The Cloister, outside Fell

Aeryn awoke with a huge gasp, and flung out her right arm, her entire body arching off the bed as she spasmed with the bittersweet pain of rebirth. She drew in huge lung-fulls of air like a drowning person, or a baby emerging from the darkness and comfort of the amniotic sac into light. Finally she lay back, bathed in sweat and limp with exhaustion. Her eyes weakly flickered open, and then she was curling fetus-like onto her left side, her right arm wrapped around herself as she shook with sobs, the tears streaming down her pale cheeks. Dimly she was aware of arms wrapping around her and a gentle soothing hand stroking her back. She felt bitter pain and anguish that was centered somewhere in the center of her chest and radiated outwards, literally choking and blinding her with its intensity.

She wasn’t sure how long she lay there, shaken by grief. She knew only that she would begin to calm and then the waves of pain and sadness would crash over her and all she could do was cry and cry some more, all the while holding tight…

Finally, the racking sobs subsided and she uncurled a bit to shift from her side onto her back. Hesitantly she opened her eyes and looked up into Zhaan’s beautiful blue face. The Delvian ex-priest smiled down at her, and Aeryn thought it was the most incredible welcome sight. Zhaan reached out to her and brushed at the tears that wet her cheek and gently stroked her hair, much like a mother might comfort a child. Aeryn realized it had been Zhaan who had held her while she’d cried, and she felt an immense burst of gratitude toward the blue-skinned female.

"Welcome back," Zhaan said softly. "How are you feeling, my dear?"

Aeryn lay her right forearm across her eyes and didn’t answer immediately. "Awful," she said finally, and then she must have turned green because she saw alarm flash across Zhaan’s face and then the Delvian was swiftly reaching for a basin. The next thing Aeryn knew, she was propped on her left elbow, still holding on tight, with Zhaan supporting her head over the basin while she emptied her guts.

At last, she lay back weakly, her entire body cramping, and her head pounding. Zhaan wiped at her face with a mysteriously-produced cool cloth and put a ceramic bottle to her mouth. Water passed Aeryn’s lips and trickled down her throat, which convulsed gratefully.

She turned her head away after the first few swallows, and lay there with her eyes closed for some time, trying to recoup her strength.

"Wh-what, what happened?" she asked when she could trust herself to speak. Her throat felt raw and her voice was hoarse.

"You’ve been ill, Aeryn," Zhaan told her and went on to explain the Dream of Endless Light to her; she concluded by saying frankly, "We thought you might die."

"Oh…" She was still as she processed that. Someone else had told her that she might die. Someone else had tried to help her—Her eyes widened.

"John," she breathed softly.

"Yes, John entered the Dream to bring you out." Aeryn watched Zhaan’s eyes as they flickered off to the side, eyeing something just to her left, and then they came back to her with disconcerting directness.

Aeryn felt a prickle along her scalp as she rolled her head to the left to follow the line of Zhaan’s gaze. Suddenly something clicked. She saw Crichton lying on the bed beside her own, limp and pale. But across the short space that separated the beds, their arms were outstretched; her left and his right, and their hands were joined in a tight clasp. She understood what it was she had grabbed and clung to through the storm. In fact she was still holding on, her grip so tight that she could feel the tension all the way up to her shoulder. It was like a vise. She had to make a conscious effort to relax her fingers and after several microts she was able to release his hand. She felt the blood rush into her fingers as she did so, and her entire hand tingled.

"Is he all right?" she asked huskily.

Zhaan turned her gaze to the unconscious human. A look of distress flickered across her sculpted features. "I do not know," she said at last. "Sending him into the Dream was more dangerous than I had thought, and I’m afraid I was not able to protect him enough."

Aeryn heard Zhaan’s unspoken words—he might not survive. She turned her head away, closing suddenly lead-heavy eyelids.

"Rest, Aeryn," she heard the Delvian say as she curled onto her left side and the darkness of exhaustion wrapped her in its embrace.

*****

Two days later and Crichton was still unconscious. The effects of emergence from the Dream had left Aeryn weak and often disoriented, in pain most of the time, and prone to excessive crying jags, all of which Zhaan told her was symptomatic of both physical and psychological withdrawal from the Dream. Zhaan had remained with her, caring for both of them. The Sebacean gratefully surrendered herself to Zhaan’s attentions, knowing that she was utterly incapable of caring for herself.

D’Argo had even come down to the surface twice and visited her briefly. She recalled with warmth the compassion in his eyes as he had looked down at her and gently squeezed her shoulder in sympathy. He’d already seen to the supplies and settled their account with Granaea during his first trip to the surface; the second had been solely to check on her and Crichton. She knew he was probably eager to leave orbit, but when he’d come to see her, he’d given no indication of impatience. Instead, he had only given her encouragement toward her recovery and tried to hide the mounting dread they were all feeling about Crichton’s unchanged condition.

This day, Aeryn waited until Zhaan had left the room before struggling to rise from the bed. She had been unable to rise unassisted and had needed Zhaan’s help for even the simplest body functions that involved any kind of movement. It was humbling to be at the mercy of her failing limbs and dependent on another for her mobility. But this morning, she was determined to do for herself.

It was a struggle to sit up in the bed, and an even greater struggle to bring her legs over the side. But finally she was able to plant her feet on the floor, and by propping her arms on Crichton’s bed less than an arm’s length away, she awkwardly managed to lurch forward onto his bed. Despite the jostling as her weight shifted the bed, he remained limp and still. With every bit of her meager strength, she held herself in an upright position and looked down at him.

She remembered almost everything now. It was still hard to think about it; the experience had left her feeling raw and exposed, a bundle of sensitive nerve-endings. She had very little control over her emotions, no matter how hard she tried to keep the despair and tears at bay.

"How can you not feel pain after what you’ve been through?" Crichton had once asked her after she had told him that among her people showing pain was a sign of weakness. But right now, she didn’t care much, because there wasn’t much she could do about it. The tears came without forewarning and all she could do was hold on to herself so as not to be swept away in the flood.

The tears sprang into her eyes now as she sat there, and she could do nothing but give into the release it offered. This weakness was unfamiliar to her, but she couldn’t think beyond drawing her next ragged breath and feeling the grief welling up from a bottomless source somewhere inside. Her strength gave out and she collapsed forward onto the bed alongside Crichton’s inanimate body. She shook helplessly as the grief washed over her like a wave.

She lay there beside him, shaken like a leaf in a storm, her body limp and twisted. She didn't know how to handle the unfamiliar tide of emotion, so she simply gave into it, since she didn’t have the strength, mental or physical to hold it off.

She felt the loss of the Dream deeply—the grief was a lancing pain, yet she didn’t resent Crichton for convincing her to return to this life. It would have been cowardly to retreat into that kind of false state of being. But still…

She felt overwhelmingly guilty for Crichton’s condition—after all, it was for her sake that he had risked his life—to save hers. And the lack of change for better or worse was wearing on her more than anything else. As her tears slowed, she turned her head to face him and traced the outline of his jaw with her fingertips before she struggled to sit up.

"I’m sorry," she finally said as she looked down at him. "I’m sorry for everything." Again, she reached out to him and lay one trembling hand against the side of his face, cupping its curve. She used the back of her other hand to brush the wetness from her cheek. Finally she withdrew and decided to go back to her own bed.

She was attempting to rise to her feet when she felt him stir. In surprise, she lost her balance and collapsed heavily to her knees between the two beds. She lurched toward him in agitation as he moved again. She reached out awkwardly and took his head between her hands.

"John!" she said fiercely, her voice rusty from disuse. His eyelids fluttered as he seemed to struggle to open them, and then he gasped as though in suffocation, drawing in long lung-fulls of air.

"John!" she said again, shaking his head slightly between her hands. Please wake up, John! You can’t die on me again!

"Aeryn!" he gasped and his eyes popped open, fluttering weakly. "You’re alive, Aeryn! I thought you were dead! I thought I was dead…"

"No, you’re alive, John," she said softly, chokingly, feeling tears threaten again. "You saved me—again. You brought me back." She frowned and bit her lip as her eyes filled.

He half-smiled and then grimaced through the pain, as she had when she’d woken. "That’s what friends are for, Aeryn. Hey—does this mean I’m out of the doghouse?"

"What?" she asked with a laugh-sob.

"Does this mean you’re speaking to me again? I promise, I’ll behave myself from now on, just please don’t do that to me again."

Anything…"Yes, I’m speaking to you, you idiot." She tried to frown at him, but failed, and instead broke into a weak giggle.

The door opened behind them and Aeryn turned her head to glimpse Zhaan who stopped abruptly as her eyes fell on the two of them.

"John!" she exclaimed before rushing over to his bedside.

"Hey, Zhaan—guess we hit a few snags in our plan, huh?" He tried to laugh, but once again, his face twisted.

"I’m sorry, John. I did the best I could, but I could not entirely shield you from the effects of the Dream."

"It’s okay, Zhaan. Just kidding." He winced again. "We both made it back, right?"

Both Aeryn and Zhaan saw his color rapidly change; Zhaan had the basin ready in time for Crichton as he began retching helplessly. The Delvian ex-priest held his head as he sagged. Aeryn looked on in frustration. There was nothing she could do to assist, and she felt wretched for both herself and for him. She knew exactly what he was in for—for awhile anyway, and it wasn’t going to be pretty.

Finally, Zhaan lay him back on the bed, and Aeryn could see the fine sheen sweat on his skin.

"Oh, God…" he finally mumbled. "I feel…awful." He tried to smile.

"Rest, John. This will pass," Zhaan said, laying her hand on his forehead. She brought him water and wiped his face. He drank a little and then sank back down again in exhaustion.

Zhaan smiled down at him and then her gaze flickered to Aeryn, who looked a little like a broken doll from where she had crumpled onto the floor. The Delvian decided she should leave them alone for awhile so they could compose themselves and probably have a much-needed reconciliation. Sometimes, she reflected, the Goddess works in mysterious ways. Besides, she should let D’Argo and the others know the good news.

"Will you two be all right for a little while?" When she saw their affirmative response, she continued, "I’ll be back shortly. Aeryn, please let me know if either of you need anything." Aeryn looked back at her and held her gaze for a few heartbeats; she nodded and Zhaan withdrew.

When the door had closed behind her, Crichton turned away from Aeryn and reflexively began to curl up, his whole body shaking. Aeryn painfully hauled herself up from the floor and perched on the edge of his bed. She lay one hand on his shoulder and after a few microts she realized that it was his turn to grieve.

When he had regained a measure of composure, he gingerly rolled onto his back and covered his eyes with his forearm, just as she had.

"Are-" he began, swallowing noisily. "Are you okay?"

"I’m fine," she answered with a hint of asperity, and then softened it with a weak smile. He lifted his arm and peeped down at her in time to catch a glimpse. "I’ll live, John, thanks to you."

"This is really hard," he said, with an attempt at a grin. "And it really hurts. I feel like I’m going to die."

"It’s the withdrawal," she replied. "It will get better. At least that’s what they tell me." Her tone was wry...very wry. "I haven’t noticed any change, yet."

He laughed brokenly at that, before another grimace. "You, too?"

"Mmm."

Silence stretched between them as they contemplated their own thoughts and mixed up feelings. Aeryn struggled to shift herself into a more comfortable position, until finally she slid back down onto the floor so she was seated with her back against the side of his bed and her knees upraised. She lay there, exhausted again by the effort required for such a simple motion. She tipped her head back onto the bed.

"John," she began.

"Hmmm."

"I am sorry," she said to him again, glad he could hear her this time. "For everything." He was silent, and then she felt a light touch against her hair, and she held her breath as he gently stroked her hair.

"Me, too, Aeryn." His hand stilled. She twisted her neck awkwardly to look back at him. There were tears in his eyes. He met her gaze for a long moment and looked like he was going to say something before he shook his head and looked away.

She thought she understood what she’d seen his eyes. This experience would be with both of them for a long time, and she realized that they would probably never talk about it much, but that if there had ever been understanding and empathy between them, this had strengthened that bond.

"So does this means we’re even?" Crichton attempted to lighten the moment.

"What?"

"You know, you save my life, I save your life, you save mine again—I forget what we’re up to now—I keep losing track of the score—"

"Yes," she interrupted. "We’re even." Her eyes prickled.

"John," she tilted her head away so he couldn’t see her face crumple as she tried to speak. "John, I’m afraid." I’m afraid of how much this hurts, this living-and-breathing-and-being-alive—

"I know, Aeryn." He sighed. "Me too."

"I’ve never felt like that before...I was...happy...content," she said it with an almost curious tone. And I walked away from it...

"You made the right choice, Aeryn. We both did."

"How do you know?" she challenged him softly.

"Because I can feel this pain—that’s how I know. If I can feel this awful right now, I know I can feel equally great later. I think pain is what let us know we’re alive. That we’re real. And I’d rather be alive here, right now, no matter how bad it hurts, than in la-la-land where everything is an illusion."

She didn’t respond, but she felt deep inside that he was right. In time she’d be able to put this behind her, but right now...right now she didn’t have the strength to fight the emotions that coursed through her. She was no longer capable of repressing them as she had always been trained, so she gave in to the storm. One day, this too, shall pass.

"Thank you, John," she said softly. There was no reply; she thought that maybe he’d drifted off to sleep, until she felt him stir and the hand that rested on her hair moved. His arm descended to cross her collarbone, his hand resting comfortably on her left shoulder. She shifted against him, laying her cheek against his forearm, and accepted his response with a smile.