color. He was surprised at her sharp intake of breath, the audible noise so out of character for her. She looked at him, face pale even in the dim light. She pressed one of the panels, and a flimsy slid out.

Damasc took it, reading, and then re-reading as his brain refused to comprehend. Finally he looked up at Kabel, his mouth opening as if to speak, then closing with a shake of his head. Kabel knew how he felt.

"Crichton," she said.

"How the frell does one being destroy an entire Carrier?"

"I have no idea. Perhaps when Maddin and Trema return…" she turned back to the lights, searching once more, not wanting Damasc to see the dampness in her eyes. If they had survived.

One

In the end, it hadn't mattered how he escaped. It was all details. Small - insignificant, really - details.

It wasn't like he was going to share those last minutes with anyone else. Ever. The slow dizzy spiral when the oxygen ran too low. Harvey's pale face shouting at him. Or was that his own reflection in the module's canopy? Screaming into the spiral that felt like a wormhole, fighting a good fight, clinging only to the old woman's words when darkness took him.

No, not a story he'd retell anytime soon. Even if there were anyone to tell it to. Harvey knew about the rage and fear, that was enough.

"More than enough," Harvey said, pacing the cell, not glancing at John, hunched up on the bench.

"Yeah," John answered, watching him without much interest, pulling his coarse blanket tighter. The metal wall pressing his back oozed the cold of space; no golden curves here. His head throbbed, full-court press going on inside his skull. Slam-dunk, baby!

It occurred to him to wonder about a lot of things. Where his clothes were, how long he'd been in the cell, why the odd purple bruises on his wrists, why he hurt everywhere… . He winced, shaky fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Um, Harv? Those, uh, dreams… they real?"

Harvey stopped pacing, seeming to calculate and edit his words for content. "Perhaps not all, John. Certainly the ones of…sedation," he looked uneasy, unsteady.

"Sedation? Who?" Not basketball, he realized, slamming against the boards. Hockey. His brain tried to escape through his eye-sockets. When he looked up again, Harvey's eyes had shifted to the corridor, and he was listening like the RCA dog. Hell, he even fit the color pattern, in a bass-ackwards sort of way.

"Company's here, I hope you dusted," Harvey smiled thinly, moving away from the door.

A whisper of noise in the corridor, and a feline creature gazed through the bars, irises widening as it examined him, staring as if it had been watching for arns.

"You're lucid," it said with oily familiarity. It? Oh, no, no… she. One of the smooth voices from the dreams. Definitely female. A shuddering twitch of muscle-memory went through him. He blinked, tugging at the edge of the blanket. Of course Harvey was nowhere to be seen. Lying bastard.

A clawed hand waved over the door control and she slid into the room, eyes reflecting green light as she stared unblinking. It took him a microt to notice the injector half-hidden by her side.

He was so tired of running. So tired of fighting. Even the thought of Aeryn and… So little fight left, and he hurt… so… bad. He watched the injector sway in time with her stride, feeling the pull like a snake charmer's tune as she moved across the floor.

"It's been proven that research causes cancer in lab rats," Harvey again, muttering to himself in the corner.

John wondered if he should bother looking for an escape route. A linebacker slammed into the back of his skull, making his stomach roll. Touchdown dance.

Her purr was quite audible as she curled up next to him on the hard bench. The soft fur of her tail brushed down the back of his bare calf and wrapped around his ankle, tickling the sole of one foot. He closed his eyes against the heave of nausea, opened them to view her through haze.

"The sickness will soon become stupor again. Would you choose to stop that…" she gestured with the injector. Finally blinked golden eyes. Her tail twitched tighter around his foot, teasing the arch.

"Wh- uh." Swallow, he thought. Deep breaths. Rah-rah-rah, the cheerleaders shouted. "Where am I?"

"Explained, many times over many weekens," she blinked again, as if suddenly annoyed. "You have limited usefulness like this. More so if I must overload you again."

An acrid flash of memory and dreams. "Yeah, limited maybe, but a good time was had…" the retort was cut by his sudden scramble across the floor, across the floor on hands and knees to huddle by the waste funnel. Arms wrapped around it, all he could do was heave.

"Jesus! Jesus," he prayed, as his empty stomach constricted and his skin started to crawl. "Jesus, what the fuck did you do to me?"

The purr was beside him now, tail dropping over his back, looping around his waist. The rational bit of his brain reminded him he'd left the blanket on the bench.

"Given you something to live for. Die for. This dose will have to be increased if you continue to deteriorate, though; it will not be enough to counteract the level of withdrawal."

Dose, his brain moaned. Withdrawal. You've been drugged for weeks, dumb-ass. You're Jonesin' and things are going to hell in a hand basket in a rapid manner.

"Get stuffed," he coughed, voice raw as another memory surfaced. A dream of claws raking his skin, pushing him down… helping him fly. He wondered if it were possible for his brain to explode without cracking his skull. A red-faced coach bellowed in his ear. Go in for the big win!

"Hm. I've had enough of that. Your choice now, John." Her tail caressed his side, along aching muscles cramped from abuse and overuse. He pulled - fell, mostly - away from her, landing in a heap on the floor.

"Fuck that," but he was fading fast, falling into a different spiral. Oh, it was close, but it's game over, folks! Game over.

"Be the rock in the stream," Harvey advised sagely somewhere in the background.

"Better not be a frelling waste of my time," the feline sighed, crouching beside him, hypnotic eyes boring into his. Her pupils constricted into black slits, and she produced a vial by some magic. Ramping up the dose.

John's eyelids fluttered, settling at half-open, and he lay still and naked on the cold floor, capable only of watching… watching with morbid fascination as the points of her claws dimpled his flesh, tugging his hand over to expose the underside of his wrist. The injector broke the skin with a prickle of pain, and a darker purple fanned under the already tinted skin.

John Crichton flew, feeling like he was dying. And the crowd went wild.

Two

heartbeat in the dark

~~excerpt from: Regulatory Code; Delta Four, Subsection One: Assigned birthings:

Female soldiers, sub-officer grade and below, will, by age forty cycles, birth no less than one offspring. Genetic matching and combinations will be predetermined by the Counsel of Genetics, to ensure purity of lineage.

All impregnated female soldiers will undergo fetal genetic testing to ensure lineage. If genetic testing does not meet assigned parameters, the fetus will be terminated. Determination of soldier's liability may/may not result in reprimand under Regulatory Code; Delta Five, Subsection Six: Unassigned birthings.

Waivers to any of the above conditions may/may not be granted, in limited circumstances, to soldiers, officer grade and above, in the event of contraceptive failure.

Reference also: Regulatory Code; Delta Five, Subsection Eight: Contraceptive failure~~

Sleep-cycles were the hardest to withstand. It was during the sleep-cycle that the memories were relentless. Sometimes she would be on Talyn, or see the Command Carrier collapsing in on itself, but usually she dreamed about fate. About fate spinning in the air, reflecting the light of Moya's docking bay. Then she'd wake up on a strange ship, breathing too fast, with her heart hammering an unpleasant rhythm in her chest.

"Frell," Aeryn muttered, swinging bare feet to the floor. Her stomach twisted slightly, and she squeezed her eyes shut. One of his words surfaced unbidden. She felt like crap. Clenching her teeth, she waited until the nausea passed. Odd she should become ill now; the last time she could remember hadn't been her fault, simply a case of spoiled rations. Her stomach twisted again.

The med-kit in the cabinet next to the bunk had anti-nausea tablets. Chewing them dry was preferable to crossing the room for water. They tasted horrible, though, and she clenched her jaw as they hit her stomach. Frell. She wondered if she'd grabbed the emetics by accident.

It was almost a relief when the door chime sounded.

"Enter," she said, pushing the med-kit back into its pouch, closing the cabinet soundlessly.

"Did I wake you, C'ismet?" the one who called himself Damasc asked, palming the door shut behind him. If he noticed she was slightly pale, that for the briefest microt she seemed puzzled to hear her name, he didn't remark on it.

"No." Aeryn shook her head slightly, the tightness in her stomach gradually easing. "Is something wrong?" Then she saw the vid-chips in his hand, and nodded. In a monen she'd learned vid-chips meant orders, and orders meant movement, another strange planet to slip in and out of unnoticed. Five missions in a monen, and she'd found a piece of her she hadn't known was missing.

"New assignment," he said, crouching in front of her, putting a steadying hand next to her on the bunk. His face was set in sharp angles, wound up tight and ready to strike. Sometimes, when he gave a rare smile, he reminded her of Velorek, but there was no warmth to his dark eyes now. They were hard, dangerous.

"What is it?"

He leaned away, snapping a chip into her workstation, and a holo sparkled to life. The lights of a space station greeted her, a gleaming set of rings in orbit around a green planet. Shuttle traffic indicated it was a bustling hub of commerce, ships and freighters came and went in front of the recorder. Aeryn frowned, trying to place it, certain she'd seen it somewhere before, in another life.

"The planet is Caldin."

"Caldin?" saying it triggered the appropriate memories, and she nodded slowly. "One of three Sebacean colony worlds in the Halate Quadrant, well outside of Peacekeeper control, correct? All known primarily for their increased rate of drug addiction, although one of the worlds has managed subsurface colonization. It was my understanding High Command tolerated their existence simply because of distance."

"This image was taken approximately a weeken before your arrival," Damasc pressed the key again, and the images started to move. The station revolved, ships came and went, and then three fighters, Seeker-class destroyers, appeared. For a microt it seemed they would dock, but when they neared a bay, Aeryn saw the projectiles.

The station trembled, flames erupting from the rings, until pressures became to great. The rings flexed and burst, a show of orange and blue light, the explosion showering the recorder lens with debris. One of the fragments looked sickeningly like a small body. The image began to repeat.

Aeryn's eyes narrowed, and she looked at Damasc, thinking about the attacking ships. "Seekers? This attack did not originate from one of the other planets; they would not purchase such a ship."

"Agreed," he nodded again, forwarding to the next image. "We have little information on the political situation, but intelligence has provided us with this. It was taken roughly a weeken ago. Look, and tell me what you see."

Aeryn watched the image play, frowning again, at a planet of white. It was obvious that this was the world of cities carved in ice tunnels, that the dark openings in the snow were really docking ports leading underground. It was also apparent that what was being constructed on the surface was a Peacekeeper outposting. Then the parts became a whole, and realization came to her.

Sebaceans disliked piloting Seekers, would not own them. And the attack formation was the standard taught in cadet-level training. It was strange to think a betrayal of ideals such as this could still bring such discomfort.

"Peacekeepers aiding terrorists? To what ends?"

"The planets have developed their own method of drug manufacture; the Peacekeepers see profit in this. Acts of terrorism to cause strife, provide protection only to assume control," he paused at her expression. "Would it be easier if were the Nebari?"

"I - it's only… Yes. Frell," she swore, as the first image began to replay. The station reappeared, only to explode again. She looked away at the sight of the child.

"And…what would you say if it were the Nebari?" he moved a bit closer, studying her, and she knew he was gauging her reaction. Watching for realization of what the new mission would entail. He touched her wrist, fingers resting lightly. "You do understand."

Aeryn gave a slow, measured nod. "It's only… this is…"

"Not what you expected?" Damasc looked down. "I was concerned you might not be ready. For an assignment like this. However, the reality is, you have become vital to our operations, and are the only other with a rating high enough to succeed."

"You need me to fly?" she didn't disguise the curiosity in her voice. It was no secret what she felt about flying; no secret that he shared her enthusiasm.

Another chip was snapped into the projector. Prowlers in the air, two teams of two, weaving around one another in a deadly dance. Aeryn couldn't help the slight smile. It took a microt to find her voice. "They're dueling. Elite team reserved for demonstrations of force, usually during diplomatic assemblies."

"Diplomatic assemblies, sometimes on unknown worlds," he added. "The pair coming from Sector Thirteen met with difficulties."

She knew he was letting her draw her own conclusions, come to an understanding.

"I assume that means we're going alone," Aeryn said, watching the projected fighters dart around one another. This she understood, this world with rules that had nothing to do with fate. She felt Damasc's eyes on her, and looked up. His smile surprised her, and again she saw Velorek.

"Yes. Good, I'm glad you've agreed," he placed a third chip on the workbench, then gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Schematics, planetary and political information. Briefing in four arns. See Maddin for ident-chip and DNA match before departure."

"Understood," she said, clipping the word under an unexpected wave of nausea. She saw the flicker in his eyes as he pulled his hand back. He stood up and walked to the door, only to pause as it opened.

"You… are you…happy here?" he said, and she understood his hesitation. Another Peacekeeper struggling with emotions he didn't want or need.

"Yes. It is difficult to adjust to a ship this small," she spared his pride, his sense of courtesy, with this partial truth; it was not a lie that she missed Moya.

"It is much different than the Command Carrier, isn't it?" he only looked tired now, lines deep at the corners of his eyes. "Don't worry, the feeling will pass."

Three

When the ride was over, she was waiting. Curled on the opposite bench, tail tucked around her, hand resting casually on the injector. He could feel her gold eyes on him, staring unblinking, and he sat up. He knew he was clutching at the blanket like an overgrown Linus.

"It is still your choice," she purred.

John looked groggily at his wrists, at the violet bruises. How long had he been out? Arns? Days? The low-grade hum in his head pulsed methodically; the symptoms of withdrawal quickly accelerating, making his muscles tremble. His stomach cramped. Gentlemen, start your engines!

"No one says, 'I want to be a junkie when I grow up,' " Harvey, sounding wise again. Purple having a weird effect on him, too.

"Uh, I - I… can't. Not… again." His skin was crawling now, anxiety making him stutter, making him want to pray at the altar of the waste funnel once more. Once upon a time, he'd been an astronaut, a scientist; he'd had the right stuff. Yeah, he'd tried pot once or twice, but, shit, smart folks like him knew how to quit. Experience was a heartless teacher, a total fucking bitch. Something was about to give, he could feel that spiral pulling at him worse than a wormhole ever had, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the desperate pain of wanting and needing. "No. I… can't."

His body twitched once, and he found keeping his eyes shut hurt too much. His breath hissed out; a slow, hurting noise. He held out his hand. The cat uncoiled from her bench, sharp white teeth exposed with a sly smile as she crossed the room. The injector reflected dull light.

The blush of purple was smaller, mostly without pain. His eyes closed involuntarily. It felt… perfect. Soaring this time, not flying. Skimming the earth in a silent glider, no engine noise, only the cool rush of wind. Soaring.

The purple slid through his body, quieting his tremors, calming sweetly. The hum backed off, fading under the press of color. He blinked. The cell came into focus, sharper than it had been before. He noticed the kitty had leopard spots.

"Better?" she asked, curling up on his bench.

"High as a kite," he said simply, too smoothed out to be forceful. "Mind telling me what the frell is going on?"

"First, you should dress. Kalian?" she called toward the corridor. Almost immediately a pair of gold eyes peered around the door, followed by the body of another feline. This one was larger, and armed. It grinned at John, moving close to him, breathing in softly as it placed a bundle of black leather on the bench and dropped his boots on the floor.

"Tika thinks you are worth so much effort, Crichton," Kalian's words were silk. Another nightmare voice come to life. "I have my doubts," she laughed softly as she walked away.

"You know my name," he said, finding his pants in the pile. He ignored the leering Cheshire grin as he pulled them on. The purple shit made thinking… odd. "What else did I tell you?" he asked carefully, reaching for the black shirt.

"What didn't you? You like to talk," she looked amused.

He stared at her, trying to remember the things he'd spouted while he flew. The indistinct memory finally surfaced. all a single thought. He'd sent everything spilling out under a wave of purple. His eyes closed, jaw clenching until the drug smoothed him again.

"Well, lady, what do you want?" Not angry, not curious. No emotion, save the color. He started lacing his boots.

"To show you some things, tell you others, make you an offer."

"That I can't refuse? You have no idea how many times that line's been ripped off." Despite the drugs, the bravado, he felt uneasy. When aliens had an offer for John Crichton, things seemed to get messy. "Lay it on me."

The audio processor, like the purple vial, appeared by magic. The static-filled voice it produced was pain and sorrow.

' …peat transmission. Freighter Chalista. Prowler detail; Officer C'ismet requesting permission to board.'

The sentence ended in a static hiss; the voice that came to him in memories and dreams; dreams that would haunt him until his dying day. Aeryn was alive, using a name not her own, but alive… and somehow this alien had found her. John looked at the feline, his face hardening with an emotion beyond purple. Her smile widened, points of teeth showing against dark fur, as she watched his reaction.

"It is her. Hmm… I like being correct. A monen ago, our intelligence net is quite widespread, and we'll talk about cost later," she answered before he could ask. She uncoiled from the bench, stretching, claws extending fully. "Come with me," she reached down and shut the static off, pressing the processor more firmly in his hand.

Aeryn was alive.

The corridor was so dim his eyes had trouble adjusting. The noise of the engines was more pronounced, and he wondered how large the ship was and if he stood a snowball's chance in hell of getting away.

"This way," the feline touched his arm, taking his hand. When he pulled it away roughly, she laughed. "Do you remember dying, John Crichton?"

"No," he wanted to tell her to fuck off, but didn't have the energy.

"Your… odd little craft was picked up by a scavenger vessel. They didn't know what, or who, they had. Almost let you perish from prolonged oxygen depletion. You were a remarkably cheap purchase."

"Don't take this personally, but maybe you should have passed."

A movement beside him was a surprise. Yet another cat, slinking by with a little laugh. He looked over his shoulder and it was gone. Tika made an irritated noise in front of him, drawing him back.

When she opened a door he hadn't seen, the sudden wash of blue light was almost eerie.

"You have cost many dearly," she stopped, strange light making her eyes fluoresce. "I have paid in full, Crichton."

The audio weighed heavy in hand and pain twisted in his stomach. Drug combating emotion, controlling it, forcing it smooth. "Cost is relative, lady."

The room was cavernous, at least as large as the maintenance bay on Moya, and was filled with neat rows of benches, all occupied by glass-like equipment. Loops of clear tubing running liquid in lazy purple spirals. Beakers full of blue and red and black. Purple color in little vials.

"Nice," he couldn't help the cynicism. He rubbed unconsciously at his wrist. "What's your point?"

"The drug is called Miiast. For simplicity it is normally composed of three equal parts. Once the body becomes accustomed to a particular mixture, any other will kill the addict, even if the change is slight. I am the only one that knows the unique composition of yours," her voice went from silky to succinct and back to smooth. She turned from the tables, stepping close to him, head tilted up. He could hear the raspy purr again.

"I guess it would be good if you stayed safe then," he leaned into her, his voice turning brittle.

"You are a very clever being," her eyes flicked over his features, as if ensuring he did understand. The purr caught, then resumed, and she stepped away. He followed her out of the room, not realizing until the door shut behind them that he was still rubbing his wrist.

"The Miiast has allowed us a specific style of life, Crichton. One we are quite accustomed to. Unfortunately, it seems some of the planets within our sector are determined to become independent of us. Intelligence reports the construction of a manufacturing facility under a secondary city, despite the destruction of an earlier facility. We will not tolerate their activities, no matter the number of times they must be punished."

"Once word leaks out that a pirate's gone soft…" Harvey's words tumbled from the dark corridor.

"Huh. You think I give a rat's ass about some piss-ant dope war in the middle of nowhere?" John shook his head, immediately wishing he hadn't. The corridor swayed in time to Tika's movements.

"Of course not, why would you? However, you resemble a Sebacean enough for our purposes. You will not attract attention in the places I would, and will be a suitable disguise for me." She seemed unfazed by his odd words. Probably heard them all in the last few weekens, he thought.

"Wow, sounds like regular James Bond bullshit. Look, I hate to burst your bubble, but no matter what you shoot me up with, I'm not exactly secret agent material here."

"Don't concern yourself with that." The corridor ended in a large door. Tika waved a hand over the controls, smiling slightly at him as it swiveled open to a busy chamber filled with golden eyes. "I'm sure you'll do fine."

Four

alone, but not

It felt odd to wear an ident chip again. Aeryn felt her fingertips on the cold chip, and forced her hand to drop. The engines of the freighter hummed around her, and suddenly the corridor was too narrow. She put out her arm, bracing against the wall as the sick tightness rolled along the back of her throat, coursed behind her eyes. Frell. She took a careful breath.

Three cycles she'd been without a chip, without a number or a DNA sequence tagged to her name. If Maddin had noticed the odd strands, he hadn't remarked, just handed the chip over without comment. Three cycles and she wore a Peacekeeper ident chip and was preparing for another mission to an unknown world. Another deep breath as her stomach squeezed.

Focus, Officer! She wondered if vomiting would help; the few food cubes she'd forced down hadn't. Focus, her mind snapped the order, but it wasn't this harsh echo that pulled her from the comfort of the wall. A gentle hand touched her shoulder, and she hadn't realized until she felt the warmth on her skin that she was cold.

"You're unwell," Damasc was looking down the corridor, focusing on a small maintenance drone. Aeryn almost smiled at the Peacekeeper courtesy; he was attempting not to offend. A civilian would have asked what was wrong, peered into her face as if she were a curiosity. Crichton would have asked, insisted she tell him. The thought caught her, pressing her chest.

"I haven't been sleeping well. I assume low-grade deprivation is occurring. Maddin gave me something." Truth. She'd asked Maddin for a sedative when he fabricated her chip. He hadn't asked why. More Peacekeeper courtesy between equals, rhythms that she understood. It was distracting that she missed the questions, the determined harassment.

"Good, it will pass, then. The others will soon be down," he said, nodding toward the small chamber they used for mission-brief. Wordlessly, he helped steady her, holding her arm until they could walk together.

Kabel appeared, walking quickly down the corridor toward them. "You're not going to like this," she said before stepping into the chamber.

She settled herself at one end of the long table, snapping a data chip in a player without waiting for Damasc and Aeryn to sit. As a holo started, Maddin stepped through the entrance, glanced at Aeryn, then took his customary seat to their left. It was a shame that this was all that was left of this squad. Two missions ago they'd lost the munitions expert, and then a week later Trema had been killed in a freak accident.

The holo sputtered slightly, distracting Aeryn from her thoughts. Kabel adjusted the display, clearing the image. Aeryn immediately recognized it as Apoth, the same ice planet Damasc had shown her in her quarters. The image of this was larger though, more detailed, and she found herself pulled into the image.

Apoth was a large planet, not surprisingly the statistics listed gravity at plus-one. Aeryn automatically noted the difficulties it would present to a Prowler. Her mind began organizing other details, neatly categorizing as the holo ran and Kabel began a narrative.

"The plains you're seeing here are ice. It's theorized Apoth was entirely water at one time. The winds have been known to exceed top speed of a Prowler, and work continuously at the surface of the planet."

The holo slid across the plain, and aerial shot following the push of wind. A billowing cloud was forming, churning up more snow as it gained speed.

"The colonists call it ice fog, but in truth the moisture content is not high enough to be fog. Also, this is far more dangerous than fog, the composition of the ice crystals obstructs even advanced propulsion systems. Extraction must be timed around the fog."

The recorder, or the vessel carrying it, changed directions, and Aeryn saw what she guessed to be the opening of a tunnel. She didn't realize how large it was until she saw a transport fly through. Moya could have docked in this tunnel.

"Taken before the base was established, obviously. Blueprints show its construction here," she pointed to an area near the entrance. "It is small, a contingent of thirty low-ranking officers, their staff, and a few techs. The base commander is a lieutenant."

A chuckle went around the table at this. Another thing she liked about this squad, she understood the humor. Peacekeeper humor.

The image shifted again, drifting into the tunnel, panning across the huge docking chamber. The first thing Aeryn noticed was the ice. It wasn't white and clouded as she'd expected, but rather a clear, dark blue, refracting the light cast by docking ships. Tiers had been cut into the walls, and ships were clustered on these different levels.

"The tunnels on each of these tiers lead to different parts of the city, different social classes. The Peacekeepers have taken the uppermost tier, which, unfortunately for them, is also considered the lowest class. It is also where all incoming off-worlders must dock, so it is always crowded with lesser species." Another small laugh at the discomfort those stationed on Apoth must feel.

Kabel pointed to one of these tunnels as the recorder turned. Aeryn realized it was on a small drone, not a vessel, because it slipped into the tunnel easily, drifting above the cloaked heads of the pedestrians. Markets, refreshment houses, and small shops passed by, all closed against the cold, their patrons shuffling quickly from door to door. It wasn't until she saw the corpse that Aeryn said something.

"Wait. Reverse that image… what happened to him?" she nodded at the male, propped up on a stoop, head thrown back, as if his last act had been to scream at those lucky enough to live. His hands were upraised claws, and the bruises on his wrists suggested he had been imprisoned.

"That is why we're doing this," Maddin said quietly. "That is a Miiast addict; the bruises are injection sites. He either overdosed or was given the incorrect mix. However it is considered preferable to long-term failure; the Miiast slowly destroys cells… notably lungs and excretory systems. Victims have drowned in their own blood and dren."

"Frell," was all she could say, looking at this Sebacean who had died alone in a doorway, screaming at nothing. She nodded at Kabel, and the briefing resumed.

Another chip snapped into the projector. Schematics of the base corridors, landing bay, and access tunnels to the surface. Aeryn watched these, memorizing the layout without conscious thought, the image of the male replaying in her mind relentlessly.

"This is what you won't like," Kabel sighed, and the image became a deep shaft, the drone running at full speed down as light vanished. Aeryn counted ninety microts, and then the ice around the recorder began to turn from black to blue. Another fifty microts and the schematics of the tunnel system were displayed simultaneously with the Miiast lab.

"It's true, then. It's under the whole frelling city," Maddin said, looking at Damasc for confirmation. "We can't blow that. An explosion like that… the tunnels above would collapse. Millions of people live there."

"I know. There was discussion, before you returned and C'ismet joined us, of blowing it, but we decided against it."

Aeryn nodded, the price of destroying the lab did not justify the cost. The image of the dead addict flashed, though, and for a microt she wondered if she might be wrong.

When they were finished, Damasc followed her out, walking beside her quietly. Again, she noticed his silence. He didn't have to tell her he had prepped the Prowlers while she was with Maddin, didn't have to discuss points of a briefing they should both be clear on. He was ex-Peacekeeper, expected her to understand. Of course she did, she'd been bred to it.

Five

"Do you understand?" Tika asked. John felt the slitted eyes follow him as he walked slowly around the module, checking it for damage. It didn't escape him that Farscape One had changed hands as many times as he had, but the ship was in far better shape.

"Yeah, I get it. Sneak in, help you blow the lab, sneak out. It's a shitty plan, by the way." He stopped on the opposite side of the ship, depressed the canopy release, and threw their bags into the cockpit. When his stomach suddenly rolled, he hid the nausea by leaning on the ship, checking a phantom control.

"Hang on, Johnny! Lassie's gone for a rope!" Harvey sounded completely whacked out.

"No need to be bitter, Crichton," she put her hands on the edge of the cockpit, inhaling, watching closely as he levered himself up, sliding into the pilot's seat. "Stay close to me, follow my direction, you will survive."

"Somehow I doubt your sincerity, Miss Kitty," he said, beginning startup procedures, trying to ignore the anxiety brushing the corners of his mind. His hands felt clammy. A shudder slid through his muscles, purple leaving the building.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, tone indicating she knew full well the answer.

"You really get your kicks from this, don't you?" He leaned close to her as another shudder went through him. Their eyes locked, not quite a struggle of wills. Not quite, because she smiled her sharp smile, and waited… until he held out his hand.

Pain, but not.

"This is yours," she purred, watching as he soared.

"Hm?" he asked. She'd increased the dose, he was sure of it. Much more and he'd really fly. He finally looked at what she was holding. "Winona."

"You would look conspicuous without a weapon. No one has to know the cartridge has been emptied," she vaulted easily to the edge of the cockpit, balanced nimbly, then settled in behind him. He tried to ignore the purr; it was starting to annoy him in an odd way.

"Explain to me one more time why we're not taking one of your ships?" he asked nodding at the menacing fighters in the bay.

"It is widely known that we posses Seekers; it is better to arrive without attention."

"Oh, Dorothy! Somethin' smells funny in Denmark," Harvey, perched like an absurd bird on the wing, red cowboy boots slipping as the thrusters kicked on.

"Think your happy thoughts, we're off to never-never land," John flipped switches, sending the module into motion, finding he couldn't control the odd giggle that leaked out.

Six

an echo of two

"That cannot be correct. Run it again," Aeryn's bearing was as formal as her words, spine rigid as she stared out at the white planet beyond the portal. Control, she thought, her heart starting to pound. This was impossible.

She heard the med-tech make an uncomfortable noise in the background as he shuffled the data chips in his fingers.

Aeryn ignored the sounds, trying to concentrate instead on a pair of Prowlers dueling over the fields of snow and ice fog. "Sub-Officer Thesai. Run it again," she ordered crisply, turning away from the portal and extending her hand to the medic, relieved there was no betraying tremor.

"Yes, ma'am," he looked almost as if he would like to be annoyed with her, but couldn't quite find the courage. The sampler hissed when it broke through the skin of her wrist, a small prickle of pain as it collected the necessary amount of fluid. The sample then went into a larger analyzer, which immediately began humming its internal monolog over her fate.

When it finished, she could read the results as well as the tech. To his credit he didn't say anything, only shuffled his reports some more, keeping his eyes averted as his patient came to terms with the results.

"Positive, then," she finally said, staring at the readout, wanting to scream. To fight. To do anything but stand still under this.

The medic nodded to himself as he began assembling another sample gun.

"Contraceptive failure is actually not uncommon, Lieutenant C'ismet. Command rarely places blame with the soldier, especially at your rank," he snapped a vial into the gun. "Ready?"

"For?" it felt effortless to sound so cold. Her eyes flicked from the sample gun to his, boring in. He twitched like a fresh recruit.

"Termination injection. It is painless," he said uncertainly.

"When?" she had to know this. Had to.

"M-Ma'am?"

"When? When did it fail?" she snapped the words, he would expect her criticism over the stutter. He twitched, but went over the display.

"Four monens? Perhaps a bit less? This equipment is inadequate for accurate assessment."

John. She crushed the name well before it escaped her lips. She had been ill on the ship. The floor tilted under her.

"The injection, Ma'am?" he sounded appropriately admonished for questioning her authority.

"That will not be necessary, at this time." She picked up her jacket, eyes traveling back to the portal. At this time? The ache in her throat traveled to her stomach, muscles cramping. Why was she considering another choice? The Prowlers disappeared from view.

"Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Sub-Officer?" the words sharp, but she wondered if she might vomit. She pulled on her jacket, turning to face him. His thought patterns were almost visible.

"Uh, um. I'll need DNA," he muttered. Another thought flitted across his features, and he turned to his work terminal, tapping nervously. His body relaxed as he found the proper regulation.

"DNA," he repeated more firmly as he read. "From yourself, and anyone you may have recreated with, for the Counsel of Genetics. The regulation states this must be completed no later than two weekens from date of detection." He looked up at her, a little smug, no doubt pleased to have gained even a small victory.

"Understood, I will submit the list within the weeken," Aeryn didn't blink, her expression didn't change. They'd be gone in a weeken. "I trust this will remain completely confidential, Sub-Officer," her eyes locked with his once more.

"Of course," he nodded sharply, feigning slight offense. "If your waiver is approved, you will need medical supervision. Your nutrient injections will need to be increased; this planet will deplete yours, as will space if you are reassigned. Return in two weekens."

"Understood," she repeated, hearing his unspoken words. Return in two weekens, when the Counsel of Genetics denied her request and she had no choice in the matter. As if there were really a choice to make.

Nodding brusquely, Aeryn ensured her rank was adjusted properly, and then palmed the door open, stepping into the corridor without a sign of internal turmoil.

Seven

John listened to the babble of alien noise streaming from audio as the module broke from the high altitude clouds. A planet of ice greeted him, a planet with barren white plains and unrelenting winds. The audio crackled and a nasal voice began listing port coordinates.

The feline leaned forward to listen, breath hot against his ear, sending a chill through his veins. A flash of memory, twisted and cruel, and the scratches crisscrossing his skin burned. His stomach hitched.

"Do you mind?" he tried for sarcastic. "Back off. My side, your side." High as a kite didn't even begin to explain it. Somewhere in his skull, sonar was pinging.

Tika laughed, low and unpleasant. Instead of sitting back, though, she reached around him to tap a control. A fractured image of docked ships appeared. "There. Set down there. This ship of yours might attract attention; we're taking a shuttle into the city," she said, ignoring the weak protest from audio when the module altered course.

"Now this… this is pleasant," John settled the module between an ancient cargo transport, and what looked comically like a flying saucer. Little green men, and all that bullshit. He peered out of the canopy, watching the wind whip a flurry of snow into a small snow-devil. The ship rocked under the casual slap of air. "Screw Florida, this is where I want to retire."

"Take these," the feline said, sounding distracted. She passed forward a long brown cloak and a respirator. "If the fog comes in, put the respirator on. The crystals will shred lung tissue within ten paces. The colonists wear these for warmth, like this," she pulled her hood over her head, obscuring her features.

His brain pinged again, louder now, and he frowned. You sure you didn't get… He realized he wasn't saying the words out loud, and tried again. "You sure you didn't get the mix wrong? My head's about to implode."

"You're fine. That's the way Miiast is; every time is different."

"That's just super," he twisted in his seat, face tightening as he stared at her. "The question I want answered, though, the one that's at the top of the hundred thousand fuckin' dollar pyramid, is what happens when your nine lives run out and I'm floppin' like a fish?"

"Here. Enough for twelve arns. Unless you overload," she gave him the vials without interest. Common sense piped up that the shit had already hit the fan.

"Again, I'm not exactly reassured." Twelve arns. Somehow he doubted it was enough to find the Betty Ford Clinic of the Uncharted Territories. Still, there was more than one way to skin a cat. He almost laughed out loud at the thought.

Eight

out of synchrony

"Lieutenant C'ismet," a voice behind her called. "Lieutenant C'ismet!"

Aeryn jerked, pulled roughly from her thoughts. She was Lieutenant C'ismet. She felt her body tense, and she turned carefully, her hand casually over her pulse pistol. Then her body relaxed, and she nodded.

"Lieutenant Damasc," she said. The ex-Peacekeeper nodded at her, and they continued together along the corridor.

"What did he say?" he asked, dark eyes scanning the corridor.

"Not here," she answered with a slight gesture down a corridor. Damasc frowned, but nodded in agreement, following her to the small docking bay.

Aeryn leaned into the cockpit of the Prowler, on the pretext of examining one of the controls. No one in the bay saw her place a small transponder. Dropping back to the deck, she nodded at Damasc. "Safe. Forty-five microts."

"Good. What the frell is going on, C'ismet?"

"Contraceptive failure." There it was, blunt and in the open, without any emotion. She picked up a phase coupler, pointing out a relay to him. To an observer, it would seem as if the two officers were inspecting the efficiency of repairs.

"And the bearing of that on this mission?" But even as he asked, he obviously knew what the real problem was. Stupid Sebaceans didn't live long as assassins. "Ah, frell. You didn't have it terminated? Frelling casma. Why the frell not? You've read the regulations, surely you can't think you need my…authorization?" he seemed to realize his bearing was slipping, and he looked away, breathing carefully.

Aeryn watched him, understanding this reaction, his fear of the mission failing. She waited until he looked at her again. "Failure occurred four monens ago."

"Four monens?" he rubbed a hand over his face, remembering to nod as if the relay had his complete attention. He didn't ask why not, didn't question her further. Courtesy said why was no longer his concern. But that didn't mean he wouldn't consider the impact on the squad, and Aeryn felt she should say something.

"It will not affect my performance during this mission," but her voice sounded weak.

"Frell, you really believe that? This places us both at risk!" he took the coupler, poking angrily at a stray wire. He sighed, setting the tool down, looking at her directly.

"C'ismet, I'm certain you have your reasons for this, but you were a Peacekeeper strategist. You must know the consequences. In the past monen you have become an invaluable part of our team, and are without a doubt the best pilot we have. We... I would not like to lose you, but surely you know how this endangers our mission and ultimately the entire squadron."

"I realize that," Aeryn swallowed, trying to clear the thickness from her throat. Five missions together and he'd never once questioned her abilities or her strategies; five missions he'd thought her a competent soldier, capable of making correct decisions. She had suddenly become an unknown, and any unknown might prove a liability. Shaking her head, she used the coupler to fuse the stray wire, then turned the conversation, back on task. "Any change in schedule?"

"Not that they've told me," his shoulders slumped as he said it, and she wondered what he was thinking.

The transponder gave a single soft chime, and she picked up an imaginary conversation. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I agree that this will improve performance."

"I'll be satisfied if it doesn't decrease," he responded, but the tired lines had returned to the corners of his eyes. Then he nodded over her shoulder as the inner bay door began to open.

Two Prowlers hovered in the grip of the docking web, the further one shuddering as it settled against the deck. When the canopy of the first released, the pilot stood in the cockpit, his hand moving in a quick wave.

"Damasc! C'ismet! Tate's Prowler has strut damage, but I still need to log arns. There is no fog, care to go a round?"

"Check the reports, Abin! Visibility will be zero soon, and why would you want to buy us more raslak?"

Nine

"Frell!" Tika swore quietly.

"Not tonight, I have a headache," John muttered, not looking up. He found the jerky motion of the shuttle bearable if he concentrated on one small bolt in the floor. He'd resolved not to blow chunks; not that it would matter, the bolt was encrusted with suspicious material, but not barfing was becoming a thing of principle. Once upon a time, he'd been an astronaut.

"No. Look," she insisted, hood of her cloak jerking toward the window as she nodded.

John looked, and stared at the blanket of white creeping over the plains. It was like that Stephen King story. The one where the fog rolled in and critters started munchin' on people like they were Twinkies. "Fog. So?"

"Ice fog. Frell. We won't be able to leave until it clears. Nothing flies in it; the crystals cause thruster malfunctions," she snapped. When one of the other passengers looked across the aisle at them, eyes wary, John moved to block Tika from sight.

"Keep it down, Tabby. The spy handbook says it's better not to be caught before blowing the shit out of stuff," John muttered, trying not to shake his head. "Another hint? When planning any vacation, we advise you check the local weather forecast and dress accordingly."

"I believe I preferred you overloaded."

"Yeah, well, life's a bitch and then…" he didn't get the chance to finish. The shuttle suddenly lurched and bobbed as if it had been fired on and alien curses filled the small ship.

Tika added a few expletives, but John was too busy finding the floor-bolt to swear. He did catch a glimpse of Harvey, peering over the seat-back in front of them, like an overgrown brat about to harass the passengers behind him.

"The boat went up; the boat went down. Would you like a nice, greasy, pork sandwich, Puddy-Tat?" It really was a passable Tweety imitation.

The passenger across the aisle railed about frelling-dren-eating-Peacekeepers. John forced his head up at the word, in time to see another Prowler do a flyby. This time the shuttle jerked to the left before it dipped and rolled.

"Peacekeepers? Oh, shit, here we go again," John managed, and something that had tasted vaguely like Malt-o-Meal going down - but nothing like it coming up - splattered the floor.

Ten

past becomes future

"Frell me, that was close!" Abin shouted in approval as the shuttle bobbed in the Prowler's wake. Damasc's ship had come within an arm's length of the ship, his abilities on exhibition.

"Thank you," Damasc's laugh echoed over audio and Aeryn knew his eyes would be bright as a child's; he allowed himself such happiness over very few things. She watched the decrepit shuttle struggle below her as the pilot attempted to right his vessel.

"C'ismet?" Abin questioned. It was her turn to dive by the shuttle; an echo of a competition they'd all participated in during combat training. Closest without colliding, with the loser buying the rest drinks.

Instead of replying, she backed further off the thrusters, and the Prowler started a lazy roll away from the shuttle, toward the other fighters.

"You want to buy the raslak?" Damasc, trying to conceal his unease in jest, his words cutting at her. Five missions together and he'd never once questioned her,

Aeryn slowly banked, her ship aligning directly above the other two fighters, and she let the nose of the Prowler swing planet-ward. The straps of the harness dug into her shoulders and chest as she looked down on the Prowlers outlined by white. Then she hit the thrusters with full power and wrenched at the controls.

Her ship immediately went into a dizzy spin; thin atmosphere screaming around her as the fighter plummeted toward the other Prowlers. It was a maneuver that wouldn't work in space, but here, in the increased gravity… the payoff was spectacular.

She heard their shouts of surprise as they tried to maneuver away from her falling ship, and couldn't help but grin. Dueling took incredible finesse, intense concentration, but it was not true combat. When they were faced with a real hazard how would they react?

Her Prowler continued to gain speed, gravity pulling her toward the others at an incredible rate. She could hear them cursing, and wasn't surprised that Abin had completely overloaded his systems in an attempt to escape. No matter, she'd aimed her fighter directly at Damasc; he was the superior pilot and would react appropriately. He managed to pull away, as Aeryn had calculated, and a small gap appeared.

Before her Prowler twirled through the opening, she reversed direction with all available thrust, trying to force the nose of the ship back up. The Prowler fought her, controls jerking violently under her hands, pressing her deep into the chair as she tried to abort the dive. Her head bounced against the headrest and her arms threatened to pull from her shoulders. For a microt she wondered if she had overestimated her skill, but then the Prowler responded and the incredible dive ended. Hovering just below the other ships with dots of light crossing her vision and her stomach rolling, she couldn't suppress a ghost of a smile. Now that was frelling close.

"Frelling casma, C'ismet," Damasc was able to speak first, and Aeryn knew from his tone that she'd regained standing. "Well done. Outstanding," he said, surprising her by laughing again.

After a microt, Abin's joined in, voice shaking slightly. "That was frelling incredible. I had no idea a Prowler could pull against that force. Where did you learn that?"

"I…" the smile faded and her mouth went dry. John. Solar days spent away from Talyn, playing an Earth game called tag, in the air over a green planet. His module, Xhalex's Prowler; he'd taught her things she'd never dreamed of doing in a ship. And at some point her contraceptive device had failed. The images collided in her mind, and her stomach rolled again.

"If she tells you, we'll be forced to execute you," Damasc covered her lapse seamlessly. "Look. The fog's coming in, and I think you owe us a round of raslak."

Abin's response was lost to her as she guided the Prowler down. Frell. John. He'd left her with so many things she didn't need. His emotions, his words, his memory. And now this choice. At this time. Frell.

Eleven

"Okay, what the frell is going on?" John and Tika stood in a doorway etched in blue, watching the upper-level residents and off-worlders pass. He had jerked her out of the press of beings crowding the marketplace when he'd seen the familiar red and black uniforms.

Tika was careful to keep her head down, features concealed by the cloak. At his question, though, she looked up slightly, teeth and eyes shining.

"What?" her breath turned white against the cold, disappearing in her cloak.

"Do not fuck with me. Those were Prowlers, and those are Peacekeepers. And let me tell ya sweetheart, Peacekeepers and John Crichton aren't known for playing nice together." He caught her arm, pulling her close, ignoring the low warning growl. "They find out who I am, we're both dead."

"Don't worry. Look around; you fit in here. They aren't looking for an addict," her mouth turned up in a quick smile. "Now, let go… sweetheart, before I do something we both will regret," he could feel the hard outline of the injector pressing through their outer clothes, and his mouth went dry.

Once upon a time, he'd been an astronaut. When had that fairy-tale ended? He let go of her arm, backing half a step away, staring hard. His hand started to shake, so he shoved it in his pocket.

"Okay. So what do we do now, Miss Thang?"

"Obtain lodging until the fog lifts. We will need at least ten arns after I place the explosives to get to the surface and off the planet," she stepped from the doorway, head down as she blended with the crowd, shuffling along the shops and eating places like an elderly woman.

John caught up with her, matching her stride, keeping his stained wrists inside the cloak. Not that it mattered, he thought, looking at those walking next to him. Tika was right. The place was crawling with strung-out Sebaceans.

"Wait," he murmured, eyes on a girl sitting on a stoop, cloak pulled tight as she breathed small clouds of steam. On Earth she would have been twelve. Yeah, she had the bruises too. "Get to the surface? You set charges off under the tunnels, everything will go. Lab, tunnels, city… people."

"You are very clever." He was sure she was purring.

"Yeah, okay. Here's a news flash. Despite this outstanding working partnership we've established, I'm not gonna help you kill these people. Besides, isn't this a bad business decision?"

Another small laugh, and a sideways glance of derision. "This is only one of many cities. Yes, it will be a costly lesson, but, as you said, cost is relative."

"Cute. But like…"

"Frell. Keep your head down," she ordered sharply, eyes on the snow-packed floor as she shuffled closer to the row of shops to their right. John pulled the cloak closer, tilting his head, but not before he looked. And stared.

Aeryn. Aeryn, laughing with two male Peacekeepers. Aeryn, wearing a Lieutenant's rank. Aeryn. Aeryn, looking up, looking over… meeting his eyes, holding him in her gaze. He saw the surprise, the color leave her face. Then she and her companions stepped into a crowded refreshment house. John managed one step before Tika caught his cloak and jerked him toward her.

"Are you frelling stupid?" she hissed at him, pulling him away, through the crowd.

John. Frell. She willed him not to say anything, not to call out her name. His eyes were on hers, and she could feel the pull, and somehow she stopped herself from allowing

her expression to change. Then she was inside the refreshment house, watching the door, her hand on her pulse pistol. If he stepped through the door he would kill them both. Be smart, John. Stay away. She forced herself to think. She turned to Abin.

"I prefer fellip nectar to raslak," she hoped her grin looked genuine and that her voice didn't waver as she nodded at the bar. She half-listened to his retort, her eyes returning to the door. When he finally moved away, she put a hand on Damasc's shoulder, leaning close.

"I need to go. No questions, not now. Make an excuse," she murmured, moving away before he had a chance to respond. Her mind raced as she stepped into the street, scanning for the familiar outline. How in the frell had Crichton found her?

Twelve

John Crichton, the astronaut with the right stuff, had believed in hope and fate, and other noble human myths. John Crichton, the one shivering from withdrawal, hands shackled above him, mouth stuffed with a piece of old blanket, was beginning to think Murphy had a better outlook. Fate could take a flying leap. So, if fate had nothing to do with him ending up on the same planet as Aeryn, what was left? Why was she here?

"The answer to that is obvious, Crichton," Harvey said without emotion, turning from the grimy window. He crossed the small room to stare down at John. "More importantly, for our purposes, would be: why are you?"

Why was he here? John shifted slightly in the cuffs, easing the weight from his wrists, and immediately wished he hadn't. The long scratches tracing his ribs burned, and he didn't want to remember how he'd gotten them. Tika was stronger than she looked, hadn't appreciated his resistance to collapsing the city. He'd blacked out, she'd gone to commit mass murder … and he had no idea if she was coming back.

"Oh, she'll be back, Johnny. She needs you," Harvey whispered as if imparting a great secret, even though his voice shook. "Consider why. Why are you here?"

Almost on cue, the locking mechanism on the door chimed soft tones, and the door opened.

Well. The cat came ba... but it wasn't the cat coming back. It wasn't his kitty back to play with her favorite toy, dope him to the gills, take him for a walk on the wild side.

Maybe there was something to fate after all.

Aeryn Sun held up a quieting hand, eyes flicking to meet his before she slipped into the room. Her pulse pistol was out, held at chest level, and he didn't miss the wariness in that brief glance. A quick look into the corners, the dingy bathroom, and she met his eyes again.

Her face was thinner, her features harder than he remembered, and somehow she seemed more focused, deadly. Assassin, the voice in the back of his mind stated flatly. He tried to silence the whisper, but the relief he'd felt at seeing her faded a little; he wasn't sure he liked what he saw in those eyes.

She locked the door behind her, crossing the floor with quick strides. Crouching beside him, she slowly pulled the gag free, careful where blood had adhered skin to cloth. He knew from the slight crease in her forehead that his mouth was bleeding again.

"Frell," she muttered, pressing down, her gentle touch bruising, eyes on his again. He felt like he should say something, thanks for saving my ass again, maybe. Or be daring and why ask she hadn't broken out the maternity gear yet. Even under the pain of the spiral pulling, his mind worried at the question.

"It's been… a while. You aren't… you look good?" he hadn't intended it to be a question, and it left an awkward silence between them.

Aeryn rocked back slightly on her heels, and it came as no surprise that he couldn't read her expression. She was playing Peacekeeper again, and the lieutenant's uniform fit her too well.

He was quiet until she reached for the cuffs with her free hand.

"Don't. The sequencer is DNA-coded, linked to injectors. Until she comes back, I'm staying put. Anyone else touches them, it's bye-bye birdie," he knew it would hurt to smile, so he didn't. The shudder that went through him was unexpected; when his stomach twisted, he could only close his eyes and let his head drop. Deep breaths, he reminded himself.

"Crichton, what's wrong with you?"

How did he answer that? He needed a fix to make it all better? "It'll pass."

"You need medical attention."

They both heard the noise in the corridor, bumping against the door, a muffled curse. John jerked his head up to see Aeryn hunkered behind the bed, pistol aimed at the entrance. Another curse, then silence. Aeryn looked at him with a wry smile.

"Reprogrammed the door. She'll be back. We have to get you out of here," she holstered her pistol, crossing the floor again, eyeing the bare pipe he was cuffed to. He felt his stomach lurch. Go with her? Leave? The spiral tugged harder at the thought.

"I can't." Didn't want to.

"Crichton, you are obviously injured or ill. I can loosen that…"

"Aeryn. I have bigger problems, okay?" he let his wrists rotate in the cuffs, making the metal rattle, letting her look, making her see. He watched her eyes glance up and widen; watched until he saw the flicker of shock and fear and… revulsion, then he let his head drop to his chest again.

"Why are you here, John?" her voice was quiet.

"Good question, Officer Sun!" Harvey clapped his hands together in glee.

"I don't know. Two and two are making five right now." If he asked why she was here, would she answer him? He let his eyes drift close. "Front right pocket; something you need to see."

A microt of silence, of indecision, then he heard her move. He ignored her touch, fingers wriggling into the leather; ignored the way her hair smelled, leaning in close. Keep your eyes closed. It'll only hurt for a second, all be over before you know it.

As she pulled the audio-processor out, there was another noise in the corridor and they froze. Something large bumped away, and John looked up.

"Listen," he glanced toward the door, and began explaining. "Long story short. I'm not firing on all cylinders right now, but follow me. The species that makes the go-juice is pissed because the locals are brewing their own. The one that brought me here went to play Elliot Ness with a duffel of explosives."

Aeryn stared at him, shaking her head, and he wondered if he'd killed off some of her microbes.

"The lab?" she finally asked, nodding as if she already knew the answer. "But the tunnels…"

"Yes. I don't know why I'm here, but I'm guessin' someone's gotta take the fall for this. Enter infamous John Crichton," the words seem to come without conscious thought, but even as he said them, he knew it was the truth. Two plus two is four.

"Bingo!" shouted Harvey, nodding vigorously behind Aeryn.

Aeryn paled, and for a moment, the soldier was gone. He had an idea that arithmetic was working for her too, but she didn't like the answer. Maybe because something else figured into her equation. Her jaw twitched, and the hard edges were back.

"You can't stay here."

"Have to. Do me a favor, though. Load your extra chakkan oil cartridge in Winona," he saw the flicker again, but she crouched beside him and did as he asked, fingertips resting on the holstered pistol when she'd finished.

"John, you cannot…"

"No choice," it was a small lie; would the old woman call it one that spewed out? His skin itched, the crawling sensation that made him want to fly. "Go."

She was careful when she put the gag back in, but it still hurt.

Sixty microts later, the door was flung open again, the gag jerked out unceremoniously, and he finally got to use his witty line. "Well, the cat came back. 'Bout damn time, too."

John couldn't help but feel relieved at the sight of her. Would begging for his ride be un-astronaut-like?

"Eight arns, Crichton," Tika said. Crouching in front of him, she paused, nose twitching once. His eyes narrowed. Shit, she could smell Aeryn. Her nose wrinkled, but then she shook her head in irritation, and John let himself breath again.

Tika reached above him, jerking his hands free of the cuffs, holding his wrists tight as she crouched in front of him. Their eyes locked, hers glittering and cold. The sudden pain from the injector was unexpected, her claws sharp, and he couldn't miss that she wasn't purring any more. "Let's go."

The ice tunnel outside the lodging house felt too narrow, and the press of Sebaceans against him was almost more than he could take. Voices rattled through his microbes, refusing to translate, ringing in his mind. He suddenly felt eyes following him, eyes boring into the back of his head. He dropped a hand to his pulse pistol as his heart started to thump unpleasantly in his chest. Oh, frell. Oh, frell. The phrase became a mantra until he couldn't stand the feeling. Twisting around, eyes wide, he stared at the beings streaming past.

Nothing.

His hand squeezed in reflex around the butt of the pistol. Nothing. He was confused, close to panic.

"We're being followed," he muttered, not taking his eyes from the crowd to look at the feline.

"It is only the Miiast," Tika snapped, slipping her arm through his, taking his hand from the pulse pistol, pulling him along. "Paranoia is common. Keep walking."

Paranoia? Was it?

"You! Do not move!"

Nope, not paranoia. The local excuse for law enforcement. Big, cranky, and ready to rain on somebody's parade. John slipped his hand over the pistol again, the grip a comfort in his hand. Let's get ready to rumble!

He could see Tika edging away from him, and his body tensed in preparation. Messy, things were gonna get really messy.

"I said do not move!" but Cranky was looking at Tika, closing in on her. The look of surprise on her face was priceless, and part of him wanted to tell her she was screwed, but that wouldn't help the hopeless lurch inside. She hissed, and the badge took at as a threat, bringing up his pistol without hesitation.

Tika dropped with a soft grunt, yellow dart protruding from her neck. Cranky approached her cautiously, prodding her with his boot. "Destroying our city does not seem so clever now, eh?"

When they started to drag her away, John saw her cape begin to slip. He pushed forward as it fell, grabbing it before it was stolen or trampled, smiling faintly at the jingle of purple.

"Explosives have been discovered near the Miiast manufacturing facility," Damasc caught Aeryn's elbow in the corridor as she neared her quarters. "The local Regency has requested the base commander proceed with the demonstration immediately, as a show of force. The fog is lifting and our timeline has been shortened. Three arns."

"Three arns?" she glanced at him sharply. They'd reached her quarters, and she paused for DNA recognition. Damasc followed her in, hand striking the locking mechanism, Peacekeeper courtesy abandoned. When she turned around, she could see the tension in his features. He held a blinking transponder in one hand, blocking surveillance.

"What in the frell is going on? Your actions at the refreshment house, coupled with a barrack's rumor concerning your…" he gestured vaguely at her abdomen with a wave of frustration, then sighed. Rubbing at his temple in resignation, his tone became formal. "Apologies; I think of the squadron first, of course. The thought of you leaving is uncomfortable. Where did you go?"

Aeryn wondered how he would accept the truth. Options had suddenly become limited, three arns would not give her time to find Crichton again, establish a rendezvous. "I need your help."

"My help?"

"Yes. After the base is destroyed, there will be considerable confusion in the tunnels. I need help finding one individual before officials locate him, and charge him with our actions."

"One person, in a city like this? Impossible," his forehead creased, no doubt confused at her odd words. To his credit, he didn't ask why she felt he would be arrested.

"Kabel can locate him by his energy signature."

"Normally, yes. However, without a previous scan, our systems will be unable to locate him. This is the reason you left the refreshment house? What importance is this person?"

"Would a partial DNA sample be enough to replicate a signature for the scan?" she ignored the questions, Damasc would draw his own conclusions very shortly.

"DNA? Um… yes. Of course, it would. But, how…" his eyes narrowed. Connections being made, conclusions drawn. "Frell. Yes. I'll contact Kabel, have her tap your medical data here; the offspring's DNA would be on file. They can construct the necessary profile for the scan."

"Thank you," she almost reached out to touch his arm, then thought better. "I owe a debt to you and the others."

The transponder gave its familiar chime, and Damasc shook his head, dropping the device into his pocket.

"Well, then. Two arns, meet me in the docking bay."

Thirteen

John stepped closer to an upper-level viewing portal, watching as the Prowlers screamed away from the plain of white. Four of them, twisting around one another in a mockery of battle, a low-altitude demonstration for the local yokels. It hadn't taken long - a few questions and coins - to figure out the political situation on the planet, and the reason Aeryn was here. Playing Peacekeeper again. Assassin, the voice insisted. Two plus two is…

"Four. Subtract one, baby makes three!" Harvey crowded next to him, watching the Prowlers. The neural clone's skin had taken a violet shade, and his eyes leaked purple when he blinked.

"Doubt it," John answered, eyes following the fighters. He had expected her to wait, somehow expected to see her in the crowd after Tika's arrest. Instead, there she was, flying off into the wild blue yonder, on some mission to save lesser beings by assassinating government officials come to see Prowlers fly.

He pushed away from the wall, keeping to the shadows as he began working his way back to the shuttle, back to the module. It didn't take a rocket scientist… or an astronaut, to figure she'd been making choices. The lieutenant's uniform fit her well.

He wasn't surprised when the tunnel floor trembled under his feet. Pissed that he was still underground when Aeryn and company set off the fireworks, but not surprised. He broke into a jog.

Aeryn keyed her comms to another frequency at the first squawk of protest. The Prowler shuddered under her hands, a fighter designed for space struggling in heavy gravity as she pulled away from the damage she'd inflicted.

"Docking bay eliminated," she sent the transmission in a flat voice, pushing the Prowler away from the plume of smoke and snow. She heard an explosion, saw another plume, and knew that Damasc had accomplished his objective as well. The majority of high-ranking Peacekeepers, as well as planetary officials involved in negotiations had been effectively eliminated.

A Prowler swept by her, almost colliding with her, and she knew it was Abin. If she altered comms frequencies, his curses would overwhelm audio. Weaponless, powerless, he was trying to fulfill his duty the only way he could. She darted away, evading his clumsy attack with ease., relieved when he veered away, seeking a place to set down.

Then her audio chimed, and she toggled the prearranged frequency.

"C'ismet, Damasc. Reinforcements expected within the arn. Are you proceeding with the retrieval?" Kabel's voice was tense, none of them had expected the timeline to shift. None of them wanted to remain in orbit a microt longer than necessary, especially in the rescue of an unknown, but duty and honor would not let them leave her.

"Yes. Have my comms been aligned?" Aeryn didn't wait for the answer; her arn was passing. She tapped the thrusters and the Prowler dropped, the wind clutching at her. No landing zone, only drifting snow. This was going to be frelling painful.

The wind added momentum and she hit the ground with more force than she'd expected. The Prowler bounced, crushing her into the chair, snapping her head forward. Her left hand flew from the controls, her wrist smashing against the panel. Then movement abruptly stopped, and all she could hear was the moan of the wind outside. Yes, frelling painful.

She fumbled over the seat restraints, her injured wrist slowing her, making her swear. As she freed the last strap from its clip, the canopy above her flew open, filling the cockpit with a swirl of snow. She met the dark form outside with her pulse pistol.

"C'ismet!" Damasc backed off, hands in the air. His eye was swollen, and from his stance she guessed he'd bruised a few ribs in his landing.

"You were going back to the ship," she shouted over the wind. She pushed herself out of the cockpit, wishing she'd worn a different flight suit. Seeing the ex-Peacekeeper was a relief. He'd originally planned on following the original strategy, which called for them both to fly directly to the Chalista. Not that she was going to argue his presence.

"I know," he shrugged, then peered through the white haze. "Come on! There's a tunnel access somewhere in… that direction."

"Well. Fuck me," John stared at the trampled purple stain ground into the packed snow of the tunnel floor. Sitting in another cold doorway, Tika's cloak gripped in his hands, there wasn't much else he could think to say. At the moment, he really didn't think he'd ever move from the doorway. Shit. Fuck. Life was such a bitch.

The explosions hadn't been a surprise to him, but they had been for the city's inhabitants. Made overly sensitive by previous attacks, the presence of the Peacekeepers had made them even more anxious. By the time the second rocked the tunnels, the beings crowding the marketplace started a stampede.

He twisted the cloak. How had he managed to drop the vials? Screwed didn't even begin to describe it.

"Water, water everywhere… and not a drop to drink!" the clone exclaimed, plopping down beside him, shaking his head at the glass fragments. "No beba el agua!"

"Thanks for the newsflash," John said tonelessly. Yeah, the Miiast was everywhere on this planet, but who knew what mix would kill him, which would make life livable.

"Who knew which mix? Who? Who? Are you an owl? Do your feet fit a limb? Do you shit through feathers?" Harvey's eyes were wide, almost panic-stricken.

"Jesus, Harv. Shut up. Have your midlife crisis on somebody else's time," he inched away from the clone, not liking the purple tinge to the other's eyes or the erratic movements. For some reason, all he could think of was a canary in a coal mine, and that was making his head hurt.

"Yes, John. Not an owl, a canary," for a heartbeat Harvey looked normal, eyes rheumy and tired, but sane. "Tika knows the mix," he whispered. Then he jumped to his feet, running across the tunnel, disappearing into a side tunnel.

John watched the retreat without comment; it wasn't like Harvey could actually vanished for good. Despite his meltdown, the clone was right about one thing, Tika knew the mix. Tika had been hauled away by cranky guards, and was probably rotting in a cell somewhere.

Time for a little of that James Bond bullshit.

Fourteen

filtered light, filtered sound

"He's been arrested?" Aeryn tapped her comms, waiting for a response, watching a cluster of civilians shuffle by. She kept her head down, well under the hood of the cloak she had acquired. Although they'd effectively disabled the majority of the small Peacekeeper contingent of the base, planetary law enforcement had moved in to deal with casualties and prevent riots. She and Damasc were fortunate that there had been no official consensus on what had actually occurred. They weren't being tracked yet.

"Unknown, but his signature has definitely moved to the section of tunnels that are listed as holding cells," Kabel sounded nervous. Aeryn knew that the Chalista could easily outdistance most other ships of the same class, but the advanced propulsion systems would do little good if they weren't all on board.

"Understood. Continue to track our movements, prepare for extraction," Damasc reached over and shut her comms off, hand resting on her shoulder. "The holding cells are three levels down; I'm sorry."

She knew Damasc was an excellent strategist, that he had recognized the almost certain odds of failure and was proceeding with a logical course of action. Return to the surface for extraction. She weighed the cost of her next words, the price of a world she understood.

"No, I'm sorry," she moved away from his touch. "If the arn expires before I reach the surface, don't wait."

"Surely you can't mean to continue. The risk for this exceeds…"

"I know," she cut him off without anger. "I'm not asking for you to come, but I won't leave him behind."

"Why would they charge him with our actions?" Damasc finally asked the question; a Peacekeeper struggling with emotion he didn't want, a situation that didn't make sense. "Even if it is discovered he's the genetic match, it is hardly a crime for a Peacekeeper to have recreated with you."

Aeryn wondered if he'd seen her flinch; she pushed the tide of emotion away, the flashes of another time. No time to think on it now. "I'm going."

"Hello, kitty," John opened the cell door, using his foot to push the body of a guard to one side, ignoring the soft groan. The feline was curled up, unmoving on a bunk, and he had a moment of panic that she might have died. Then she took a hitching breath, and John caught himself exhaling with her. "Tika!"

One of her ears twitched, and before he could blink, she was off the bunk, teeth bared. Her eyes were dilated from the dart, and one of her hands was shaking slightly. She saw her cloak, and reached out, only to have Winona shoved in her face.

"Oh, I don't think so," John shook his head, smiling grimly. "I found a cartridge. Don't tempt me."

"I need…" she hissed, blinking rapidly as she watched the cloak.

"What? Your comms? So your buddies can come rescue your sorry ass?"

"No," she shook her head, claws touching her temple as if to clear confusion. "Where are the vials?"

"Vials?" but two and two were doing their thing, and John started laughing. "Oh m'god. Miss Tika! I'm a crackhead, you're a crackhead. Wouldn't ya like to be a crackhead too? The vials? Bad news about the vials, babe!"

Tika growled, but she backed away, stopping when her legs contacted the bunk. She sat down, tail flopping slowly against the dark blanket. "Give me my comms, I'll…"

"Take me to Disneyland?" he asked, nodding at her trembling hand. "Looks like you're having a rough time there. Tell ya what. Answer me two questions, and regardless of the fact that you've fucked up my life, I'll give you your comms."

"Questions?" her smile was leering, full of teeth.

"What mix am I on, and how did you get that audio of Aeryn?" he ignored her smile, the way she made his skin twitch. He flinched at the sound of a secondary explosion that echoed down the corridor. "Snap it up."

Tika nodded, talking rapidly. "The audio was made during surveillance of her squadron's freighter. Our currency spends easily for them; they destroyed the first Miiast facility constructed on a space station. It is somewhat ironic she should appear as we were negotiating for this mission."

"Translation: you get a commando unit to do your dirty work, but this time you wouldn't pay enough?" What was Aeryn mixed up in? How couldn't she know the people she was working with were only glorified assassins?

"Clarification: they have no interest in the local population's well-being, this area of the Uncharted Territories, but some of them were reluctant to destroy an entire city. We failed to mention I was willing to be expendable, capable of this."

"So, they kill the Peacekeepers, you take out the city," he shook his head. "And of course no one objected to throwing John Crichton out to take the blame."

Tika grinned again, that same sharp smile that had filled endless days and nights. "A female Sebacean reprogrammed the door, she smelled of chakkan oil. Until then, I had only guessed they had arrived. They are worse than Peacekeepers, I would not aid them."

John frowned as another explosion shook the tunnels. A draft of cold air swept into the cell, and he wondered if the PK cesium tanks had started to ignite on the surface. No time to question Tika further, having all the answers wouldn't matter if he didn't get out alive.

"Mix," he said, tossing her the comms, keeping his pistol on her. Another breath of cold air, snow filling the air, dusting the floor.

"Stupid. Equal parts. Why would I trouble myself with a difficult mix?" she blinked at him, face twisted into a smug grimace.

"Stupid?" but when he went to hit her, smash the feral grin that made his stomach lurch, she seemed to melt into the wall. One microt she was standing still, the next she had him face down on the floor, arm twisted behind him. The claws of the other hand pressed the base of his spine and when he tried to jerk free, she pushed down hard. Her claws on his wrist dug into the bruise, and he thought he might black out. Snow billowed around them, the light dust dimming the lights.

"Yes, stupid," she hissed, purring into his ear. "You have been interesting, so think of this as a reward. Our Seekers were used to destroy the first Miiast facility, and they came back scented with male Sebacean. The one that reprogrammed the door -your Aeryn- reeked of three things. A terminated pregnancy, chakkan oil, and that same male. Not Dizeeland, but this is where I leave you, Crichton!" she squeezed, grinding her claws into his skin.

The pain coursed down his arm, but that wasn't what hurt. He heard a funny noise, and realized it was his own cry, high-pitched and keening. Assassin, assassin, assassin. Killing the baby to fuck another assassin. Fate could suck his cock. Later he would realize he'd been screaming the words so loudly his throat would ache like he's been strangled.

Tika bapped him on the back of his head, and his mouth filled with snow. Then she gave a sharp hiss, jumping up, vanishing as the cold breeze pushed up a cloud of snow dust.

Why would it be strange that a Peacekeeper seemed to appear in her place? Of course it was John's luck that the PK wasn't Aeryn, that Winona was out of reach, and that he was still prone on the floor. For the second time in twenty microts his head was shoved into the snow. Then the PK jerked him up, putting a pistol to his head.

"The creature called you Crichton! You did this! Tate was still in the hangar!" the Peacekeeper shouted, pressing the pistol in so hard John knew if he lived, he'd have 'Made in the UT' stenciled on his head. Suddenly though, living wasn't really a priority.

"Shoot me!" he shouted. Oh, yeah. Mel Gibson had the right idea.

"What?" the Peacekeeper was instantly confused.

"Come on, just shoot me!"

"Drop your weapon, Abin!" a disembodied voice echoed from the corridor.

And just when John had stopped believing in fate. Aeryn. Aeryn and another PK. A tall male that looked like a commando. Two and two, flyboy.

"No! Shoot me, come on, kill me!" he screamed it, and he knew what he looked like, thrashing against the pulse pistol.

"You! Traitor!" the PK screeched back, the pistol threatening to crush John's skull. Something was going to give, anyway.

"Would somebody please shoot this asshole, please?"

"You're insane!"

"You just noticed? Shoot me! Shoot him! Somebody!"

Somebody, the male commando, finally did. Abin crumpled, taking John to the floor with him, knocking both against the wall first. The wall was hard, and John's head bounced twice before he lay still. Aeryn rushed over, crouching beside him, eyes wide.

"Hey… baby?" he started to laugh, and it sounded scratchy, like he'd been screaming. Her uniform really did fit well.

This time, when he passed out, John Crichton only wished he was dying.

"He's not Sebacean," Maddin said, looking at the form suspended in the web of colored lights. Aeryn didn't answer, only shrugged, leaning back with one foot against the wall. No point in arguing a fact, and she had little use for idle conversation.

"Damasc is concerned." More idle remarks, but this time Aeryn responded, if only to bait the other.

"Concerned?"

"Yes, that you will leave. He thinks highly of you. We all do," he reached out a hand, as if to touch Aeryn, but wisely thought again and let his arm drop.

"But not highly enough to tell me the truth," Aeryn said flatly.

"We were concerned that you would not accept…"

"That it was not the Peacekeepers committing terrorism?" she kept her voice low, trying not to disturb the quiet of the room. A voice behind her was a surprise, she'd thought all of the others asleep.

"Terrorism?" Damasc's voice was cold, shoulders hunched as he walked through the doorway. Maddin shot Aeryn an unhappy glance before he walked away. Damasc seemed to copy Aeryn's stance, leaning back against the wall before he spoke. "It is expensive to fight our battles. We did not intend for the Peacekeepers to move in. Once they did… can you picture how they would spread this drug throughout their territory? You know they would. I regret not telling you, but you are the last that should speak of lies."

Aeryn's jaw tightened, but she said nothing. His name was no more Damasc than hers was C'ismet. They had all used different names in the past and had all committed acts largely unspeakable. But none of them were housing the offspring of John Crichton. None of them were carrying the legacy of a man who destroyed Command Carriers on a whim, who withheld information that would ensure the survival of an entire race.

"Have you decided?" Damasc finally asked. His voice had gone from cold to tired. Aeryn glanced at him, and for the first time he reminded her nothing of Velorek. He stared at Crichton, and his dark eyes were not sharp or dangerous or bright. They reflected the lights of the web, like small colored stars, but they were filled with pain. "You should before…"

"Maddin has explained the rate of the growth curve," she answered, not elaborating. No need to tell him that it might not follow the standard pattern; no need to stress that this was a hybrid. That the choice between termination or nutrient injections might not be hers for much longer.

"You are an excellent pilot, C'is… Aeryn. Your contribution to this squadron has been immeasurable. We work well together. As I have said before; I should not like to see you leave."

Aeryn swallowed, trying to find words to give him, words they could both accept. She had been bred to be a Prowler pilot, and John had left her with so many things she hadn't needed, didn't yet understand. Two worlds that refused to coexist. She looked at the shape unmoving in the lights, finally understanding his words.

There was no wormhole, he'd said. He'd been able to make a choice, had known which he wanted. Which world did she want? She realized she hadn't answered Damasc's earlier question, that he was watching her intently.

"Yes," she said, voice sounding tight to her ears. "Yes, I've made a decision."

Fifteen

It was Christmas. Christmas lights? No. The world was hazy again, and he was getting married to Aeryn. And may lightning strike him down, but goddamn she looked hot in that dress.

They got a Prowler for a wedding present. How weird was that?

This time, though, the only shots were champagne corks popping.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

God, no! The blood wasn't on her side this time. No, no, no! Oh god, baby, no! Standing there, holding up her white, white dress, with blood trailing down the inside of her thigh, tracing a sticky line to the floor.

John sat up, panicking in a web of dreams, the lights clinging to his skin. When he saw the dark shape watching him, his eyes narrowed. The one that had been with her in the corridor. This was the man she'd killed the other John's child for?

In the medical bay, Aeryn Sun held out her hand, watching as the injector broke the skin of her wrist with a prickle of pain.

Sixteen

what are you bred to be?

"Okay, got the coordinates. You guys ready?" it was odd to hear John's voice in her headset. Maddin said he was well enough to fly with them, well enough to fulfill his need for vengeance, and she'd be the last to deny him.

"Yes," Damasc said flatly. Aeryn could hear the displeasure, knew he was realizing the cost of personal indulgences, and was struggling with something he could not comprehend.

"Yes," she added, falling into formation. John Crichton had never been a vengeful man, but she'd seen his eyes on the Chalista and half expected him to rage at her about her Peacekeeper family. Then the moment of dissonance in him had passed, and he'd looked tired, the Miiast calming him.

"It was clever of you to alter her comms so we could track her, Crichton," Kabel's voice now, one tech pleased with another's work.

"Huh. So, I'm a good guy now? Perspective is so neat-o," he answered sarcastically, and Aeryn thought it fortunate she couldn't reach out and hit him. Acting like a frelling drannit.

"Like they say, let's ride, boldly ride," John hit the thrusters on his fighter, Aeryn and Damasc following in close formation.

Last time he'd been on the ship, he'd been unarmed, doped, and scared. This time he was only one of the above. This time he hadn't had a chaperone to visit the lab; the large vials sounded like wind chimes in his duffle when they bumped together. Nice.

"Oh, kitty? Here kitty, kitty, kitty," he called. Maybe he should put up fliers. Lost cat. Mean. Shoot on sight.

"Is this her, Crichton?" the male commando, Damasc, shouted to him, voice muffled behind the suit helmet. It had been the medic's suggestion that they pop over some canisters and gas the cats. A few of them had tried to jump ship, but hadn't made if very far. Aeryn's marksmanship had improved. Zap!

John jogged down the corridor, entering a small room so much like his cell that he flinched. Aeryn and Damasc were standing over a spotted flea-bag on the floor. He nudged her with his toe. Out cold.

"Yeah, that's the one," he leaned over, placing her audio carefully beside her. It was somewhat ironic that Aeryn'd never had a chance to listen to it, what he thought would be such an important piece of the puzzle. Damasc had told her the truth, no doubt. John shook his head, not wanting to think about them, trying to stay focused. The injector was next, jammed into the cat's wrist. She'd wake up just in time.

John caught Damasc staring at him, and realized he'd been laughing again. Ax murderer style. Oops. "Let's get while the gettin's good."

They hadn't been able to dock the Prowlers, the Seekers filled the landing bay. Instead they'd used small booster packs, with limited range burst. John smiled again as he strapped his on, fiddling with one of the controls.

"James Bond eat your heart out," he muttered, getting a strange look from Damasc. Aeryn ignored the comment, but stepped over to check his straps. John winced when she bent closer to readjust a fastener. Chakkan oil, he could smell that, and the scent of her hair. He wondered why he tortured himself by imagining the other two. Aeryn stepped away, and the airlock popped open.

The three of them pushed off, floating through black, aiming for the Prowlers. Even as they touched the hulls, they could hear the noise in their helmets, and John grinned. It was a cat, and it wasn't happy.

"That you, John Wayne?" he couldn't help himself.

"Cr-Cr-Crichton?" Tika's voice, silky even while she stuttered, a voice that would haunt his nights until he died. He was only imagining the burning in his wrist, wasn't he?

"So, tell me. I know it's true for dogs. But here's my question for you," he paused, gripping the hull of the fighter. "Do all kitties go to heaven?" he nodded at Aeryn, pressed against her own ship, and space flashed over.

"Oh shit!" John swore as the fireball leapt at him. None of them could have known that one of the components of Miiast was an explosive, that the charges they'd left would touch off an explosion four times that expected. The force of it slammed the Prowlers, batting them like toys.

Aeryn had positioned her Prowler closer to the big ship than he had, with Damasc on the far side. When the shock wave hit the nose of her Prowler, it swung around, and Aeryn was thrown toward him like she'd been ejected.

Of course, he was having problems of his own. The wave broadsided him like a Mac truck, ramming him backward onto the hull of the fighter. His spine screamed, and he felt his muscles go slack. He and the Prowler were moving sideways as one object, the explosion pushing them away. He didn't start to worry until he noticed slack muscles meant the duffle had come loose from his fingers. It was assuming it's own arc, and would soon be out of reach.

The Miiast. His go-juice. Oh, shit.

Then Aeryn came flying at him, almost bouncing him from where he was pressed against the hull. He couldn't do anything but watch as momentum carried her down the length of the Prowler, her head smacking once with enough force that he wondered why her faceplate didn't shatter. When he thought she'd float into space, fate caught her. One of the straps was hooked on the rear thruster, and her trajectory altered to match the ship.

Duffle.

He closed his eyes, ordering his fingers to work. Work, move, please. When they finally did, he felt like cheering, but began forcing his arm. Feeling was returning to his body, he hadn't broken his spine. Wow, score a point for the good guys.

Duffle.

He started inching along the Prowler, very aware that slipping meant a separate trajectory.

"John?" Aeryn's voice, confused. He turned his head, saw her moving, and allowed himself another sigh of relief. Not dead.

Duffle.

"John?" again, her voice. He turned, eyes widening when he saw her trying to move. The strap was sliding, if she twisted too far, she'd fly off. Separate trajectory.

"Damasc?" he shouted. The duffle was creeping further away. He inched nearer, fingers close, very close. Maybe if he stretched, and held onto the stabilizer…

"I…" she muttered, and he realized she'd vomited in her helmet and was struggling to escape aspirating the little gobs of mess. Struggling and twisting. Fuck.

"Stop moving, Aeryn!" he screamed, reaching out, reaching out… and brushed the duffle with his fingers.

She twisted again, the strap finally releasing. Separate trajectory.

His fingers wrapped around the carry strap, and he pulled the bag close to him, pushing off the Prowler at the same time.

Intercept trajectory.

She sat up carefully, the web of lights shining colors over Damasc's face. Her chest felt tight, and her eyes were gummy. The explosion had been more intense than predicted. The lights reflected in his eyes as he crossed the room. His smile always surprised her.

"Where is he?"

"Left," economy of words even for a Peacekeeper. His smile faded. Sharp, dangerous.

"Left? Why? When?"

"Two solar days. He didn't say why," but she'd stopped trusting him.

She understood so little about this world. She'd fought beside him, eaten meals with him, recreated with him, and she had no idea if he was telling her the truth. Her head hurt, stomach rolling again.

"Really. What did you tell him?"

"The truth."

"Which truth?"

"That you had made your decision," at this a faint smile returned, and he reached out to touch her through lights. "I was concerned you would leave us. You are an incredible pilot, Aeryn, and I would have missed you."

Epilogue

His energy signature was easy to track, even in the still dark before sunrise. Finding him on the lush planet had presented no difficulties. She set the Prowler down in a small clearing, next to the battered shape of his module. A faint light through the trees showed his fire, and when she released the canopy of her ship, she could smell smoke.

Walking by, she gave in to the urge to reach out and touch the small ship, letting her fingers trail the scorched paint. It was an amazing craft, it had been designed for so little of what it had been through. She smiled faintly, patting it once, an echo of something she'd seen John do when he thought no one was watching.

He hadn't moved from the coordinates listed on her display. He was sitting on the planet's highest cliff-face, and as she approached, she saw that his legs dangling in nothingness. Above him, stars that would soon disappear under coming of light; below, she could hear the soft noise made by birds nesting in the rock.

She could see the neat row of vials next to him and the shine of the injector in the firelight, and wondered if he'd managed to overdose himself.

"No. I'm still alive," he said, as if reading her mind. "Why are you here?"

Fate? An odd belief. Odder still that she continued to carry the coin in one pocket. If not fate, then what? She was never good at finding the right words.

"This planet is known for its raslak," she finally answered. It took him by surprise, she could see the muscles loosen in his back, the way his shoulders dropped as he shook his head and let himself laugh.

"Fair enough," but he didn't say anything else, and she felt uneasy in the silence. He'd always been the one to fill these empty spots. Frelling words.

"You left without…"

"Saying goodbye? Didn't think I had to."

She sighed, it was so hard with him, sometimes. She moved closer, sitting down next to him, on the other side of the vials. Sometimes with John, it took more than words.

"So, you're going to sit here until the Miiast is gone, and then?" she flicked her finger, snapping an empty vial, sending it airborne. The glass flashed as it turned in the firelight, then winked out of view. She hadn't expected to hear it smash, but she found herself listening anyway.

"Take the big plunge? Jesus, Aeryn. It's not that bad," he finally looked at her, and she wanted to wince. His eyes were still bright blue, but now the blue was surrounded by purple. "Why are you here? To try to rescue me from myself? Well, too late. I'm going to be fine without you and hereby free you of any moral obligation. Go back to your family," he turned away again.

She had expected rejection.

"Damasc told me…" she started, only to be cut off.

"Hey. I'm happy for you. He seems like a nice guy," but she could see the muscles tightening in his arms.

"He did not tell you the entire truth."

"What? You weren't fucking each other's brains out?" his voice was cold; with John it was easy to distinguish rage. "But that's not the part that pisses me off. What about the baby? I mean, I understand you didn't know when you boogied off Moya, but did you ever think I might want a say in it?"

Aeryn felt the tears slide down her cheeks before she could stop them. Blinking, she waited until she knew her voice wouldn't shake. "Damasc assumed I terminated it. You assume I did.

"I was bred to be a Prowler pilot, and like my mother I have become an assassin. She was a Peacekeeper following rules in a world I understand. They offered her a choice; she followed the rules and killed Talyn," she sighed, voice lowering. "I am not my mother, Crichton."

She had his attention, though he refused to look at her. His tears were purple, and she wasn't surprised at the hope in his next question.

"Did you?"

She wondered which answer he wanted to hear.

"No, I did not terminate his child. Yes, I did recreate with Damasc," she said it without emotion.

John's eyes closed, and his jaw tightened. She refused to look away from him as he struggled with himself. The rules here were different, the courtesy she understood could get frelled.

"I am a Prowler pilot, I don't know about children."

"Aeryn, there are worse things I can do than die in your arms. I almost let you…" he swallowed. "Just…go."

"No, John. I know what happened and I know what the Miiast can do to you, but I am through running away," she watched his profile as he looked up. The sky was starting to pale, the stars fading. When he looked at her the move was jerky, as if he had held the position for arns.

"When the sun comes up and touches this cliff, the birds living under us fly. Thousands of them at once. Blue, yellow, green."

Aeryn knew this pattern, this set of rules. With John it was always about the words he didn't say. He could make no promises, but asked for none either. She was not this man's center; could accept that he had purple bruises. She held out her hand.

"I'd like to watch them with you," she said simply, understanding her part. When he wrapped his fingers around hers she didn't nod, only watched the last of the stars die in the pale sky.

END

(Alternate POV ending in the next section)

Notes:

A special thanks to Teri, for beta, putting up with my eternal blathering about it, tolerating multiple copies of what amounted to the same thing, and a three-hour fic conversation. You rock!

Written to 'Weathered', Creed; large sections to 'one last breath'.

Where things came from:

-The Stephen King story about the fog? I can't remember the title. Sorry. It's in a collection of shorts though.

-'Lethal Weapon' for the bit about Mel Gibson.

-'That you, John Wayne?' is from 'Full Metal Jacket'

-Damasc is damask, and I see him as a fine cloth covering something not so grand. I'm a little in love with his character, poor doof.

-C'ismet is kismet, which is fate.

-Trema is a brand of medical equipment, we use them for platelet extraction from plasma to be returned to the donor.

-Harvey says, 'No beba el agua!' which translates to 'Don't drink the water!'.