*Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and ideas….and the plot bunnies in the corner. Please don't sue, I'm a poor college student that has no life and way too many video games.*

"Revenge is a poison meant for others that we swallow ourselves." -Charlie Crews

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Remember

Chapter Summary: Day four - I told her two solar days. She said she would be there. I guess we are both liars. Sometimes I think I can forget about it, forget what I had seen, and then I remember...and I can't. I don't know what is worse, remembering or thinking for a microt that if given the choice I would forget.

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Solar Day 4

Uncharted Territories

Location Unknown

John stood in front of the window that dominated command. His fists were clenched tightly, one hand dripping blood onto the polished black floor, leaking around the cloth he had used to bind it. Two solar days, he had told her; two solar days she had promised. They were both liars.

The moment they had dropped out of starburst, John had fallen into a panic attack. His breathing had been erratic, vision blurring as Rovhu beeped mournfully at him. It took hours before he was able to calm himself enough to get his head around the problem. After much deliberation he had a plan, a terrible and dangerous plan, but a plan none the less.

Crichton spent a long while trying to gather his sanity enough to portray his horrendous idea to the young leviathan. He was unsure whether to be flattered that Rovhu had so much faith in him to immediately agree or disgusted with himself for even thinking that it was a viable option. In the end he had no other choice.

Rovhu would fight.

Getting his weapons back online took three solar days. The blue was creeping in in everything he did now, and John was not in the state of mind to stop it. With no other option, he instead chose to use it. Following the strange symbols he was able to reroute basic power from unused areas in order to direct it at the cannon instead. Following the blue he was able to get all external and internal weapons functioning in half the time it would have taken him alone.

His voice trembled as he commanded Rovhu to eliminate any and all who boarded with no hesitation. His hands trembled as he pulled up the anatomy of different species and he taught the narl their weak points. Guilt settled deep in his stomach as he prepared the child for war.

In the end, part of him was relieved that all his preparations were for not, the other part was too full of grief to recognize that first part.

They returned to the last known location of Moya four solar days after they had fled. Rovhu had taken to trilling softly to himself as his pings to his mother went unanswered. John had not slept in that entire time, eyes red rimmed and puffy as they dropped out of starburst. The sight that met him took a long time to process.

Moya lay before them in all her glory…and she was dark.

They approached her cautiously, Rovhu's hails going unanswered as John kept a steady hand on the leviathan's pulsing light and the other on his pistol. Rovhu settled himself behind a chunk of debris as his long and short range scanners came back negative for other ships. John shifted to the window, hand on the warm glass as Rovhu ran another scan to be sure. Blue eyes took in the space and the debris and he inhaled sharply as realization struck him.

Rovhu chittered curiously at him but John refused to answer as he swiped angry tears from his face. At first he thought it was some asteroid or rock, but as the debris rotated he realized it was a part of Moya's hull they were hiding behind.

The leviathan beeped as the scans flashed negative once more and John pulled himself back to the console. "Take us in slow, keep weapons charged…we don't know what is awaiting us." Rovhu twittered at him in confusion and John just shook his head sadly. "I don't know why Moya isn't answering comms, little one. Let's just hope that they have been disabled. Approach at hetch two, give me an orbit of ten thousand motras."

Rovhu did as asked without question and John waited with bated breath as they came upon Moya's darkened hull. No lights showed and John resisted the urge to pace as Rovhu trilled forlornly as he tried to contact his mother.

"Rovhu, open comms and run a scan for damage assessment," he waited a moment as the little ship complied and he cleared his throat in anticipation as Rovhu beeped at him to let him know the connection had been made. "Moya this is Crichton, please respond." They both waited a long microt but no response came. "Moya? Pilot, this is Crichton, respond…Aeryn!"

Silence met his words as Rovhu orbited to Moya's hamman side and he had to grip the console to keep his balance as Rovhu shook in fear and grief. Her entire hamman side was gone, a giant hole exposed to the vacuum of space.

"Moya…" he whispered, eyes wide in fear as Rovhu continued to orbit the still leviathan, exposing even more damage to their scanners. One of her arms was torn from her body, floating nearly a metra away. "Ro-" he stopped to clear his throat as tears welled in his eyes. He scrubbed at his face, willing the blue to leave as the cyphers floated over the damage, the symbol for dead flashing repeatedly in front of him. He felt as if he could almost reach out and grab the word, crush the blue in his fist as if to undo or hide the truth in front of him. "Rovhu, prepare the hanger, I'm going over. I want you to stay in an orbit, keep scanning for life signs."

Rovhu trilled at him fearfully, the command doors locking as John tried to leave. "Hey, hey," he whispered, pausing under the rapidly flashing purple light in order to run his bloodless and cold fingers across the glass. "I'll be back, remember. I promised, you and me, together forever."

The leviathan chirped unhappily but John heard the door lock disengage and smiled sadly around the room. "I'll keep comms open so you can monitor me, okay?" He stroked the glass once more, fingers trailing under the purple light as he walked out of the room and to the hanger where Aeryn's prowler was parked, 1812 following behind.

He entered the hanger with a heavy heart, pulling the EVA suit down from the hook outside the door. John sat on a crate of tools that he had brought over the last day they saw Moya and just waited there a moment. He dug the palm of his hands into his eyes until they hurt, heart pounding in his ears as the suit lay crumpled on the floor and his pistol next to it. How everything gone to shit so quickly he would never know…but he was going to fix it, even if he had to travel to hell to do it.

Pull yourself together!

He stood slowly, shucking off his boots as he pulled the suit up his legs and around his arms. Once he had it zipped he strapped Winona to his leg and grabbed the helmet. John gave himself another moment, one full microt in which to freak out internally, but no more than that. Rovhu needed him, Moya and Aeryn and his son needed him. So John took a deep breath and he became Crichton, the man who blew up a Gammak Base, raided a Shadow Depository, and single handedly destroyed Peacekeeper Command Carriers, Scarran Dreadnaughts, and an entire planet in order to stop a war.

Crichton entered the prowler and slowly backed it out of the hanger, approaching the large hole on Moya's hamman side. The damage was worse up close and Crichton was disgusted and terrified when he was able to pull the prowler in and park it on what he knew used to the tier seven storage room. His little DRD exited the ship first, a green ray of light shining around the room as Crichton activated the magnetic boots.

He removed his pistol, holding it steadily as he walked further into the darkened room. His breath was coming fast, fogging the glass of his helmet as his heart began to beat erratically, fear and adrenalin pumping through him. "Alright, we're in," he whispered quietly into the open comms, keeping Rovhu apprised of the situation. "We're on tier seven, I'm going to make my way to Pilot's den."

Moving cautiously, he cleared every room they came across with an efficiency that would have made anyone on the military proud. Crichton did not know if he felt relief that he came across no one as they made their way to the den or grief as each area came up empty. It took nearly an arn before he came upon the golden doors leading to the pilot, and John approached cautiously, one hand out in front and the other holding his pistol with its light aloft. His gloved fingers touched the door, black staining the gold from where it had taken heavy fire.

The light to activate the door was dead, busted out as if someone had beaten on it. Swallowing thickly, he pressed his hand to the door and was disheartened when it swung open easily. The room had been depressurized like the rest of the ship, open to the vacuum of space. Hands shaking he entered the room, his single light flashing every which way in the darkness as he shifted slowly across the catwalk.

There were bodies in front of him and he reached down to flip them over. Two men and one woman, both Sebacean, but not his Sebacean…not Aeryn. Breathing in relief, he grabbed one of the rifles and pulled the strap on as he shoved an extra pistol into Winona's empty holster before he pushed the bodies off the catwalk and continued towards the dark console.

Pilot sat before him, still and unmoving. His torch lit upon the pilot's form, taking in the open wounds that had to have been from some kind of plasma weapon. One of his arms was upon the dead console, his clawed hand over what John knew was the button that would depressurize the whole ship.

Shaking his head sadly, John willed himself not to cry as he reached up and closed Pilot's orange eyes, fingers hovering on his carapace as he bowed his head in grief. It was not until 1812 beeped at him that John remembered that he could breathe, releasing a breath he was not aware that he had been holding.

Crichton hesitated as he turned back to the exit. He knew he would have to search the rest of the ship, but he was fearful of what he would find. A moment later he had gathered the courage to continue, exiting the den with purposeful strides.

"Pilot is dead, Rovhu. Moya's console was dark…I'm gonna make my way to command." Rovhu twittered and chirruped in sorrow as Crichton continued through the dead leviathan, 1812 following behind silently.

A splash of color in the otherwise dark ship drew his attention and John hesitated before he steeled himself. Flashing the torch upon the wall he took in the blue that decorated the usually gold metal. Blood was splattered like an abstract painting, Chiana's body crumpled and lifeless on the floor below it. Her face was unrecognizable and he could only assume that she took a plasma blast to her head.

Crichton kneeled before her, touching one of her stiff lifeless hands that had been frozen from the cold of space. He allowed himself a moment and no more, a moment to gather himself. He would grieve for her later. Crichton continued on.

Later, he could not be sure what it was that broke him. Maybe it had been the complete and utter truth, smeared in front of his face like a child's finger-paint, maybe it was the disregard for compassion, or maybe it was the silence. He would never know, but late at night when he tried to sleep…if he tried to sleep, it was a combination of all three in an endless loop.

Command had been soaked in blood, saturated with it as bits and pieces of his family decorated the floor. Aeryn's head had been left on the war table, as a statement or trophy, he did not want to think about it. There was not enough left of Rygel to find, just tiny little chunks of green flesh. Noranti was missing both arms, but she had gone down fighting at least, not all that blood could have possibly been hers. And D'Argo, his little one, his child…in the end, he would have wished he had never looked, he would have wished that he had left that bit of knowledge unknown.

He did not remember returning to Rovhu, did not remember piloting the prowler back into the hanger, did not remember removing the weapons or the suit, did not remember crawling into the only finished room and curling up on a bed frame that held no mattress and no sheets. But he would wake up several solar days later and could recall with absolute clarity the splattered blood upon the golden walls and the bits of his family that decorated Moya's floor.

That he had no problem remembering at all.