You're so much like me, and I'm sorry
John sits down hard on one of the fuel barrels that lie by the old transport pod. It's quiet on this deck, aside from the normal moaning and whirring of the living ship beneath his feet and all around him. Meanwhile, Jothee and his crew load their own ship with provisions down the corridor.
"Fuck me. Of all the absolutely insane situations - just when I think I've seen it all. Shit," He mumbles to himself, drumming his fingers against his jaw line. He's unable to find a suitable variety of curse words to accurately describe his frustration with the current situation, and he silently apologizes to his mother for his language as he tries.
He hears the faint, rhythmic pattern of boots growing louder as they move down the corridor and carry his daughter directly in to the landing deck where he's sitting. Taly comes to a sudden halt in front of him, out of breath and ragged looking.
"Well little lady, how did you enjoy your self-guided tour of Moya?" John questions, barely containing his sarcasm.
"How did you know I would come here?" She asks breathlessly.
"Well, simple deduction really; if you're anything like your mom, and you are, then I figured you'd be trying to catch the next bus out of town and back to Peacekeeper...ville." John says. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for just a microt; any longer and he might lose her again.
"You know what? I don't know how to make you understand this Taly," John stands and kneels to his daughter's level, right in her face, eye to eye.
"We want you here. You were taken from us, by no choice of ours. This is where you belong."
"If you really cared about me, you'd get out of my way and let me get off this frelling beast of a ship," Taly snaps at him.
Damn she has a way with words for such a young kid.
She continues: "If you really cared, you would never have taken me in the first place! If you really cared, you would never have let me GO."
"Hey, hey now; if there were any way in the universe that we could have kept that from happening, we would have. We missed half of your life, we didn't see you grow up, we never got a chance to…to do a whole lot of things," John replies uncertainly. He can't tell if he's angry, hurt, or what the hell he is at this point. Looking at her is still jarring and at the same time such a relief, but her mouth and her attitude are going to be something to over come.
Time to shift gears.
"Do you know how long we've been looking for you?" He softly inquires.
"I don't care how long you've been looking," Taly asserts. There is no emotion besides the small sign of tears that he can see gathering at the corner of her eyes. "You've been wasting your time."
John sighs, looking down at the floor and rubbing the back of his neck. "Come with me."
"Why should I do that?" she asks.
He's all business now, his wife and son are unaccounted for, and his daughter is like a mini-version of Peacekeeper paranoia to the extreme.
"Now, come on," John stands and holds his hand out for her as he notices the defeat evident on her face. Out of options; she follows behind him reluctantly looking at the ground, muttering under her voice and never making contact.
He guides Taly directly to her quarters, neatly arranged and cleaned for her possible arrival. Palming the door pad, he walks his daughter into the warm room.
"Come on in tadpole, the water's fine. This is yours, all of this." He makes a sweeping gesture around the small room with his hands. "It ain't a command carrier, but I think you'll get used to it."
She looks around, taking in her surroundings, resignation shadowing her blue eyes.
"Make yourself at home. I've got to go and make sure your mom and brother are on their way in," he says, exhaustion suddenly creeping into his voice.
Taly turns to him as he walks out of the room. "You can't keep me in here," she objects.
The door shuts with a clank and their eyes meet between the grates.
"Listen, I am SO glad that we finally found you and got you back safely, I can't even begin to tell you how glad I am. But let's get one thing straight here kiddo, I'm your dad, and I can do what ever I feel like I need to do. And right now, you're staying in here while I go and try not to let anything else get screwed up. Okay?"
John speaks into his com: "Pilot, make sure the little lady doesn't leave her quarters please."
He catches her eyes again, and for the first time adrenaline appears to have given way to fear. She looks tired and scared.
"It's gonna be okay, I promise," he utters with as much certainty as he can before he turns to go.
John makes his way slowly down the corridor. "Damn," he mumbles. This was a hell of a lot harder than he had ever dreamt it was going to be. He jams his hands into his pockets and occupies them with the loose threads at the seams in an effort to calm his nerves.
"Commander, the Prowler is currently being pulled in by the docking web," he hears Pilot's voice ring out over the comms.
"About damn time," he mutters under his breath as he picks up his pace to a steady jog down the dimly lit corridor. "Thanks, Pilot!"
His head is aching and his nerves are on edge; and until he sees his son and has his wife in a tight hold he's pretty sure that the feeling is going to get worse before it gets better.
- -
Aeryn smoothes the girl's hair. It's so soft in her fingers, silky, reminiscent of fine material from a far away planet. Like a treasure, something that should be worth currency.
The light glimmers off of it like the reflection of a sun through a window as it catches and bounces off of the glassy surface.
John walks into the room slowly, cautiously, as if his very movements will break the sheen of calm that rests over the small vigil.
He rests his hand on Aeryn's forehead, but it hurts to the touch. A sharp pain, like someone is pushing right through the bone and into her very nerves. She lifts her hand to brush his away.
He has to stop touching her.
"I'm leaving," he states, emotionless, uncaring. "I'm leaving and I don't know if I'm coming back. I have to go. I'm sorry."
He turns to walk out of the room.
"Wait, where are you going?" She questions with concern. Why is he leaving and what the frell does he mean he might not be coming back? "John, don't you walk away from me!"
She gets up to follow him into the corridor, but he's already gone. Vanished like a vision from a dream.
"FRELL you, John! You can't just walk away like that! Not after all this time, you COWARD! I gave up EVERYTHING for you, for this!" She exclaims with a sweeping gesture of her arms. She doesn't know why she's angry, she's not sure what she's saying, and she doesn't know why he's gone, but she does know that she's crying as she turns, aimlessly searching the corridors for his presence, knees weak with heat and uncertainty.
Moya is moving around her, she's getting smaller, colder…warmer? She's not sure, but it's uncomfortable whatever it is.
Her head continues to ache. She reaches up to rub at it, but the mere touch makes her flinch in pain.
All of the sudden the girl is standing before her, radiating heat and anger.
Her daughter is so small, yet she looms ominously in front of Aeryn's body, steely gaze locked on her face, shiny, black pulse pistol pointed directly at her chest.
"What are you doing?" Aeryn asks reaching her hand out towards her daughter right as the girl's finger moves to pull the trigger. The pulse of light bursts in front of her like an explosion.
Aeryn wakes with a start, crammed behind her son in the Prowler. She's sweating and sick and so damned tired.
"What's going on?" She sputters hoarsely.
"We're almost back to Moya, Ma. Don't move. You've got a bit of a bump on the head. Just sit back and hold tight until we make it," D'Argo urges soothingly.
But she doesn't hear all of his words. As soon as she takes in the sound of his voice, she can feel herself fading. She's falling, falling back into darkness, and the scariest thing about it is that she doesn't mind at all.
- -
John paces erratically, back and forth, waiting for the docking web to pull the Prowler in to the safety of Moya. Jothee is off to his side, out of his path, insistent upon seeing if he can be of any help before he takes off with his small crew.
"Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer," John begins to sing in a muffled, off-key voice. His nerves are getting the best of him.
"Let's not start one of your sing-a-longs now okay?" Jothee says with a smirk.
"Sorry, It's just…is time passing extra slowly these days or is it just me?" John looks at Jothee, a questioning look in his ragged, tired eyes.
"Just you my friend," Jothee replies. "But then again, you always have been a bit on the crazy side." With a swift, firm pat on the back Jothee follows John's eyes and they both catch sight of the Prowler as it comes in to view.
It's gently pulled in to land firmly by the web, the air locks swinging shut behind it as John quickly palms the door pad and rushes forward, safety be damned. He needs to make sure they are okay, needs to see it with his own baby blues, no barriers between them.
The top hatch of the Prowler slowly whirs open and John can see his son's head over the rising surface as D'Argo stands in the cockpit, but John doesn't see Aeryn.
"D' what the hell happened!" he questions frantically as he pulls his son into his arms with a firm grasp. God, why did he find himself having to touch people to make sure they were really in front of him these days?
"They found us Dad, one of the guards, caught up with us right as we were getting ready to take off. We were so close," D'Argo says between nervous breaths.
Jothee walks up behind them and pats D'Argo on the back, taking his gear and setting it down on the floor. "Take a load off little man."
John focuses his attention on Aeryn who is slumped down in the rear seat.
"What's wrong? What happened to her?" he asks frantically to no one in particular as he hurriedly makes his way into the cockpit, leaning her back against the seat. He feels her face and eyes the massive gash on her forehead as it continues to bleed through a makeshift bandage.
"Wake up baby, come on now." He's rubbing her warm, flushed cheeks trying to removes some of the dirt and blood.
She's a damned mess.
"She passed out. She hit the ground hard. I didn't even have a chance to do anything, to try and stop her," John hears his son say quietly with resignation and guilt in his voice. "I couldn't move, the frelling guard had a gun to my head. I couldn't stop her from falling and then the bastard hit her with his pistol. I thought we were dead."
D'Argo is visibly shaken, and John looks down at him as Jothee rests a hand on the boy's shoulder. John quickly hoists Aeryn up out of her seat. She's as limp as a rag doll and as light as a feather as she falls easily into his arms. She is still so hot, he can feel the heat blazing through her leather. He has to get her into a cold bath; has to clean her off, make sure that she's going to be okay.
Can't lose her, not now.
He stops short in front D'Argo, "How in the hell did you get out of there?"
"I was smaller and quicker than the guard, and some of the moves that Ma showed me really came in handy. I'm not sure how I did it, but somehow I got out of the restraints and I got him to the ground as he was seriously considering putting a pulse blast through my head for freeing my hands." D'Argo holds out his blood-stained wrists to emphasize his point.
"His shot missed. I got the gun and well, my shot, it didn't miss. But Mom didn't fair so well. The guard had some kind of heat draining device attached to his belt. I took it from him and tried to get it attached to her waist, but I didn't have time to look it over when I couldn't seem to get it working. I was afraid we wouldn't have another chance. It was obviously too late by then anyways. I'm sorry Dad." D'Argo rattles without as much as a breath and glances at Aeryn.
John is quick to reassure his son. "Whoa, this is not your fault D'. If it weren't for you, you might both be lying there dead right now. You did well. I'm proud of you."
He can see tears in his son's eyes, even as D'Argo holds himself stiff with the effort to hold them back. Trying to be brave as usual, not let John see how terrified he must be
John lays his hand on the back of the boy's neck, trying to provide some comfort in the familiar touch. "Get your stuff and try to get some rest.
"And check on your brother; make sure he's okay, sleeping hopefully. I'm gonna try to get your mom cooled off before we get any worse here."
D'Argo nods at him as Jothee helps him pick up the rest of the gear, and they head out of the landing bay.
John turns in the opposite direction, towards his and Aeryn's quarters. His heart is beating triple time, he's sweating, and he's so damn scared. It has been so long since he's been in a situation where he's had to seriously consider what he would do if he lost her. The thought scares him to death before he even has a chance to consider the reality. He holds her tighter to his chest, kissing her forehead.
He palms the door pad to open their quarters and lies her down gently on the bunk. Quickly he removes her boots and weapons, pants and shirt. Checking her over thoroughly to make sure there aren't any injuries on the outside that he has missed; looking over every inch of her exposed skin, touching her softly.
Aside from the gash on her forehead and her wrists and the torn skin on her elbows he doesn't see anything external. He knows that the heat and her head are what must be affecting her so badly.
John jumps up, every move exaggerated by panic and haste, and turns on the water in the tub. He needs it cool and deep enough for him to submerge her completely. He's not sure why it's taking such a damn long time for her to cool off. It's like the heat has grabbed on from inside and is completely unwilling to let go.
An unrelenting parasite.
If only they had found out about the PK heat draining device before they started this, perhaps it would have turned out differently.
No sense in thinking about the "what-ifs" now.
The tub fills quickly and he gently lifts her back into his arms where she belongs and carries her, easing her slowly into the cool water. It ripples and moves around her, but she remains completely still, a stark contrast to the fluid movement of the water. Her eyes don't even show a sign of flinching under the soft skin of the lids.
John grabs a drying cloth, setting it behind her head for padding and a rag to wash the detritus away, paying close attention to the cut on her head. He dabs at it, wiping away the drying blood and putting pressure on the part of the wound that is still bleeding slightly.
How much blood has she lost?
D'Argo had managed to get a dirty scrap of rag tied to her head, but there is still blood all over her face, her clothes, and it is still trickling though just slightly.
John holds the cloth tight, rubbing her cheek softly with his opposite thumb.
"Come on Aeryn, open your eyes, say something, tell me how stupid this plan was, anything," he sighs, checking the water temperature and feeling her head. She is slowly starting to cool off, but she is not waking up.
John rests his head on the side of the tub, and a tear unwillingly falls down his cheek, landing on the hard surface of the basin. It cripples him to realize how scared he is of losing her. He is done, emotionally and physically. He is exhausted.
His motions are calculated, and his head is heavy. He doesn't lift it from its perch as he continues to wet the rag and wipe her clean. Her arms, her stomach, her face, her cheeks, her legs. Not one inch of her goes uncared for.
Pressing the rag to her forehead as the bleeding slows and the clear water takes on a soft shade of pink while mixing with the warm, red fluid from her body.
Touching her cheek with his hand.
Breathing her in like oxygen.
Holding on to her for dear life.
This is a nightmare. His daughter is back, but she is out of control. His wife is back, but she is completely unconscious and in seriously bad shape. And he wanted things to go wrong earlier?
"John, you officially earn the title of the universes' biggest dumb ass. It was uncertain there for a bit, but you take it in the home stretch big man." He had tempted fate and she came a knockin'. When would he learn his lesson? He was looking for something to go wrong, and he'd gotten it. He'd gotten problems in spades.
Not just little problems; problems that had the ability to really screw up their lives in a huge way.