by Alara
Timeline: Before 'Durka Returns"
Rating: PG13 for now, if it gets worse, I'll let you know.
Comments to: Alara777@hotmail.com I haven't finished fireproofing my email yet,
so don't just write, "Your fic sucks," write also why it sucks, what you're looking for in a fic. If you'd like to see a situation in a fic, 'mail me it: I'm always open to suggestions! And now...
*****
John Crichton stared out the porthole at the endless, unfamiliar stars, and sighed. "Hey, Dad." He said into the recorder. "My thoughts this time: ...I miss home; the sights, the scents, the sounds of Earth... But mostly, I miss the feel of being on solid Earth, not just any planet, but the feeling that yes, this is home."
He paused, gathering his thoughts. "To be honest, I've kept myself busy enough so far that I really haven't had a chance to just sit... and think, y'know? It's always been that I'd start thinking, start recording some message to you... And be interrupted before it
was finished. Then I'd come back and have no idea what I was talking about, and just begin again. Since I've been given my token ten seconds of thinking for this time," This slightly sarcastically, "Let me say this
quick, before I forget it: One of the things I miss most is-- other human beings. You have no idea
what it's like... I'll want to discuss history, say, or make a reference to something like the Constitution, and I'll have no one to say it to. Or if I do say it, everyone else turns and looks at me, as if to say, 'Silly human.' 'Stupid alien.' ...Sometimes, I wish there were another human, or two, to talk to--"
"Crichton." Came D'Argo's voice over the comm suddenly. Crichton pulled the recorder
away from his mouth.
"Yeah, D'Argo?"
"We need your assistance in Command. Now." The tentacled alien said without preamble.
"Sheez, OK, D'Argo, be there in a minute," Crichton sighed. He broke the communications link, then spoke again into the recorder. "Well, Dad, it's like
I told you... My ten seconds of quiet are up. I'll try to record more later." He clicked off the recorder then, and sat a moment, wishing for... normality.
Then, with a sigh, he dutifully headed up to Command.
Aeryn Sun woke, damp with sweat.
Her heart slowly stopped pounding as she shakily ran a hand through her tangled, dark hair. I really am beginning to hate that dream, she thought to herself.
The dream was always the same, and watching the same thing over and over was setting frelling annoying, not to mention disturbing.
She and Crichton were on the Terrace together, silently looking out at the stars. They would become closer and closer, now just grazing, now their shoulders pressed tightly against each other, now close enough to feel his arms begin to encircle her, and hers, him...
Then, suddenly, with a sure swiftness that amazed her each time-something drove between them, shoving them violently apart, so far that she could barely see
Crichton.
She reached for him, and her hands burned...
At this point, she always woke up, and the dream went no further.
Even more upsetting than the dream itself, though, were the accompanying feelings: Feelings of closeness, of belonging, of oneness, of just-rightness; feelings she
felt while... in Crichton's arms? And even more intense-and puzzling-were the feelings of utter, total loss and abandonment when they were ripped asunder-that felt as though her very soul were being raked with claws, shredded to lie, hurting, on the floor.
Most disturbing of all was that she felt these things at all-Peacekeepers didn't feel! Well, they felt, but they were always able to suppress and ignore them; less distractions that way.
And they certainly didn't feel for aliens, no matter how Sebacean they looked on the outside. She, Aeryn Sun, condemned for that very sin of contamination, ought to know that better than anyone.
Not, of course, that she actually felt anything for Crichton. Oh, no.
But then what was the dream about? And why was it so infuriatingly emotionally disturbing?
The harsh sound of D'Argo's voice cut through these disquieting thoughts, for which Aeryn was grateful.
"Aeryn, we need you in Command at once." He said.
"I'll be right there." She answered, shoving her musings into a mental drawer, and locking it securely. And Crichton will not distract me, she added
mentally.
Rising, she headed towards Command, wondering what on Sebacea was up.
Go on to part two
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