AN: Fanfic should come with a health warning - it's addictive. The whole lakka storyline was frustrating and the repercussions of Grayza's rape of John was never dealt with to my satisfaction, so here's a little therapy. I was aiming for S2 manic when I wrote this but with S4 problems, hope it got somewhat close. Still unbeta'd. Again constructive criticism welcome and thanks to StarsGoBlue for the nudge to archive.
Chapped nose, red rimmed eyes. Shake his head and clear the mechanism. It's just another line of defense. Can't hear himself screaming if he fills his ears with song, 1812 is his constant companion, blasting his overture. Can't feel the pain when he clouds his mind with lakka, only works when he doubles the dose. An electric jolt to his brain, neurons firing, pathways scorched, bridges burnt. Memories awakened with crystal clarity, total recall - dreams of Aeryn to subdue the nightmares of Grayza, of his bodies betrayl. The straining and aching. The release, the want and the helplessness. Nails and wax, knives, pain and awful bliss. This recollection, the scent of her hair to replace the stench of stale sex.
Bound to a stone altar, constrained to a chair, strapped to a table. Reminds him of the diagnosian. Keep the dogs and lose the history. Sentiment versus reason, he'd made a different choice this time, those who didn't learn from history were doomed to repeat it. The heart versus the mind. Sacrifice his emotion to the drug and gain the ability to manipulate his own fate. Keep control and lose Aeryn. Give and take, weigh the pros and cons, the price is always too high. Damage control. He's been losing a lot lately and doesn't know how to break the cycle.
He'd already given his heart, he'd lost his mind, but his body is now violated and he's struggling to repair the damage, surmount the taboo, to move on. He's forever altered, learnt his lessons, shoot first and then run like hell.
He fights to survive, to retain a recognisable sense of self. His friends try to help him through. Each distinctive in their approach. D'Argo's gruff solicitude. A captain's concern over the well-being of a valued crew member and his ability to function, to pull his weight. A brother's love, a willingness to stand between him and the universe that wants to frell him. D'Argo's guilt over his failure to protect him is at times overwhelming and results in a galley always stocked with raslak. He avoids Granny with her murmurs of destiny and back handed attempts to help, just grab the drug and ignore the mumbling, ignore the third eye that gives him chills no matter how stoned he is. Chiana is always willing to distract him during the day and whisper with him at night. She holds him when he shakes, muffles his cries in her shoulder. Silent understanding. Return the favour, pass it on. They leave the light on and tell each other bedtime stories. He's going to go to that casino, the wormholes will respond to his call and swallow them whole, whilst they bathe in the cool blue glow. She'll torture the tralk. Make it slow and painful and savage. She's inventive and he's afraid of himself, about how comforting he finds the idea. When did he change, the first death, the second torture, the third betrayl? The slugs efforts are the one's he appreciates the most, that are the most beneficial. Rygel knows when to be quiet and when to interrupt. He understands torture, has intimate knowledge of what it's like to be a sadist's pet project. John is comfortable with the obnoxious empathy, feels no pressure to share, only freedom to be offensive and angry. Sharp tongue and tolerant ears.
He misses Zhaan. Cool hands on a fevered brow, soothing words for a troubled soul. He misses his mom.
He avoids Aeryn even more than Sikozu but always feels them watching, judging, waiting for a moment of vulnerability to launch their attack. He's afraid of Aeryn, can't face his fears with strength, doesn't want to see the disappointment in her eyes, so he won't look at her at all. He's scared he won't measure up to the other, because regardless of what she's convinced herself they are not the same. Different scars, different tear tracks. He can't think about the baby. His baby, heedless of DNA, he'll be the daddy. Not yet. He can't protect himself right now, let alone his child, his love. He can't share this with Aeryn, she wouldn't understand, never has before when he has been crippled by emotions. Doesn't want to think that she has experience now, can't handle the thought of her hurting so much, the thought causes him pain, so many shades of suffering. He doesn't have enough hope left to endure their fumbling efforts to form a real relationship, to strengthen their bond, strained now but not broken. Not yet.
He has to concentrate, protect himself, and her, and the baby, from what's in his damaged brain. He takes from Aeryn only what he needs to survive, just enough to keep the horrors at bay then lets the drug take full effect. Numb his heart, deaden his nerves. Create the necessary distance. What he wants is to run away. Grab Aeryn and leave. Pick a planet. Can't run away. Can't leave his friends to dance with the devil. Knows Scorpius would find him, hunt him down, corner and trap him. So he stays, this way he's on home ground, knows the advantages even if he thinks Scorpy may be creating his own with far greater efficiency than he's ever managed. Waits for the other shoe to drop, for the wheel to turn. Lakka makes him still, allows him to plan. He won't mess up this time, won't allow his feelings to influence his sense. He'll protect them from himself.
fin