Two words are all he can manage. They are not adequate for the absolute nothingness he feels. For once, his thoughts are his own. His world has shrunk down to his own body and he feels small, his senses limited. He can hear his own breathing for the first time in two cycles.
It is hoarse and loud in the emptiness.
Basic systems are still functioning; atmospherics, communication, gravity. It is enough to keep him alive. It is not enough for him to want to live. The air is still, stale. He can feel weight pull at him. His knees want to give, to sink to the cold, hard surface. He would hand himself over to the tide of grief that is rising slowly, numbing his nerves excepting the fact he is not alone.
The silence of the bridge competes with the silence in his mind. Aeryn stands next to Crichton, her face pale and drawn. He meets her gaze before his eyes slide down to take in the way she stands, where, how the human's hand finds hers.
She is not alone. She has comfort in her grief.
Would they be here if she had stayed? He does not know. He does not know if anything could have prevented this, what he could have done differently to avoid having Talyn's conscious mind switched off, the ship floating dead in space.
He himself dead inside it.
Something keeps himself upright. He turns without another word. Leaves. Neither of them speak a word to stop him. Neither offer any comfort. It does not surprise me. He walks the corridors, a hand against the wall. Supporting himself. Trying to offer some comfort to the slumbering ship.
He does not know what comes next. What he will do now.
The door to his quarters slides open. Automatic system. Automatically he moves inside it. Undoes the fastenings of his Peacekeeper coat. It drops to the floor and he leaves it there. Drops to the bed and curls up, his eyes closing against the burn.
His last move is made. Now he must wait to see how the game plays out. He cannot help the feeling he is already defeated.
A distant engine roars into life. The transporter pod. Crichton is taking Aeryn back to Moya. He should feel something that they would leave him. She must know how alone he is now. He does not feel angry or betrayed by her actions. He is certainly not surprised.
He does feel envy that she has her comfort, for he has none, just a faint hope that somehow, some when, the other half of his being can be restored.
