Untitled Document

Title: Redemption
Author: Banshae, 2001
Rating: R (violence, implied rape, cussing)
Disclaimer: You know and I know that I don't own these characters. I'm just borrowing them for my own little passion plays. However, I DO own the original characters and places, so no snurching!
Spoilers: All of seasons 1 & 2, pretty much all of season three, up to IP: Icarus Abides
Archiving: You actually want this?! Just let me know: morgayne@hotmail.com, so I can jump up and down and do a happy dance.
Summary: Takes place after IP: Dadelus Demands. Talyn's crew stops off at a commerce planet and Aeryn turns up missing.
Special thanks to Felix, who argued with me and encouraged me and gave me great ideas. This fic wouldn't have been the same without him.

Redemption: Part 6

"John?"

"Yeah?" He spared a moment to look up from the bag open on his bunk. "What's up?"

Stark was standing in the doorway, shifting his weight from one foot to the other restlessly. "I need to speak with you." For once, he sounded halfway calm, though the nervous twitching was still there.

John gestured for him to come in, "Make it quick, we don't have much time before Crais is gonna want to head for Talyn."

He was more interested in what else he should pack than anything Stark would ramble on about. He inventoried the bag: an extra pulse rifle and change of clothes, along with a cache of chakkan oil cartridges. Of course, Crais probably had a boatload of weapons on Talyn, but a guy gets used to his own gun. Satisfied, he started to zip the bag up.

"I have a message for you from theother John."

John froze in mid-zip. Slowly, he turned to face Stark, "What?"

"He wanted me to give this to you. He said you would understand." Stark said, holding out a holocube. "Press here-" he indicated the button that would activate the holographic message.

"Uhthanks," John said weakly, taking the cube. He sank down on the edge of the bunk and forgot all about Stark, who had already beat a hasty retreat.

What the hell is this about? Like that bastard didn't take enough from me, he has to gloat about it too? John slowly turned the cube over in his hands, thinking. No. He's me and I'm him. I wouldn't gloat about it. This is something else. But what?

He knew he was stalling. There was probably something important on the holocube, but he couldn't quite bring himself to activate it. If he were truthful with himself, he was stalling because he didn't want certain questions answered.

As soon as Crais had stepped foot on Moya, all John had wanted to do was pepper him with questions and find out what the hell had gone on during the time they were all separated. Then he saw the way Crais and Stark and even Sparky were looking at him: a bad mix of sympathy and pity with some 'ok this is weird to see you alive again' thrown in. That had shut him up pretty quick.

And learning that the Other was deadThat was a shock, but even more painful was the knowledge that Aeryn and the Other had "grown close" as Crais had so delicately put it. It sounded like the other John had gotten everything he himself had ever wanted: the wormhole knowledge, becoming a hero. Even Aeryn.

How could he be jealous of himself for God's sake? But he was jealous, whether it made sense or not. Knowing that Aeryn had loved the Other hurt more than all the rejection she'd ever heaped on him. The knowledge that she'd shared happiness with someone other than himself was bittersweet. On one hand it gave him hope: Aeryn had finally broken through the walls that held her back and allowed herself to be emotionally vulnerable. On the other hand, it wasn't him she had shared herself with.

Suddenly, memories of all the physical and emotional pain he'd suffered since being shot through the wormhole flashed through his mind, and he was shaking with long suppressed rage. How much more do I have to put up with, dammit!? I get mindfucked by every damn alien who comes along, I get beat up, tortured, spit on and everyone looks at me like I'm a trained monkey! Then I fall in love with the biggest hard-assed bitch this side of the universe and she dumps me for a copy of myself who up and dies, tearing her heart out and leaving me with the clean up work! Roaring wordlessly with frustration and grief, he threw the holocube as hard as he could across the room; it bounced off the wall and clattered to the floor unbroken.

"Fuck!" He strode across the room and kicked the cube, intending to destroy it, but it was made of sterner stuff and merely skittered to a stop under the worktable.

"Piece of shit!" Clearing the cluttered tabletop was too much trouble-he grabbed the edge and threw the table over, scattering unfinished projects, papers, and bits and pieces of junk everywhere.

He made another animal sound of fury as the holocube disappeared under the debris. Searching for the cube, he shoved the table aside and kicked an unidentified piece of alien technology he'd been working on across the room, where it landed with a shattering crash. That felt so good he seized a chair and threw it out in the hallway, cursing and shouting.

"Are you having fun, John?" Harvey asked, standing in the corner. One corner of his mouth was quirked in amusement that enraged John all the more.

"Fuck off! If you know what's good for you, you'll get the hell out of here!" He threw another chair at Harvey, who obediently disappeared, though John's anger didn't abate. "I've had enough of being John Crichton, cosmic joke!" He shouted, stalking around the room. He destroyed anything he could get his hands on, growling and shouting his rage in turn, oblivious to everything but the agony that was his breaking heart.

***

Chiana and D'Argo skidded to a stop ten paces from the open door of Crichton's quarters as half a shelf flew out to join the pile of broken furniture and other debris littering the corridor.

"Is he alright?" Pilot's voice was barely audible over the sound of something else breaking.

"I-uh-I don't know, Pilot. We'll let you know in a bit, " Chiana said, wincing as an unidentified piece of something ricocheted off a wall and bounced toward them. She glanced at D'Argo. "You first, you're bigger."

"It sounds like he's by himself," he rumbled. "Do Humans have hyper-rage?"

Chi shot him an exasperated glance and cocked her head, listening. D'Argo was right: the only voice she heard was John's, though it was barely recognizable. There was another crash and the hall was abruptly silent. She and D'Argo exchanged looks, then crept forward, weapons at ready.

She didn't know what to expect, but the sight that greeted them as they peered cautiously around the edges of the door shocked her. John's quarters looked like someone had fought a mortal battle there and lost. There wasn't a stick of furniture left whole. The bunk was in total disarray, sheets torn and strewn about, mattress leaning drunkenly against a wall. The worktable lay sideways, three legs broken off and the metal top dented. John's precious tech projects were in pieces. Even the few small items she knew he kept for decoration on the walls were missing or broken.

In the middle of the destruction, John sat with his back to them. Chiana swept the room with a glance and caught D'Argo's gesture: all clear. She lowered her pulse pistol and stepped lightly over the threshold, "John?"

When he didn't answer, she moved in a little more and realized he was holding something in his hands. Her grip tightened on her pulse pistol for a moment before she recognized the object as a holocube. What the frell?

"Crichton, what the hezmana is going on?" D'Argo asked, coming closer. "Pilot thought you were being attacked. You didn't answer your comms-"

Chi put a hand on D'Argo's arm, interrupting him, "John, are you all right?"

The Human gave a bark of hoarse laughter that startled her. "Yeah, Pip. I'm fine."

"Fine? What do you call all of this?" D'Argo asked incredulously.

"I was justredecorating."

"Redecorating?"

John sighed heavily, "Yeah. You know, moving stuff around so it looks better. RE-DÉCOR-A-TING."

Chiana exchanged looks with D'Argo and shrugged silently: another Critchonism.

"Guys," John said without turning, "If you don't mind, I'd like a moment to myself?"

"We have less than half an arn before we leave for Talyn," D'Argo warned him.

"Yeah big guy, I know."

D'Argo took another look around and shook his head. Sheathing his Qualta blade, he said to Chiana, "I'll let Pilot know that everything is all rightthat Crichton was ree-dekor-a-ting." He stepped over a broken chair and into the hall, still shaking his head.

Chiana hesitated a moment, unsure if she should leave John alone. She reached for his shoulder, "Do you-"

"Chi, don't. Please. Just go."

His voice was painfully flat and she drew her hand back as if scalded. Without saying a word, she straightened and strode to the door, heedless of the debris crunching underfoot. If he wanted to be left alone that was fine with her..But she paused for just a moment at the threshold and glanced back.

He'd moved for the first time since they came into the room and was holding the holocube up to the light. Slowly, as if it hurt him to do so, he lifted his other hand and pressed the activation button. His shoulders heaved convulsively as his own image-no it was the Other John- sputtered to life from the holocube.

Chiana knew if she stayed any longer, John would never forgive her. The last thing she heard as she turned and walked purposefully away was his (or was it the holo-image's?) voice.

"We have to talk"

TBC....