A/N: Well, folks, here we go. I've finally managed to corner my muse for a short while and have strapped her to the computer and demanded that she write. :P I'm not sure how frequently parts to this fic will be up; hopefully, if I stay excited about it, it should only be a matter of a day or two between pieces.
Just as a point of explanation, only the first and last parts will be in first person... the in between will be third person narrative. Don't ask, I'm just experimenting here.
This one takes place after Dog With Two Bones, and is chocked full of spoilers, so if you're adverse to knowing what happened, don't read. As to the final revelation in Dog with Two Bones regarding Aeryn, I'm dealing with it and dismissing it in my own way. I have my reasons which will come through in the plot in later chapters.
I'm rating this as PG for now; it is very rare that my stories stay that way for long, but as I am not sure where this is going just yet, I figure I'll let it go for now.
They're quite obviously not mine; they belong to the Henson Production Company, Rockne O'Bannon, et. al.
God it's weird playing with characters that don't belong to James Cameron! LOL Looking forward to hearing what you think, either here or by email. :)
In the Hands of Fate
Part One
By: Danae Bowen
Email: logansfox@rogers.com
Frell.
How can things change so entirely in one simple microt? I did it. I managed to leave without entirely breaking down. I managed to look him in the eye and say goodbye, and my voice didn't even quiver. I was proud of myself as I piloted my prowler away from the lone shadow of his module and far out into the dark depths of space that I love so much.
I never lied to him. I love John Crichton. Both of them, because they are one. My leaving had nothing to do with loving one John more than the other; I love him. No matter which shared my bed on Talyn, the John I've left behind is still the same man that held me so tenderly while I cried for the first time in many cycles. He's the same man that loved me so thoroughly the night we thought we were going to die. He's the same man that promised he would never leave me by choice. He's the same man that declared his love to me over and over, even when I was unwilling to listen. It doesn't matter which John I finally let fully into my life, I wasn't leaving because of that. I was leaving because of how completely losing John once destroyed me.
I am very lucky in a way; when John died on Talyn, he was still waiting for me on Moya. If I could find the courage, I could easily sink back into the life we'd created for ourselves, allow myself to forget the pain and just live for the moments of happiness he'd brought into my life, but I'm not that brave. I can fight my own people, those who used to be my family and friends. I can kill them all without looking back because I know that the side on which I'm fighting is the right one. I can take any torture anyone wants to inflict on me, because, physically, I am strong. When it comes to John Crichton, however, I am no more than a child, stumbling my way through the world of emotion he opened to me, and it is there that my strength abandons me.
It is in this particular microt that the strength I'd managed to gather those last few moments aboard Talyn as Moya came into view and the following solar days aboard Scorpious' Command Vessel, finally fled my weak grasp. I gasp in horror at what I'd done, my heart breaking as I remember those beloved blue eyes showing every fissure that formed in his soul as he realized I was leaving and he couldn't stop me. As pitted by pain as my own heart has become, I'd managed to hold myself together long enough to flee, and now, I wish I hadn't.
I tell myself that I had to know; I had to know if he would stand down when I asked and allow me to leave, no matter how badly it stung. I had to know if he loved me enough to allow me to be who I was born to be, as I know I must do for him. I had to know if we had a fighting chance. Peacekeepers were ruthless, yes, but even we were trained that to sacrifice one's self in a hopeless battle was a folly, not an honor. If John or I were unable to allow the other to be themselves, then we have nothing worth fighting for. At least now I know the truth.
Faster than my mind can register, my hands shift on the Prowler's controls and my vector changes once again. I'm going back. I have to go back. I told him that we were in the hands of fate now, but that's not entirely true. Fate plays a role in everyone's paths, without it, John Crichton would never have fallen into my life, my heart, my soul, but it doesn't rule our existence. Sometimes, as John would say, we have to give fate a helping hand.
My prowler increases speed as I charge back to where I left Moya and Farscape One. The hesitation causing me to throttle back as I sped away now manifests itself as exuberance as I tumble back towards the life I know now I am destined to live. Good or bad. Pleasure or pain. At least it is a life I love, and it is with him. Life without John Crichton is worse than the Living Death; it is nothing at all.
I palm my communicator, desperately keeping my voice level as I grow closer and closer to our parting co-ordinates. "Pilot, this is Aeryn, come in."
Silence greets me and I frown, scanning the Prowler's sensors for any sign of the living ship that had become my home.
"Pilot, respond, please."
Again my hail is greeted by dead air. I'm not worried. Yet. It really is amazing how things can change so entirely in one simple microt.
"Pilot?"
********
End Part One.
Just as a point of explanation, only the first and last parts will be in first person... the in between will be third person narrative. Don't ask, I'm just experimenting here.
This one takes place after Dog With Two Bones, and is chocked full of spoilers, so if you're adverse to knowing what happened, don't read. As to the final revelation in Dog with Two Bones regarding Aeryn, I'm dealing with it and dismissing it in my own way. I have my reasons which will come through in the plot in later chapters.
I'm rating this as PG for now; it is very rare that my stories stay that way for long, but as I am not sure where this is going just yet, I figure I'll let it go for now.
They're quite obviously not mine; they belong to the Henson Production Company, Rockne O'Bannon, et. al.
God it's weird playing with characters that don't belong to James Cameron! LOL Looking forward to hearing what you think, either here or by email. :)
In the Hands of Fate
Part One
By: Danae Bowen
Email: logansfox@rogers.com
Frell.
How can things change so entirely in one simple microt? I did it. I managed to leave without entirely breaking down. I managed to look him in the eye and say goodbye, and my voice didn't even quiver. I was proud of myself as I piloted my prowler away from the lone shadow of his module and far out into the dark depths of space that I love so much.
I never lied to him. I love John Crichton. Both of them, because they are one. My leaving had nothing to do with loving one John more than the other; I love him. No matter which shared my bed on Talyn, the John I've left behind is still the same man that held me so tenderly while I cried for the first time in many cycles. He's the same man that loved me so thoroughly the night we thought we were going to die. He's the same man that promised he would never leave me by choice. He's the same man that declared his love to me over and over, even when I was unwilling to listen. It doesn't matter which John I finally let fully into my life, I wasn't leaving because of that. I was leaving because of how completely losing John once destroyed me.
I am very lucky in a way; when John died on Talyn, he was still waiting for me on Moya. If I could find the courage, I could easily sink back into the life we'd created for ourselves, allow myself to forget the pain and just live for the moments of happiness he'd brought into my life, but I'm not that brave. I can fight my own people, those who used to be my family and friends. I can kill them all without looking back because I know that the side on which I'm fighting is the right one. I can take any torture anyone wants to inflict on me, because, physically, I am strong. When it comes to John Crichton, however, I am no more than a child, stumbling my way through the world of emotion he opened to me, and it is there that my strength abandons me.
It is in this particular microt that the strength I'd managed to gather those last few moments aboard Talyn as Moya came into view and the following solar days aboard Scorpious' Command Vessel, finally fled my weak grasp. I gasp in horror at what I'd done, my heart breaking as I remember those beloved blue eyes showing every fissure that formed in his soul as he realized I was leaving and he couldn't stop me. As pitted by pain as my own heart has become, I'd managed to hold myself together long enough to flee, and now, I wish I hadn't.
I tell myself that I had to know; I had to know if he would stand down when I asked and allow me to leave, no matter how badly it stung. I had to know if he loved me enough to allow me to be who I was born to be, as I know I must do for him. I had to know if we had a fighting chance. Peacekeepers were ruthless, yes, but even we were trained that to sacrifice one's self in a hopeless battle was a folly, not an honor. If John or I were unable to allow the other to be themselves, then we have nothing worth fighting for. At least now I know the truth.
Faster than my mind can register, my hands shift on the Prowler's controls and my vector changes once again. I'm going back. I have to go back. I told him that we were in the hands of fate now, but that's not entirely true. Fate plays a role in everyone's paths, without it, John Crichton would never have fallen into my life, my heart, my soul, but it doesn't rule our existence. Sometimes, as John would say, we have to give fate a helping hand.
My prowler increases speed as I charge back to where I left Moya and Farscape One. The hesitation causing me to throttle back as I sped away now manifests itself as exuberance as I tumble back towards the life I know now I am destined to live. Good or bad. Pleasure or pain. At least it is a life I love, and it is with him. Life without John Crichton is worse than the Living Death; it is nothing at all.
I palm my communicator, desperately keeping my voice level as I grow closer and closer to our parting co-ordinates. "Pilot, this is Aeryn, come in."
Silence greets me and I frown, scanning the Prowler's sensors for any sign of the living ship that had become my home.
"Pilot, respond, please."
Again my hail is greeted by dead air. I'm not worried. Yet. It really is amazing how things can change so entirely in one simple microt.
"Pilot?"
********
End Part One.