Spoilers: up through Dog With Two Bones

Rating: R (some difficult topics)

Summary: J&A angst, some Butch and Sundance.

Disclaimers: Blah, blah, blah. Not mine.

Huge thanks to my betas: Aeryncrichton and WalkingTheBeam



DISPOSSESSION



PART 5

************

Aeryn brought the Marauder on a precise slide between the asteroids, going for the one that she had determined would provide the best shielding against Peacekeepers' search sensors with its mass containing a high percentage of different metals. Hands clutched tensely around the maneuvering controls in her weariness, she proceeded to land the ship on the uneven surface with a smoothness she had not expected to achieve. Metal grated against metal and she powered down the engines. She stared blankly at the large asteroid field in front of her, half-hidden by the dark shapes surrounding the ship on all sides. This would have to do, there were no suns in close proximity for them to use. And they were safe here. For a while.

She ran her hands over her weary face and slumped against the back of the seat, relishing its familiar hard feel. She was exhausted, more exhausted than she remembered ever feeling. She retrieved the small cylinder from her pocket and looked at it wonderingly; six arns had not yet passed but her body had been thoroughly taxed since they had left the doctor's office and she knew she would need the added strength. John would be expecting her… no… hoping to see her join him, waiting for her to be ready to.

Not long after she had finished a slew of contradictory flying vectors to confuse whoever would attempt to track them down and then proven her ability to fly the marauder entirely on her own, he had tried talking to her and taken her rejection without so much as a blink, as if he had expected nothing less from her. She had let him leave Command, his gaze sliding over her, looking at something she couldn't see, lines of exhaustion marring his lifeless face and she had not said a word. On his way out, he had murmured that he had some preparations to make for a ceremony. A burial ceremony. She placed the green pill on her tongue and found it hard to swallow it through her dry throat.

She sensed the fresh scar of her injury beneath the clothes and the bandage. It was quite distant from her stomach, somehow curved around her side and deceptively small; she would have dismissed it as no more than a battle scratch in normal times. John had attempted to warn her but, running on anger and lack of time, she had not heeded his words. She slid her hands over and pressed them gently against her womb. She didn't quite understand how she could feel so empty now where she had not felt full. Her pregnancy had remained a concept up until the pain had torn her apart. She had tried to discreetly learn the data relevant to Sebacean pregnancies and babies and had followed the meagre pieces of advice unquestioningly. She had tried to look at the world around her with different eyes, to sense the importance of the change in her but had found herself unable to grasp the true reality of it. Somehow, in the back of her mind, it had been as if she had known that she would not see the end of her pregnancy, that she had not expected to have a child, to give birth. Life did not accompany her, death did. Her failure had come as no surprise and she felt no regret, just an incredible tiredness in her bones from the stress of the past days and arns catching up with her at last. And that strange emptiness.

She had realized almost right away that she was losing the fetus, she had had her fair share of field wounds to know for sure that this pain was entirely different. And she had denied that knowledge until she had felt the blood start to seep through her spasming core and soak her underwear. John had marched into Command right at that moment and filled her hazy world with his emotions. He had stood trembling before her, his anger, worry, frustration and guilt overwhelming her and she had found herself unable to pretend any longer. Yet she had refused to admit the truth to him, had refused to look him straight in the eye because she had seen the fear of loss on his face, the same fear that paralysed her whenever he was concerned and it had crushed her full force. His fear had stripped him raw and she hadn't been able to take anymore away from him. And so she had marched beside him in the forest, feeling her strength ebb away with each passing stride, her body burning with the fever and the heat of his own body next to hers. And when she had passed out, she knew exactly what his feelings had been.

She brought her arms up and clutched her sides tight. She had heard him tell the planet's doctor that he had lost her but in fact, it was she who had lost him, shutting him out, running away and shutting him out, again and again and again. She didn't feel strong enough to face his pain, it felt too much like her own. She was afraid of his ceremony, afraid of what it might do to her, afraid to remember 'his' burial on Talyn, afraid of him but… she needed it. The physical scar would heal and slowly disappear from her skin until she no longer would be able to sense it under her fingertips. She couldn't let this memory slide away without giving it more reality.

She got up and marvelled at the potency of that green pill; her legs were steadier than she thought they would be. Yet her body felt strangely powerless in the loose fitting clothes, they did not give her the sense of focus her own clothes did, with their tightness holding her inside and their thickness protecting her from the outside. She thought for a fleeting moment of finding some regulation clothes in the Marauder's crew quarters, of exerting herself in physical training, of curling up in a corner, of running away, of doing anything but what was coming up. Because he would be there and afterwards… It had been hard enough the last time, she didn't want to say goodbye again. Not to his face, not when his eyes spoke of so much pain and his lips smoothed the lines between past, present and future.

She stared hard at the asteroid field on the view screen, letting its slow- moving spectacle lure her into a trance like state until she finally shook her head and took her first step forward. They couldn't afford to wait for her to be ready, safety was an all too relative notion in their world.



************

John stood by the large porthole, staring at the asteroid field before him and waiting, not knowing how much longer he could wait.

His gaze fell on the ledge before him on its circling way between the porthole, the ledge, the room's entrance and Harvey. It had done so every thirty microts in the past arn since the engines had powered down, failing to find any significant change in any of those. Asteroids still rolled by lazily behind the porthole, the ledge still supported his meagre excuse for a funeral vessel, the room's entrance still remained empty and Harvey still stood at the edge of his consciousness in a dark corner of the room. And he let him stay there, because the clone was quiet for a change and because he could use his company at that distance.

Crais had told him briefly about the burial they had given his twin, putting his body into the Farscape One copy and flying it into a sun. He knew that the ex-Peacekeeper captain had observed him askew, trying to determine if he agreed with the choice they had made and he had nodded imperceptibly to save himself the trouble to answer, because he had no idea what he would have wanted, what he would want. He didn't know if what he had just done was right or wrong, it was simply easier to go along the same lines. There were no suns nearby this time, only rocks of various sizes to crash into, but the box was white and he had made sure it would fly straight and burn brightly, leaving no trace for anyone to find.

He unclasped his hands from behind his back and placed his palm over the smooth surface of the transparent bubble-shaped material encasing the box. He had found the transparent bubble among other bits and pieces he had scraped together in the Marauder's maintenance room to build that funeral vessel of unidentifiable shape. The material warmed significantly under his touch; he blinked and removed his hand. His gaze remained locked on the box lying inside the bubble on a mattress of various inflammable materials tucked neatly against it. He kept thinking of Snow White because of that illustration he had seen in the fairytale book he had been offered so many years ago and in which she had lain in a glass coffin, her cheeks pale and her hands piously joined over her stomach, waiting for her prince to come and rescue her. Aeryn had been that pale too on the Diagnosan's ice planet, black hair spilling about her still face, her hands joined that very same way. Zhaan had been her prince.

He heard her footsteps and saw her faint shadow stretch all the way to his side from the threshold she remained at. He didn't turn back, just picked up the object before him and placed it in the nearest airlock. He timed the different triggers, stepped back, pressed the release of the airlock and squinted through the porthole to distinguish the small vessel flying against the darkness of space, taking away from him more than he thought he had left inside. He fought hard against the lump forming in his throat as he ticked off the microts in his head. Fire burned brightly inside the transparent bubble before the funeral vessel exploded in the shortest-lived supernova effect.

Farewell, John Crichton. This universe was not for you.



************

Aeryn wavered on her feet, thoroughly disconcerted. That was not what she had expected; the whole thing was over before it had even started. She had watched the small vessel shoot through space and explode in a burst of light through the porthole, over John's shoulder, bracing herself for the ritual parting words and none came. She had started taking into account John's more subdued behaviour, the way he would remain silent for long periods of time, his feelings held away from his face but, she had expected him to say something, because he had always been able to come up with words and she herself didn't know what to say. The last time, she had let Rygel, Stark and Crais take care of that part and all the rest too, she had just had the strength to stand in the room. She strained her ears and took two steps forward, wondering if perhaps she wasn't able to hear his murmur due to the throbbing in her head but silence stretched into the room and he just stood immobile, staring through the porthole, his back to her, his shoulders straight, his breathing slow, not making any sound.

She felt more than saw his silent tears and a rapid glance confirmed her suspicion, she caught one splashing on his hand, hanging limply by his hip. Except for the hair on his hand and forearm reflecting the light like grass covered with morning dew, there was no outward indication of his crying and the quietness with which his pain just seeped from him tore her apart.

It had been easier before. The others knew the rules. Emotions were a hindrance to a soldier, a weakness to be avoided and she had been very good at that. Subtle too. They had all thought it came naturally to her, not realizing how much hard work it took to make it look natural, to master the art of the perfect Peacekeeper. She had been an obedient child, striving to follow orders and rules as best she could, even when they went against her instincts. She had born the physically and mentally excruciating trainings without a moan or a tear, at least none that anyone could hear or see. Her few chosen friends had always been among the strongest recruits, the ones less likely to have breakdowns that no form of recreation could cure. And for the few times they did, she had developed over the cycles strong skills for ignoring the moment.

She bit her lip and took another two steps forward to stand next to him, hardly a hair breadth away from him. Her entire side started to tingle from the proximity of his body. She heard his breath hitch in his chest then resume its slow pace, hers gradually coming to match it, their hearts beating in unison.

Retreat had rarely been an option, the shared barracks had made it hard to isolate oneself from the others and so she had had to face their breakdowns and confronted them with her perfect Peacekeeper behaviour, drilling the Peacekeeper words of strength and duty before their hearts could open and their tears could spill, shovelling rules and regulations over their emotions, all the while telling herself that it was for their own protection yet tearing up inside at the sight of their distress. Velorek had seen through her routine after a few solar days, John had only needed a few arns. John…

She stole a glance at him and saw his eyes flutter. She stole another glance and noticed that he had stopped crying. She stared at the same swirling spectacle he was focused on through the porthole and debated about stealing another glance or not. She cocked her head imperceptibly and caught the reflection of his face on the porthole's glass. Her brows creased into a frown. She couldn't see his eyes, he had closed them and his features were frustratingly blank.

John hadn't known about the rules and hadn't cared, he had just kept pushing the walls. From the beginning, emotions had poured out of him from simplest to most complex and she had had to battle against the constant onslaught. She had fled his pain as often as she could, leaving him alone and miserable more times than she wished to remember. Her skills had been finely honed on Peacekeepers, not Humans and his unpredictability had often made her react bluntly to his needs to talk events and feelings through. Yet he had no idea how many times she had screamed and kicked in frustration at her inability to shake off ingrained habits. The most difficult part about ignoring the moment was not the ignoring, it was sensing the moment itself and then you could always choose between ignoring or seizing, the two paths held the same clarity.

She closed her eyes, trying to concentrate on words and felt his heart start to thump at a different rhythm, slower than hers and then the tingling started to leave her fingers, her wrist, her forearm… the moment was slipping away.

John himself did not just seize, he grabbed, poked, shook or cajoled until the words would finally come out and he had tried repeatedly to show her that emotions could make one stronger until she had come to admit it, only to watch him die in her arms. And breathe again.

She slid her hand inside his, her fingers grazing his palm on their way to intertwine with his. He crumbled on the floor, much to her surprise, taking her down with him. They fell in a heap before the ledge with her landing on top of him, wrapped around his curled body. She pushed on one arm to disentangle herself from him, their hands still clutched together, her gaze met his and she stopped scrambling.

The John she had lived with on Talyn had had cracks. This John was broken. She slipped her hand from his and wrapped her arms and legs tighter around him, lest he lose a piece. Loss was the emotion she understood best.



*************

Aeryn woke up to a sensation of wetness against her face. His tears, she thought at first but then realized they had to have been hers, spilling against his jacket. Her eyes felt puffy and full of sand and her face was pressed into his chest, his arms and legs wrapped tight around her body in a protective embrace. When had they changed positions? She wondered. She had been the one holding him, comforting him, hadn't she?

She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, her head still throbbed a little and her throat ached. She licked her cracked lips tentatively. Her right leg was asleep but she couldn't dredge up the strength to move, she felt too battle worn, her muscles cramped from the abuse.

If only he had been an injured Luxan, she could have pummelled his wounds until the blood ran clear again. But he was a Human with invisible wounds and, at first, she could think of nothing else than holding him tight, so tight that his frame had imprinted itself on her body, his bones poking her uncomfortably. He was leaner than she remembered. He had not resisted her embrace, lying heavy and limp against her, neither speaking nor crying, a dead weight in her arms and her mind had recoiled before the assaulting memories of another body slowly losing its warmth against hers. Her tears matting his hair, she had pressed quivering lips to his ear and repeated her croaked plea over and over until it had finally broken through his torpor. "Talk to me, John. Please."

A jumble of words and emotions twirled around in her mind. His words, her words, hurt, guilt and love. She had thought she had experienced love's two- edged sword on Talyn but, during the past arns, she had realized with awe and horror that its ecstasy could cut even sharper and deeper. She had counted too many fingerprints interlaced on the hilt of that sword, the freshest ones being her own, twisting the blade in his wounded heart. She had had a hard time making sense of his words, not knowing sometimes if he was referring to reality or dreams and hallucinations. Too many people had frelled with his mind, sometimes right in front of her unseeing eyes like that old woman. One thing for sure, he had lost his center when she had left and she had kept it out of his grasp when she had returned. Her foot twitched and pain shot through her numb leg. She shifted slightly to accommodate it to the returning sensations.



John held his breath as he felt her move and made a conscious effort not to wince in pain when she wrapped her arms around his chest to settle in a different position against him, afraid that she might move away. Her head came up and her face buried itself into the hollow of his neck. He let out a soft sigh of relief. Any second he could wrench away to make this moment last longer was worth whatever physical discomfort he would have to bear. He had not felt such peace since his time alone on Acquara even though his mind was still trying to process the roller coaster of emotions of the past hours.

Both had said things they had not wanted to say, heard things they had not wanted to hear and all things considered, he would willingly admit that he had behaved like a complete jerk since the crews had been separated. And that 'he' included his twin. One John Crichton was bad enough but two of him really made a mess and Aeryn had stood right in the middle of the crossfire.

He now had a better understanding of what she had gone through while she had been on Talyn and later back on Moya. Talyn's murderous streaks, the retrieval squad, her mother's death, his twin's death, her time on Valldon and her mother's reappearance and death again, something Crais would get a rightful punch in the face for if the damn captain was still alive, no matter how well intended his strategy had been at the time and no matter what he had done on the Command Carrier. And then, the shock of seeing him alive and well with his happy puppy face, the hurt and rejection they had inflicted each other, the news of her pregnancy, Talyn's descent into madness, the carrier's destruction, Henta's death, their frelled-up goodbye in the cargo bay and all that had happened between then and now.

A little peace was the least they deserved for what they had gone through alone and together and yet…

"Aeryn…" His voice, still hoarse from the rough session, rasped over her name.

"I know…" Her voice sounded muffled against his throat. She sighed deeply and closed her eyes again, letting his warmth engulf her. "We should be going…" she murmured without conviction.

"Hmmm… yeah." His mouth lingered on her hair, his breath tickling her scalp. He closed his eyes and tightened his grasp around her. "Whenever you're ready to let me go."

He felt her lips quirk into a rueful smile against his skin.



***********

Their emotional exhaustion overrode their sense of duty and their instincts to keep moving ahead of the hunting pack fell prey to the illusion of safety provided by their secluded surroundings, lulling them back to sleep. The asteroids swirling outside kept most of the starlight from filtering through the porthole in the powered down Marauder and the small room remained quiet and dark. They slept curled up together on the uncomfortable floor until the outraged rumbles of their stomachs became too loud to remain ignored anymore, the incongruity of the noises bringing the first genuine smiles on their faces. They trudged their way to the crew's quarters and tried not to wolf down the battle rations they got their hands on. There was room for five persons around the table and yet they sat huddled together, finding it difficult to relinquish the physical closeness they had just achieved. It felt too cold to sit alone. A casual inquiry into the ship's status brought them to their feet and moving. They had been here for two solar days.

Aeryn immediately left for Command to prep the ship and John got first pass at the shower. Two all around scans did not reveal any suspect presence nearby and she set the passive sensors on automatic sweep with genuine relief. They should have known better than to stay here for so long, 'she' should have known better yet she couldn't bring herself to feel guilty about it. They just had not been ready to resume the game. She actually couldn't remember a time when they had had such a long moment to themselves, certainly not on Moya and not even on Talyn. Internal security sensors confirmed that John had left the shower in the crew's quarters and she rose from the pilot's seat. It was her turn to wash and change while he would keep an eye on the ship until their departure.

She heard him rummaging in the crew's closets on her way to the shower. Without breaking her stride, she stripped from her clothes, throwing them aside carelessly, not intending to wear them again. She indulged in an unusually long and rather hot shower, the water drumming her weary body with strong jets, flipped back to cold at the end and revved the dryer vents to maximum power. She walked briskly out, hoping to find some regulation clothes that would fit her. She rounded the walled recess to get to the crew's closets and had to put a hand before her to keep from slamming into John, standing with piles of black-leather clothes strewn around him, dressed with just a pair of black underwear. Her palm connected with the skin between his shoulder blades and she was struck with the intensity of his reaction. Sudden heat flared and spread through her arm then disappeared almost immediately as he whirled around. Her hand stood poised in mid-air. His eyes rounded in surprise. And fear. She blinked nervously and her breath quickened. She felt even more naked than she already was.

He kept his eyes locked on hers, trying hard not to let them stray over her naked figure. She returned his gaze with the same intensity. Of their own volition, his hands rose to her hair, cupped her face; his thumb brushed gently over her quivering lips. He sighed shakily, suddenly hesitant. Her hands reached for his chest. They leaned toward each other, their faces so close that she caught the tiny flicker of pain in his eyes when her caress went over his wounded side. She gave him a quick apologetic smile and her nervous gaze left his to look at his wound. His slightly swollen scars stood in fiery red contrast to the black and blue hue covering half his side. His wound was clearly on the mend but her eyebrows still creased in worry at the sight. With a small dismissive shake of his head, he caught her hand in his as her fingertips traced the outlines of his cracked ribs. Their gazes locked again and fell together on the small pinkish line marring her otherwise perfect skin. In a monen it would be completely gone. Aeryn felt the tears sting her eyes, remembering Uru's explanation that John had relayed to her, his hands stroking her hair as she had cried against his chest. The wound had triggered a strong immune reaction and if she had been more careful, it wouldn't have happened. Yet, it wasn't really so simple. It was not only what she did, but also who she had been and who she was. She had thought that she had given herself entirely but building a life with John Crichton required more than what she had been willing to sacrifice. He had left her and she had retreated too far back into her old ways to retain what he had given her during their time together.

She blinked back the tears furiously and stared hard at the John Crichton in front of her. He staggered before the fierceness in her eyes yet when her lips reached his mouth, he melted under their unexpected gentle touch. His hands found her hair again and gentleness soon turned into heated desire. He gasped as her cool hands found their way to the waistband of his underwear and reluctantly broke the kiss. He took hold of her head and rested his forehead against hers.

"Aeryn… this is not… safe," he said, panting heavily, his breath hot and heavy on her lips.

"Can't we… make it safe?" She murmured huskily, her body quivering in barely refrained desire.

His lips quirked in a wry apologetic smile. "I don't think I'll have… that much control."

Her mouth claimed his again and he moaned under the silky invasion of her tongue. He crushed her to him, oblivious of his cracked ribs.

The blare of the ship's alarms jolted them back to reality. They stared at each other, fear coursing through their veins.

"Proximity alert," Aeryn explained haltingly.

John choked at the irony.

They grabbed the first clothes they could put their hands on and broke off for Command at a run.



************

A smuggler's ship. A fucking smuggler's ship using the asteroid field to avoid detection and store his stolen goods had triggered the Marauder's sensors. John rolled his shoulders, adjusting his clothes to his shape and strode faster. At least, it had led them to this place. They might have missed it otherwise. He side stepped promptly to avoid getting rammed in by a large cart whose pusher couldn't see a thing behind the pile of goods hanging precariously on it.

Meyr Me, aka smuggler's haven, was a huge mother hen asteroid with many hatchlings in its wake. No activity was visible from the outside, the huge potato-like chunk had been carved like Swiss cheese and when no further digging had been possible, some businesses had branched out on the nearby smaller asteroids. The motley group of aliens running the place had denied them entry at first but after some forceful convincing involving unintelligible Earth gibberish, they had grinned in delight and John had wondered if they were not going to invite them to some VIP party to celebrate the theft of a Peacekeeper ship. If they had wanted, the Marauder would have gone on auction sale the second they had landed inside Meyr Me.

He had checked and double-checked the Marauder's main systems while Aeryn had tailed the smuggler's ship, suspecting that it could lead them to a place such as Meyr Me. He had wanted to make sure that everything would work properly until she could get in touch with Crais and Talyn or whatever was left of them. It had given him a distraction from the other very distracting thoughts he was trying to will away. He had been really frustrated at first but, after cooling down a bit, he had realized that the smuggler's ship had thankfully kept them from jumping in too fast. They were still fragile and needed time, though he'd rather that time did not have to be spent separated. But he had to warn the others and find Moya and she had promised Crais.

He had left her in charge of providing fuel for the Marauder and gone in search of a passage on a vessel, taking several large weapons from the Marauder's holds to pay for his seat and provide some pocket money. Aeryn would certainly have gotten a better deal than he had but since he would have to go through this quite often in the near future, he'd better start learning to do it on his own sooner rather than later. He didn't really have to meet with her again, they could have informed each other of their proceedings over comms but that would have meant taking the easy way and that road eluded their feet.

He spotted her leaning against the Marauder's hull, the large pulse rifle held in the crook of her arm deterring any unwelcome presence. Her head snapped up at his approach. He stopped before her and remained obligingly still under her slow perusal as she took in the dark brown pants, cream tee- shirt and the long brown coat with golden hues reminiscent of Moya's interior that he had bargained for in exchange of his Peacekeeper black leather clothes. He flipped back the left flap of his coat at her look of worry. Her features visibly relaxed at the sight of the pulse pistol tucked neatly under his left armpit. He shrugged off-handedly. Some things you can't get rid of. Not in this universe.

"Nice colour," Aeryn murmured.

"Hmmm, I thought I'd try something different. All fuelled up?" He asked her matter-of-factly.

"Hmmm."

"My transport is leaving in a quarter arn. I've got quite a good sum of money on the side," he informed her. "Do you need any?"

"I'm fine. I sold a few items too."

"OK. Good." He shifted on his feet uncomfortably and gave her a sad smile.

She returned his smile and ran the back of her hand gently against his jaw. He shifted some more and was about to turn around and go when her question stopped him.

"What were the old woman's words again?"

"What?!" He stuttered, completely caught off-guard. "The… uh… 'better angels' stuff?"

She cocked her head at him. "Yes."

He took a shaky breath and rubbed his lower lip furiously. His brows furrowed in concentration. "Be forgiving, be kind, better angels," he recited slowly and watched her nod sagely at each word, "her life, her world, on her time, you will know," he paused and swallowed hard, "Aeryn is with child."

She took a deep breath and looked at him with the most serious expression he'd ever seen on her face. "And you… say you think… she is a Seer?"

He returned her steady gaze with the same gravity. She held fast to the challenge in his eyes.

They didn't say goodbye, didn't look back on the other. Each could feel the invisible thread linking them, now stretching extensively to accommodate their new destinations yet always strong enough to pull them back together.

Soon.



1 **FIN**