Disclaimer: All characters of Farscape are copyrighted, trademarked, owned and operated by Henson and O’Bannon and Kemper and Company. They created this universe. They deserve all the credit – and the blame. So much inspiration! So little time…
Takes place after Fractures, with spoilers from that episode and both parts of Infinite Possibilities. Thanks to JilaCosa for giving this a quick look-see.
Note: I watched Infinite Possibilities: Icarus Abides over and over and <sniff> over, but I could find no evidence that the module Furlow constructed was destroyed. It is my belief that it is still aboard Talyn and may play a part in the future. If, indeed, it has been destroyed, then this is a hopelessly alternate universe, which it probably is anyway, but c’est la vie…
Hope. If I don’t have hope, I have nothing.
“They are difficult to tell apart.” ex-peacekeeper captain Bialar Crais commented, echoing his thoughts. The Sebacean stood to John’s right, hands clasped behind his ramrod straight back.
“Mmmmm,” John nodded slightly, once more going over the briefing Crais and Rygel had given him regarding the events at the Dam-ba-da depot, beginning with the summons Talyn’s ‘John’ had received from the representative of the ancients who called himself Jack. A little voice questioned why he hadn’t felt the summons, but he shoved it to the back of his mind for contemplation later. Right now, it could only confuse matters more. There was the discovery that Furlow had successfully flown through wormholes with the help of a race called the Charrids, allies of the Scarrans. And then the subsequent battle and its devastating outcome, both in the total and utterly incomprehensible destruction of a Scarran dreadnaught, and the mind-numbing knowledge that his other self had given his life for the rest of the universe. It was almost too much to think about at one time.
He had been encouraged to hear that his ‘twin’ had managed to land his module aboard Talyn in one piece before succumbing to the ravages of the overdose of radiation. That meant that the devices built by Furlow, Jack and the other Crichton were still intact, and might provide him with some missing pieces to the wormhole puzzle. Too bad Furlow had escaped. If they ran into her again, he would not make the same mistake the other John had. He had a pretty clear vision of who and what she was now, and would somehow use it against her.
He had politely requested permission from Crais to check out Furlow’s module so that he could see the modifications for himself. Learning of his intentions, Aeryn Sun, former peacekeeper commando, had objected strenuously. She refused to allow John access to the module aboard Talyn, choosing instead to fly it over to Moya herself. And John had chosen to abide by her wishes, knowing how stubborn she could be. Their relationship had been strained since her return and he did not want to add another reason for the rift between the two of them to grow any wider.
The hatch on the module that Furlow constructed popped open and a helmeted figure in a black flight suit slowly stood in the cockpit, hands giving the controls a lingering caress. Aeryn pulled the helmet from her head, to reveal her hair done up tightly in the familiar peacekeeper-style braid. She climbed out of the control seat and jumped lightly to the floor. Walking along the module, she ran a hand reverently along its side before turning her attention to the two men standing in the hangar bay door.
Her gaze centered on John and she walked up to him, clutching something tightly to her chest. She came to a stop mere inches from him, eyes never leaving his face, scrutinizing his every reaction. His eyes narrowed in question. He fully expected her to simply acknowledge his presence and walk past, just as she had done the day she stepped from Talyn’s pod when the two crews had finally been reunited. But she held her position in front of him. He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
After a few moments she lowered her eyes to the floor and John noticed her hands. The knuckles were white from gripping her package so tightly. When she spoke, he had to strain to hear the words.
“This was his. Yours.” Her shoulders dropped slightly and she exhaled a tiny exasperated breath. “Frell! It’s just so - confusing.”
John nodded, swallowing hard as he recognized what Aeryn held. It was the journal in which he had written all his notes from the moment he boarded Moya up until the time the crew split. It was his journal, the one that the other John took when he left with Aeryn to go aboard Talyn. He had noticed its absence from the bag of personal items returned to him and wanted to ask Aeryn about it, but had yet to find a good opportunity to do so. Now he realized that she had had it all this time.
“Here,” she suddenly thrust the notebook into his hands, once more looking at him. “You - you might need this. There may be some things in here that can help you - us - with your mission. John - the other John - was always writing something in it. I - I cannot read it. He - he was teaching…” The words caught in her throat. She coughed. Looked away and continued, “He was trying to teach me to read.” A faint smile touched her lips at the memory. “It was going - slow. Your written language is, um, quite different from anything I’ve seen before.”
All the while he was listening, John held the book gently, caressing the cover, yet carefully keeping his expression as neutral as possible.
Aeryn continued, “I don’t know whether or not it mentions - us. The other - you - and me…”
John watched the hurt well up in her eyes as she remembered, and his own eyes watered with the knowledge of her grief. She was holding it all in and there was nothing he could do at this moment to comfort her. “Thank you,” he whispered, throat suddenly constricted.
She nodded slightly and walked past him out of the hangar bay, back stiff, peacekeeper armor firmly in place. He turned and watched her go, unable to move, afraid that following her would only scare her further away.
He opened the journal to one of the last pages he remembered writing, and experienced strange feelings as the journal continued on in his own handwriting. He read things that he himself could have written. He turned a page and the writing there cut him to the quick.
Dearest Aeryn.
He slammed the book shut and closed his eyes. He wanted to read on, wanted to know what the other him had written to Aeryn. And yet he already knew, he didn’t have to read what was written to see the handwriting on the wall.
Behind him, Crais cleared his throat, and John suddenly remembered he wasn’t alone. He continued to stare at the door through which Aeryn had disappeared moments before. Crais moved to stand alongside him, shoulder to shoulder. “Your - counterpart - on Talyn made a request of me upon his deathbed. That I look out for the rest of the crew.”
Whatever John had expected Crais to say, he was not prepared for that. Crais made a promise to a dying man - his twin - that he would watch out for the rest of the crew? That was almost too much to swallow. Yet there must have been something that his counterpart, as Crais referred to him, saw in the ex-peacekeeper captain that would prompt him to make such a request. He briefly wondered if the journal would give him any clues. Yet how could he bring himself to look at it when the last thing he wanted was to read anything the other John had written about Aeryn? Pangs of jealousy and anger tied Crichton’s stomach in a hard knot. He made a conscious effort to quell them as Crais continued, “We are going into battle. We need to think clearly. There is little time - in fact, there is no time to let relationships interfere. It is the Peacekeeper way. It may not be your way, but right now, it is the only way we stand any chance of surviving.” With a curt nod to punctuate his words, Crais left the hangar bay.
Alone in the bay, John stared at the notebook in his hands, knowing that he had to do something. “Pilot?”
“Yes, Commander?” the disembodied voice of Moya’s pilot answered John’s comm.
“Where is Aeryn?”
“She has returned to her quarters, Commander. Would you like me to ask her to join you?”
“No, thanks, Pilot. I need the exercise.”
As he walked Moya’s corridors, John ran through imagined scenarios with Aeryn in which he would return the journal and all would be as it was. In the end he came to stand before her door still not knowing what to say.
He heard a rustling of material inside Aeryn’s quarters and had to stomp on the sudden urge to run. He cleared his throat and Aeryn heard him. She opened the door. “Crichton?”
He stood in the doorway, heart racing. Taking a deep breath, he managed to find his voice, “Y’know, what you just said to me in the hangar bay – that was the most you’ve talked to me since you came back.” He managed a small half-smile.
“Crichton, I…”
“It’s okay. Never mind. I know. The hurt. It’s still fresh. And Crais – he said, set it aside. For the mission. Okay, I can do that.”
Aeryn nodded slightly and her eyes held the unspoken question.
John held up the journal, his mouth suddenly gone dry. “There are some things ‘he’ wrote in here,’ he stopped, swallowed, plowed on. “About you. I – I haven’t read them. You should keep them.”
Aeryn bit her bottom lip to stop it from quivering. She took the journal from John’s hands, hands so much like… She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath before speaking. “You know there are notes in here that might help,” she said. “That might mean the difference between success and failure. You need to read them.” She pushed the journal back into John’s grasp.
John took the notes, and half-turned to go, then stopped and hung his head. “No. I can’t keep them.”
“John.” The way she spoke his name told him that she was getting ready to argue her point with him.
“How ‘bout a compromise?” he asked quickly, desperately hoping to avoid a confrontation. “I can skim the pages. If it looks like notes that I need, I’ll keep them in the book. If it looks like he’s written about you, I’ll pull them out. And you keep them.”
Aeryn considered his offer. “That sounds – satisfactory,” she replied stiffly.
John was pleased that she accepted this arrangement, but he fervently wished she had sounded like it was more than just a business transaction. He laid the journal on her table and turned the pages until he found notes he didn’t remember writing. He ended up pulling about a half-dozen sheets from the notebook. By the last page his hands were trembling and he had to wipe his sweating palms against his pants. He stacked the pages neatly and handed them to Aeryn, who had been standing in the middle of the room, watching him but not saying a word. She took the pages and focused her eyes on the floor. John picked up what was left of the journal and walked to the door.
“Wait.”
It was a whisper, a plea, and John wasn’t sure whether he had actually heard her say it, or just imagined it. He stopped. Looked at her. She was breathing hard. Looking at the pages. “Read them - to me. Please.”
John stood there stunned, sure that she could hear the pounding of his heart as it echoed in the silence. Then he slowly shook his head. “Aeryn.” He walked back into the room, stopping as near to her as he dared. He raised his arm and crooked a finger under her chin, lifting her head so that she had to look at him. “That would - hurt - both of us - too much. These words. His words. They are - my words. Yet I didn’t write them. He did. He’s me. And not me. I - I can’t.” Her downcast look broke his heart and it was all he could do to prevent himself from taking her in his arms right there. “Tell you what. When this is over, I will teach you. Teach you to read the words. And then you will know what he said.”
Aeryn’s eyes brimmed with tears, but they did not spill over. She gave John the barest hint of a nod and then turned away, clutching the pages to her breast. Knowing it was the best solution for the moment, John left the room before he lost what little control he had of his own feelings.
“Yeah, Aeryn, we’ll set things aside for now,” he whispered to himself as he headed for his own quarters. “And when this is over, if we are still alive, I will teach you to read the words. Then you will know what he wrote. And then you will know how I feel.”