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Snowy Day Blues

Snowy day and all is cancelled. H has already been out in the snow and back in--scads of clothing thrown into the dryer and she's set up with hot chocolate in front of the TV. L is still sleeping (teenagers sleep more than any people I know). And I am sitting here kinda blech emotionally. I guess that's a great mood to write about John's blech life at the moment. Doctor's office called at 7:30 saying it was closed. Mom-in-law calls and cancels and then surprise--the maid calls and cancels. Maybe I should call and cancel. Nah--mom's can't cancel. I'm babbling.



Chapter 7

John slid down the bulkhead of the Hanger Bay until he hit bottom. He sat with his head in his hands, rocking back and forth. "What an idiot!" He kept repeating to himself like a mantra. There she was, her John dead and he just says, "How ya been?" How stupid can a guy get. How insensitive. No wonder she said nothing as she passed.

A small voice whispered to him of pain, tears, the agony of leaving and not knowing, the need to finish. They would have gone to Earth…He would have gone to Earth…He felt that last deep kiss as if he could suck Aeryn's love into him to revive his dying body with her spirit. He felt her tears as she tried to laugh at one last desperate joke. He was there, right there with Aeryn gasping "Don't worry about me, I've never felt better."

John gasped and raised his head from his hands, tears streaming down his face where he sat with his back to Moya's warm bulkhead, her rumbling hum seeking to sooth his confusion. Chiana found him sitting there curled up in himself. She crouched down next to him and laid her hand on his damp scalp.

"Hey, old man, talk to me."

"Pip."

"You're the strongest person I know. Aeryn is grieving. D'ont take her dren to heart. She'll come around. Remember, lead with your heart. You'll win her back."

"Is that a vision of the future, Pip, or a wish for the present?" John looked at his friend, his bloodshot eyes staring desperately at her, hoping for some sort of resolution. "Pip, I-I 'm remembering the weirdest things that I-I've no business knowing. I-I don't know who I am any more." John mumbled into his knees. "I'm remembering them…me…us…hell I don't know!" He pounded the floor with his fist.

Chiana cocked her head to the side and leaned into John's shoulder, "Hey, there's gotta be a logical answer. We've learned that there's weird dren and we get caught in it more often than not, right? May-maybe you ARE remembering the other one. M-m maybe you both are connected in some way. Maybe there IS no clone. Remember what Jool said. You both are identical, the same, no difference. Maybe that's why you feel so strange. H-he died and you lost something too that's trying to get back." Chiana lay her chin on John's shoulder and stroked his chest with her grey fingers as she thought about her terrible fears when she was twinned and that shuddering tearing feeling when that scabrous insane scientist killed her. She closed her eyes and sighed at her continued confusion about that other. "It'll be alright, old man."

Chiana reached out and grabbed John's hand and pulled him up from the floor. "Come on, let's get something to eat before Rygel grabs it all."

John squeezed her hand and quietly kissed her head in silent thanks for her wisdom and hope.

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

John found his duffle bag on his cot when he returned to his quarters after a quick meal with Chiana. He approached it slowly, almost fearing what he knew was in the bag--his stuff…our stuff…the other's stuff…no dammit, my stuff. He unzipped the bag and began to methodically empty it. He caressed his soft leather-like coat remembered walking on commerce planets with Aeryn by his side his hand in hers their coats swinging in unison as they strolled slowly enjoying each other's company. He found the neatly folded t-shirts and remembered teasing her about how she stretched them out when she rapidly pulled one off to hasten their lovemaking. He threw the interesting new environmental suit on the bed for later study. His hands felt the smooth cold hardness of Winnona where she lay in her holster. He drew her out and studied the new pits and dents in her surface, remembering the hammering on that jungle planet and his battle with the Colartas and Crais there. He remembered Dam-Ba-Ta and shooting her until she over-heated from exhaustion and still the critters continued to come at them. He remembered the sweat and sand and exhaustion. He remembered the yucky kiss delivered by that huckster mechanic Furlow. He remembered Jack. He remembered Aeryn and their desperation. He exchanged his current pistol for his Winnona and continued to reach into the bag as his confusion grew. He knew that he was the one left, the one by himself with nothing of his own, left on Moya to work on wormholes and hide his pain in alcohol and stupid situations, and yet, and yet, he remembered.

Then he lay hands on something strange. He pulled out Stark's mask. Touching it, he felt an intense flash as an avalanche of thoughts invaded his mind. He remembered everything--every word, every touch, every emotion, every pain, every scratch, every scream, every laugh, everything from them, from him. He raised his hands and stared at fingers that seemed alien and he gently reached up and fingered the scar on his right temple. He knew now what Stark had done in those last moments when John had placed the Banik's hand back on his forehead. He shuddered as he settled back into his skin, as if trying on clothes that were stiff with their newness. He felt weak at the knees, yet invigorated. He was unique again.

He knew why the other John did what he did. He knew the sacrifice and knew that he would have done the same, would do the same. Wormhole technology must be protected and Jack's death must not be in vain. He felt whole, connected, loved. John smiled wistfully, now if he could only convince Aeryn.

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

John found Aeryn as she was carting heavy containers and hoisting them into the storage compartment of her prowler. She grunted as she struggled to lift the next box in the pile over her head. Sweat ran into her eyes and she failed to see his arrival. She heard those unique footsteps as they approached her. They sounded different, more confident than the diffident foot falls of the clone, the other John, not her John. She shivered as she listened to soft squeak of his soles on Moya's metallic yet soft flooring. Dropping her load, she turned to face him. There was an apparition--a ghost--her John standing there in the long leather coat, hands on his leather-clad hips above the gun belt, staring at her with a small grin on his face. It was impossible, John was dead, buried on that lonely rock. This was a hallucination, a phantom of her deepest desires. No, not real. She turned away, saying nothing and wishing with all her might to banish this dream so she could slip back into her current reality of stoic warrior calm. She would be strong and would not succumb to this fantasy.

John cleared his throat as he watched her turn. He could understand her confusion, yet was completely at a loss at what to say that would convince her that he was John Crichton, whole and complete--her lover. "Aeryn, what are you doing? You've barely arrived back. Stay. I need to tell you something." John approached her slowly and reached out and grabbed her shouldered, turning her towards him so that she could see his face. "I am John Crichton," he said quietly. "One and indivisible. There is only me. Only us. Somehow, someway I am him and he is me. Stay, please."

"No, you died. You are dead. Ghosts do not come back. Ghosts stay dead. Go away. Let me alone. I need to leave. I need to find a new life. One that doesn't contain crazy humans who return from the dead to tear out my heart once again with their notions of compassion, love, honor, and sacrifice. I am going and you cannot stop me."

"I'm coming with you then. We promised each other we wouldn't leave each other ever again. You promised when that dren was over that you would come with me to earth. I'm saying now that i'll go anywhere with you. You pick the place and I'll come. Baby, I'd be lost without you. Stay or go, I'm coming too."

"No! He said those words. He is dead and gone, buried. My world lies in ashes. I have to build another. You are not him. You are dead, a ghost, a wraith meant to haunt me. Goodbye John Crichton." She turned and threw herself into the cockpit and reached up and slammed the hatch closed in his face. She could see his eyes, those blue orbs glisten with tears, melting in the haze of her side view ports. She started pre-flight checks, gazing at the control dials and signal lights through the film of her own tears.

John backed away from the now smoking prowler as it turned towards the Hanger Bay doors. He dimly heard Pilot's voice as he gave clearance to the ship as well as the symbiot's own sad farewells. He backed his way out of the hanger and into the Maintenance bay, tears streaming down his face. He couldn't believe that she actually left. He was not a ghost, or maybe he was. He hit the wall of the bay and slid down. He cradled his head in his arms. His life was ashes now. There was nothing left but duty. He would finish the task. All he had now were wormholes. That was all that was left.

Comments

Oh. Guh! How much bleaker are things going to get for John? Don't worry though, it wouldn't be Farscape if John weren't miserable, mostly.

At least we benefited from your snow day.

And, no. Moms don't get the day off. Everyone else just stays home and frells up your schedule.

seva
I'm sending ((((((((((warm healing vibes}}}}}}}}}}}} your way and patience for the snow day :)
*sniff, sniff* You know I love this, hon. But I need to tell you too. I love it. Love it, love it, love it.

It's too bad that moms don't get a day off now and then. It's like the whole world thinks that being a mom isn't a job. Well, hell, of course it's a job. I've been a babysitter for many years and was always grateful that I could hand the little brats back to their respective moms after the day was done. And I liked the kids alot. *g* I just don't think I could handle some of my own. Not any more, that is. I salute all you wonderful moms out there. You are powerful, upstanding pillars of the community and you deserve to be treated with respect and devotion. After all, you ladies are in charge of future generations. No small feat if you ask me.

Rock on,
Cathy