Chapter 8: Differences
The next day Pilot told everyone of a commerce planet he was picking up on sensors. Upon hearing the news, Crichton did the first thing that came to mind; he went for his gun. Aeryn came with him to pick up her trusty pulse rifle. "You okay?" he asked.
"I'm fine Crichton," she responded stiffly.
'Ouch, that's not a good sign.' "What's wrong Aeryn?"
Looking at him stonily she walked ahead and out of sight.
"Not my week," John said to no one in particular. "Not my year," he mumbled as an afterthought.
Grabbing Winona and a spare pistol, he headed for the transport pod. Aeryn, Gilina, and, well, other John were there waiting for him. "Where's Big D?" asked Crichton, confused.
"What? You trust Buckwheat to hang around Moya by himself? Besides, someone else has to keep an eye on Blue, make sure she doesn't hurt herself," replied other him.
Spying his duel pistols, John deux looked at the others. "Why is he allowed to have pulse pistols? You accidentally blow up a gun and you get typecast for life!" he said, exasperated.
The others just rolled their eyes. John walked over and patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, kid, you might get one when you're older."
The other Crichton went into the transport, pouting. "Like you never blew up a pulse pistol!" he accused.
"Never accidentally," John lied.
"Yeah, and Captain Kirk was a virgin," grumbled his disgruntled other self.
The trip down on the planet was as uneventful as usual, which of course is saying a lot.
"OW!" shouted John. Buckling, he hit the ground, a little peeved. "Son of a bitch! You have any idea how hard it is to get a decent pair of pants?" he yelled angrily. Pulling his pulse pistols out of their holsters, he turned with one knee on the ground and his jacket followed him like something out of an action movie sequence. Squeezing the triggers, blasts of pure energy blasted his assailant between the eyes. Kicking dirt up in his wake he flew behind a vendor's cart. Loud screams could be heard ringing through the marketplace. Unable to stand he ducked around a corner, trying to evade his pursuers.
Lying in wait, hidden by shadows, he awaited his second victim. Bursting in the passage, a leather-clad figure looked around nervously with his gun held tightly gripped. At the right moment, Crichton kicked with his good leg at the back of his aggressor's knees. The enemy dropped and John sprang out and bashed him across the face with the butt of his pistol. Looking carefully, he saw the uniform. Peacekeeper. 'It's a regular day in the neighbourhood,' he thought wryly. Looking around the alley, he noticed a pipe that led up to the roof of a small building. "You have got to be kidding," sighed John.
Peeking past a corner he squeezed off two blasts, knocking out another PK. "Okay, John, breathe, remember gym class. Oh man, that is something I'd rather not remember." Shaking his head, John started to climb up the pipe. One attacker, interested in the gunfire that emanated from the area, caught Crichton when he was three quarters up the pipe. Yelling for her companions, she looked back up in time to see a pulse blast blow right through her chest. Smoke and burnt flesh sizzled.
The two remaining Peacekeepers appeared, finding their fallen comrade alone in the dank alley, no one else was visible. Until a rain of death came from above and pummelled them into twisted, burnt figures of blood, bone, and skin.
Panting heavily, John limped back toward the open markets and crowds. Upon seeing him, Aeryn, other him, and Gilina walked over to him.
"Frell you, Crichton, where have you been?" Aeryn asked with her usual amount of tact and subtlety.
"We were worried sick about you," added Gilina.
Other John looked over him. "Ah, guys, he's bleeding, and that is a fairly large hole in his leg," he announced worriedly.
"You noticed," replied Crichton dryly. "But don't worry, it's only a flesh wound," he said, wincing.
"What happened to you?" inquired the blond tech.
"Well I kinda got cornered in one of the side streets by our friendly neighbourhood Peacekeepers."
Other John groaned, Gilina paled, and Aeryn was, well, Aeryn. Her cheeks flushed and she unholstered her gun. "Where are they?"
"Dead," came the response.
The others looked at him oddly. "This isn't time to be playing around, Crichton," an angry Aeryn told him.
"Why would I play around? They're dead," Crichton said confused.
"You must've missed a few, we should go find them," Gilina concluded.
John shook his head. "No I got them all. It was a group of five, standard Marauder complement."
All of them scoffed at his comment. Actually, they started laughing outright. "What?" John asked somewhat defensively.
"You expect us to believe that you, injured I might add, were able to take out a whole Marauder squad?" Aeryn said in disbelief.
He shrugged. "Don't believe me, just go back and check the bodies for yourself. While you're doing that, I'm going to go to the transport pod and sit down and try not to frelling bleed to death." And with that he limped his way back to the transport pod.
"What's eating him?" Asked Crichton number two.
"Perhaps an aversion to getting shot at?" answered Gilina. With that, she scampered off after the wounded one. Crichton decided to follow Aeryn to check the bodies, disbelieving that his other self was capable of taking down a Marauder crew.
Looking down at the charred bodies, John did the only sensible thing: he threw up. The stench of burnt flesh and fused bone wafted into his nostrils and kept him heaving up the measly contents of his stomach.
Aeryn looked disbelievingly at the grisly scene, not so much from the sight of it, which she was used to, but amazed that John could do anything like this. How he did it was beyond her. 'I must've been a very good teacher,' she thought. It made her feel a certain twisted sense of pride. Suddenly she remembered why Crichton had had to learn how to defend himself, and her mood sobered.
Gilina was restless. That night in bed, John had told her of the dead bodies and how he couldn't believe that John Crichton could ever do something like that. It obviously frightened him. Especially the cool, calculating, heartless demeanour his twin had when he finished dispatching his assailants.
Gilina caressed his chest and held him tightly. She whispered softly into his ear, "It might be John Crichton, but it's not you. You must understand, he's been through much more than you, and no matter how he acts what he looks like; he's a different person. Separate from you. It wasn't you who killed them coolly and efficiently; it was him. And he is not you."
She felt John tremble beneath her. "It could've been, Gilina. It could've been."
Soon falling asleep, Crichton stayed utterly still. His last words, "It could've been," puzzled her. She knew he might have ended up under the same circumstances as his twin had but that wasn't the whole story. There was something in the way he said it that made her itch uncomfortably; there was no other word to describe it. It wasn't a physical itch, but a mental one that she couldn't scratch. Getting up, she went to talk to the only other person that could provide the answers, and he never slept.
John Crichton, lonely and dispossessed human, went to work on a special project he had planned. Before getting shot, he and the others had managed to get the things they needed. John had gotten some special things for himself, including a few items to make an interesting drink.
Working tirelessly to sculpt and shape the metal he purchased, he managed to make a few pieces to his liking. Deciding that was enough for one night, he began to toil on Farscape. Sighing exhaustedly afterwards, he stood up and patted his module lovingly, the one thing in the universe that never let him down. Wiping sweat off his brow, he grabbed a rag to remove the large deposits of oil and grease from his arms. Echoing footsteps in the usually silent halls caught his attention. Limping with a slight wince, as the bandages wrapping his wound were a tad tight, he inched towards the sound.
Striding in confidently, Gilina entered the maintenance bay. Strangely enough, Crichton seemed to be nowhere in sight. Turning around to leave, she found herself standing nose to nose with John. He had a very smug, self-satisfied grin. She cursed herself for being caught off guard like that. It didn't matter if she was just a tech, she still should've been able to hear an injured and deficient human sneak up on her. Trying not to show her chagrin, she smiled; it hurt.
"Something I can help you with, Ma'am?" Laying on his southern accent so thick you'd think it was oil. His eyebrows wiggled suggestively. Unable to stop herself, she found herself genuinely grinning.
Chiding herself again, she took a step back and her smile fell away. "Yes, there is in fact. I'd like answers."
Crichton's grin faltered for a moment. "Wouldn't we all," he muttered, more for himself then for her.
"John!" Gilina yelled a bit angrily.
Letting out a sigh he limped towards a workbench and sat down. "What do you want to know?"
"What made your life so different?"
His blue eyes gazed and burrowed down to her soul. "Any particular reason you want to know?" he asked softly.
Gilina struggled to find the words. "My John said something about almost becoming you, and I guess there was something about the way he said it that...rubbed off on me oddly, I guess," she said, using one of John's expressions unconsciously.
The Crichton sitting in front of her nodded in understanding. "The difference, Gilina, was you."
A puzzled expression played upon her features. "Me?" Rubbing his eyes tiredly, John nodded an affirmative. "What do you mean me?"
"You never came with me after the Zelbinion, you went back to Crais' carrier."
"Why?"
Crichton shrugged. "I never pleaded for you to come, not really. I thought you'd be safer without us. Irony, it seems, is not without a sense of humour."
"I died didn't I?"
John nodded and stood up. Moving towards his module, he continued talking. "Yeah, you did. You died loving me, protecting me, and I loved someone else. You died because I loved someone else. Y-you were dying, I could see the life empty out of your eyes, it seemed to drain out as the light in them faded and I couldn't tell you I loved you. My god, how cruel that must've been, how cruel. What have I become? I ponder that a lot and I don't know." Tears seeped out of John's tightly closed eyes.
Gilina sat down on the bench John previously occupied, hard. Dying without John telling her he loved her. She couldn't imagine that sort of pain. "Who did you love?" she asked gently.
"You mean do, as in still love." John paused and started again with a sigh. "I love Aeryn, and there is nothing I can do about it. Actually, she's what I was doing at the Gammak Base you were stationed at. Aeryn was hurt, bad. Stabbed and it damaged her paraphoral nerve. Long story short, I got captured, you and her saved my ass, you got shot, you died, boom, the end." John's cracked voice cracked, madness crept into his eyes.
Before Gilina could ask anything else, Pilot's voice came in through Crichton's comm. "Commander Crichton, the type of planet you were searching for has been located. It will take two solar days to reach it."
"Thanks Pilot, set a course." John headed out of the maintenance bay. "Saved by the bell," he muttered to himself.
"Where you going?"
"To get some rest. Injuries inflicted by little yellow bolts of light don't heal themselves," he grumbled as he disappeared into the corridor.
'This Crichton going to sleep?' Gilina thought. "Well, frell me dead," she whispered under her breath very lightly in disbelief.
"Is that an invitation?" John shouted from down the hall. With a small smile, Gilina headed back to her quarters.
The next day Pilot told everyone of a commerce planet he was picking up on sensors. Upon hearing the news, Crichton did the first thing that came to mind; he went for his gun. Aeryn came with him to pick up her trusty pulse rifle. "You okay?" he asked.
"I'm fine Crichton," she responded stiffly.
'Ouch, that's not a good sign.' "What's wrong Aeryn?"
Looking at him stonily she walked ahead and out of sight.
"Not my week," John said to no one in particular. "Not my year," he mumbled as an afterthought.
Grabbing Winona and a spare pistol, he headed for the transport pod. Aeryn, Gilina, and, well, other John were there waiting for him. "Where's Big D?" asked Crichton, confused.
"What? You trust Buckwheat to hang around Moya by himself? Besides, someone else has to keep an eye on Blue, make sure she doesn't hurt herself," replied other him.
Spying his duel pistols, John deux looked at the others. "Why is he allowed to have pulse pistols? You accidentally blow up a gun and you get typecast for life!" he said, exasperated.
The others just rolled their eyes. John walked over and patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, kid, you might get one when you're older."
The other Crichton went into the transport, pouting. "Like you never blew up a pulse pistol!" he accused.
"Never accidentally," John lied.
"Yeah, and Captain Kirk was a virgin," grumbled his disgruntled other self.
The trip down on the planet was as uneventful as usual, which of course is saying a lot.
"OW!" shouted John. Buckling, he hit the ground, a little peeved. "Son of a bitch! You have any idea how hard it is to get a decent pair of pants?" he yelled angrily. Pulling his pulse pistols out of their holsters, he turned with one knee on the ground and his jacket followed him like something out of an action movie sequence. Squeezing the triggers, blasts of pure energy blasted his assailant between the eyes. Kicking dirt up in his wake he flew behind a vendor's cart. Loud screams could be heard ringing through the marketplace. Unable to stand he ducked around a corner, trying to evade his pursuers.
Lying in wait, hidden by shadows, he awaited his second victim. Bursting in the passage, a leather-clad figure looked around nervously with his gun held tightly gripped. At the right moment, Crichton kicked with his good leg at the back of his aggressor's knees. The enemy dropped and John sprang out and bashed him across the face with the butt of his pistol. Looking carefully, he saw the uniform. Peacekeeper. 'It's a regular day in the neighbourhood,' he thought wryly. Looking around the alley, he noticed a pipe that led up to the roof of a small building. "You have got to be kidding," sighed John.
Peeking past a corner he squeezed off two blasts, knocking out another PK. "Okay, John, breathe, remember gym class. Oh man, that is something I'd rather not remember." Shaking his head, John started to climb up the pipe. One attacker, interested in the gunfire that emanated from the area, caught Crichton when he was three quarters up the pipe. Yelling for her companions, she looked back up in time to see a pulse blast blow right through her chest. Smoke and burnt flesh sizzled.
The two remaining Peacekeepers appeared, finding their fallen comrade alone in the dank alley, no one else was visible. Until a rain of death came from above and pummelled them into twisted, burnt figures of blood, bone, and skin.
Panting heavily, John limped back toward the open markets and crowds. Upon seeing him, Aeryn, other him, and Gilina walked over to him.
"Frell you, Crichton, where have you been?" Aeryn asked with her usual amount of tact and subtlety.
"We were worried sick about you," added Gilina.
Other John looked over him. "Ah, guys, he's bleeding, and that is a fairly large hole in his leg," he announced worriedly.
"You noticed," replied Crichton dryly. "But don't worry, it's only a flesh wound," he said, wincing.
"What happened to you?" inquired the blond tech.
"Well I kinda got cornered in one of the side streets by our friendly neighbourhood Peacekeepers."
Other John groaned, Gilina paled, and Aeryn was, well, Aeryn. Her cheeks flushed and she unholstered her gun. "Where are they?"
"Dead," came the response.
The others looked at him oddly. "This isn't time to be playing around, Crichton," an angry Aeryn told him.
"Why would I play around? They're dead," Crichton said confused.
"You must've missed a few, we should go find them," Gilina concluded.
John shook his head. "No I got them all. It was a group of five, standard Marauder complement."
All of them scoffed at his comment. Actually, they started laughing outright. "What?" John asked somewhat defensively.
"You expect us to believe that you, injured I might add, were able to take out a whole Marauder squad?" Aeryn said in disbelief.
He shrugged. "Don't believe me, just go back and check the bodies for yourself. While you're doing that, I'm going to go to the transport pod and sit down and try not to frelling bleed to death." And with that he limped his way back to the transport pod.
"What's eating him?" Asked Crichton number two.
"Perhaps an aversion to getting shot at?" answered Gilina. With that, she scampered off after the wounded one. Crichton decided to follow Aeryn to check the bodies, disbelieving that his other self was capable of taking down a Marauder crew.
Looking down at the charred bodies, John did the only sensible thing: he threw up. The stench of burnt flesh and fused bone wafted into his nostrils and kept him heaving up the measly contents of his stomach.
Aeryn looked disbelievingly at the grisly scene, not so much from the sight of it, which she was used to, but amazed that John could do anything like this. How he did it was beyond her. 'I must've been a very good teacher,' she thought. It made her feel a certain twisted sense of pride. Suddenly she remembered why Crichton had had to learn how to defend himself, and her mood sobered.
Gilina was restless. That night in bed, John had told her of the dead bodies and how he couldn't believe that John Crichton could ever do something like that. It obviously frightened him. Especially the cool, calculating, heartless demeanour his twin had when he finished dispatching his assailants.
Gilina caressed his chest and held him tightly. She whispered softly into his ear, "It might be John Crichton, but it's not you. You must understand, he's been through much more than you, and no matter how he acts what he looks like; he's a different person. Separate from you. It wasn't you who killed them coolly and efficiently; it was him. And he is not you."
She felt John tremble beneath her. "It could've been, Gilina. It could've been."
Soon falling asleep, Crichton stayed utterly still. His last words, "It could've been," puzzled her. She knew he might have ended up under the same circumstances as his twin had but that wasn't the whole story. There was something in the way he said it that made her itch uncomfortably; there was no other word to describe it. It wasn't a physical itch, but a mental one that she couldn't scratch. Getting up, she went to talk to the only other person that could provide the answers, and he never slept.
John Crichton, lonely and dispossessed human, went to work on a special project he had planned. Before getting shot, he and the others had managed to get the things they needed. John had gotten some special things for himself, including a few items to make an interesting drink.
Working tirelessly to sculpt and shape the metal he purchased, he managed to make a few pieces to his liking. Deciding that was enough for one night, he began to toil on Farscape. Sighing exhaustedly afterwards, he stood up and patted his module lovingly, the one thing in the universe that never let him down. Wiping sweat off his brow, he grabbed a rag to remove the large deposits of oil and grease from his arms. Echoing footsteps in the usually silent halls caught his attention. Limping with a slight wince, as the bandages wrapping his wound were a tad tight, he inched towards the sound.
Striding in confidently, Gilina entered the maintenance bay. Strangely enough, Crichton seemed to be nowhere in sight. Turning around to leave, she found herself standing nose to nose with John. He had a very smug, self-satisfied grin. She cursed herself for being caught off guard like that. It didn't matter if she was just a tech, she still should've been able to hear an injured and deficient human sneak up on her. Trying not to show her chagrin, she smiled; it hurt.
"Something I can help you with, Ma'am?" Laying on his southern accent so thick you'd think it was oil. His eyebrows wiggled suggestively. Unable to stop herself, she found herself genuinely grinning.
Chiding herself again, she took a step back and her smile fell away. "Yes, there is in fact. I'd like answers."
Crichton's grin faltered for a moment. "Wouldn't we all," he muttered, more for himself then for her.
"John!" Gilina yelled a bit angrily.
Letting out a sigh he limped towards a workbench and sat down. "What do you want to know?"
"What made your life so different?"
His blue eyes gazed and burrowed down to her soul. "Any particular reason you want to know?" he asked softly.
Gilina struggled to find the words. "My John said something about almost becoming you, and I guess there was something about the way he said it that...rubbed off on me oddly, I guess," she said, using one of John's expressions unconsciously.
The Crichton sitting in front of her nodded in understanding. "The difference, Gilina, was you."
A puzzled expression played upon her features. "Me?" Rubbing his eyes tiredly, John nodded an affirmative. "What do you mean me?"
"You never came with me after the Zelbinion, you went back to Crais' carrier."
"Why?"
Crichton shrugged. "I never pleaded for you to come, not really. I thought you'd be safer without us. Irony, it seems, is not without a sense of humour."
"I died didn't I?"
John nodded and stood up. Moving towards his module, he continued talking. "Yeah, you did. You died loving me, protecting me, and I loved someone else. You died because I loved someone else. Y-you were dying, I could see the life empty out of your eyes, it seemed to drain out as the light in them faded and I couldn't tell you I loved you. My god, how cruel that must've been, how cruel. What have I become? I ponder that a lot and I don't know." Tears seeped out of John's tightly closed eyes.
Gilina sat down on the bench John previously occupied, hard. Dying without John telling her he loved her. She couldn't imagine that sort of pain. "Who did you love?" she asked gently.
"You mean do, as in still love." John paused and started again with a sigh. "I love Aeryn, and there is nothing I can do about it. Actually, she's what I was doing at the Gammak Base you were stationed at. Aeryn was hurt, bad. Stabbed and it damaged her paraphoral nerve. Long story short, I got captured, you and her saved my ass, you got shot, you died, boom, the end." John's cracked voice cracked, madness crept into his eyes.
Before Gilina could ask anything else, Pilot's voice came in through Crichton's comm. "Commander Crichton, the type of planet you were searching for has been located. It will take two solar days to reach it."
"Thanks Pilot, set a course." John headed out of the maintenance bay. "Saved by the bell," he muttered to himself.
"Where you going?"
"To get some rest. Injuries inflicted by little yellow bolts of light don't heal themselves," he grumbled as he disappeared into the corridor.
'This Crichton going to sleep?' Gilina thought. "Well, frell me dead," she whispered under her breath very lightly in disbelief.
"Is that an invitation?" John shouted from down the hall. With a small smile, Gilina headed back to her quarters.