&fic;

 

Gone So Far

by sugargroupie

PG, 2178 words

Summary: she doesn't bother refuting the claims of a ghost.

Disclaimer: Not mine; O'Bannon, Henson, Kemper, et. al.

Notes: Spoilers thru season four. Many thanks to Shannon and Eclipse for beta duties. Mistakes are mine.

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .

because in that moment you'll have gone so far
I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,
Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?
Don't Go Far Off, Not Even For a Day by Pablo Neruda

She makes her decision after a sound sleep, and still she takes three attempts to holster her gun with trembling hands. She wills the motion of her fingers to cease by taking deep breaths. Once she is certain her nerves have passed, she secures her weapons and utility belt at her waist and moves to grab her coat.

They have been silent through her ritual, and now they regard her expectantly, eyes full of impatience, full of the desire to talk and prod a confrontation out of her.

They, this one man, reflect unflinchingly through the mirror and she stands her ground.

"A war is coming, and I expect to die as nothing more than a soldier." It's an explanation she never intends, like so many other words that have spilled from her mouth. She meets their gazes with hers, thinks, you're not going to change my mind.

"How very noble of you, Aeryn," they say with a shake of their heads.

John sighs as he takes a step closer, his shoulders set resolutely. "You play the part well, baby, but--"

"Is this really what you want?" Crichton shoulders forward, pleading. Desperate.

"Yes," she hears herself answer. "It's what I have to do."

Their reply rings in her ears, "No you don't!"

She wonders if the immediacy of her response lends the sharpness to their tone, the tension weighing heavily on them both.

Aeryn wants to dispel them of the notion that they have a say in her life, that their concern is unwarranted. It would be futile for her to lie to herself at this juncture, and she can admit that this conversation is simply a figment of her imagination.

This is truth: there are no relentless apparitions, dead or otherwise, taking up space in her subconscious. It's just her, second-guessing what she knows is the appropriate choice.

They stand shoulder to shoulder now, forming a united front.

"You have to go now," she tells them, and shakes away the familiar words. She'd sent him away then, hoping for respite against the pain. She does it this time for a purpose that overshadows individual desires and personal connections, making them pale in comparison to the priorities of the greater good.

Its scope now is too big for her to ignore.

Aeryn doesn't expect John Crichton to respect her wishes this time any more than he did the last, so certain is he in his knowledge of her.

The same is true for me, she concedes.

Both Johns -- and she can no longer keep them straight in her head, as they are both Crichton -- perch their hands on their hips. "So stubborn," they recite flatly, "and so in denial."

She doesn't bother refuting the claims of a ghost.

(Ghosts.)

She says over her shoulder as she turns to leave, "I can't trust a future I'm not certain I'll live to see. My concern is for now, for something that extends beyond just me."

Aeryn pivots away but remains in place. "Go back to Earth, Crichton." She shakes her head. "Find a frelling wormhole and go home."

She leaves her bunk, leaves her ghosts behind, and her decision remains unchanged.

*

The procedure is brief and less invasive than Aeryn anticipates. The med techs work efficiently and tell her to strip down to her skivvies before giving her a full physical. The female tech directs her to lie still and busies herself by entering information she'd gathered from her examination of Aeryn into a data pad.

The other tries to make conversation with her. "Is this why you are no longer a Peacekeeper? Didn't want a child foisted upon you?"

Aeryn stares at the tech, considers the curiosity on his face. If she is reading him correctly, he truly does not recognize her, not even by name. Perhaps she is not as infamous as she once thought. Then again, his line of questioning could also be her commanding officer's way of gleaning details about her life without having to directly ask her himself.

"What does it matter?" she asks instead, watching the tech more closely than before.

He shrugs one shoulder nonchalantly, his gaze darting around the room as he avoids her eyes. He completes the prep work in silence while she takes a deep breath, strives for calm to focus on the task at hand.

Aeryn is reminded of the other tech's presence when a loud beep sounds, and a string of data rolls across the computer screen. "I'll take care of it," she says, and quickly takes her leave.

The remaining tech continues quietly, the medical instruments clanking together as he handles them. His voice eventually pierces the silence of the room. "Officer Sun? It's time."

Aeryn stares blankly at him for a microt, not expecting a prior warning of the procedure beginning. "Get on with it," she responds stiffly. He retrieves a syringe from the table nearby, attaching a blue substance-filled vial with a snap. She feels a small pinch as the needle penetrates that quickly fades into a local sting, and then nothing at all.

"Is that it?"

The tech nods as he steps away from the examination table. "The serum works quickly to dissolve the proto-fetus. In a matter of arns it will be as if you never had a stasis pregnancy.

"And you'll want to have a new implant inserted before your next mission."

She hadn't thought that far along beyond getting to this point. Of course she'll need another implant.

Aeryn nods and dresses quickly, brushing her hand against her stomach before jerking it away. "Yes, well..." she clears her throat. "Thank you."

She escapes the med bay before the technician can say anything further.

* * *

The passing cycles only confirm for Aeryn that she'd made the right decision.

There was never enough time to regret her choice. Looking back on that period now, Aeryn is grateful she never wavered, that she had the fortitude to end her pregnancy before it had a chance to even begin.

She has more scars now; small wounds that were never allowed to properly heal, and deep gashes that nearly bled her dry. She'd known what she was getting into by volunteering for those missions. It was an even trade, she thinks, preventing mass genocide in exchange for heat delirium, for battling for her life on more than one occasion.

Aeryn always returns to the marks on her stomach; how they swirl in jagged shapes of raised flesh on an otherwise flat surface. It should have been a fatal blow. As she'd lain in the medical facility recuperating from surgery, she had been thankful. She'd recited all of the near-misses in her head -- poisonous gases, heat stroke, pulse shots -- and the mantra cycled: no child to endanger, to think about, to mourn.

One scar is visible at the bottom opening of her vest and her thumb worries at it briefly as the memories edge away. She returns to her current surroundings of dry weather and detritus caked on her boots and beneath her finger nails. Half of her squadron is spread amongst the locals, awaiting their next orders by whiling away the arns with busy work.

She ducks her head to rub at a persistent speck of dirt on her gun, alternately blowing on the small clump and wiping at it with a cleaning cloth. Grunting in satisfaction at the area finally coming clean, she halts her movements as the crunch of boot steps draw near.

Aeryn relaxes slightly as the boots fall into her peripheral vision. It's not a villager, but one of her squad-mates.

A few microts pass before she feels a whip of air near her face. She absently bats at the hand aiming for her cheek, warily eyeing the owner at the attempted public display of affection.

"Did you want something?" she asks with far more patience than she's feeling. She continues the soothing rhythm of cleaning her weapons, not bothering to spare a glance at the man towering over where she sits.

She sits with her back leaning against the stone wall that surrounds the commerce sector of the grimy planet on which they've settled. She sits facing an alley, out of view of many of the passersby. Pausing to hold her forearm over her mouth, Aeryn coughs loose a cloud of dust that liberally covers everything in sight.

She eventually looks up, catches Kellum shrugging one shoulder in response, and flattens her mouth. She remembers his nails digging into her hips as she frelled him the previous night, and how he wouldn't stop touching her afterwards. He was good for that, for the release, for the comforting silence that followed.

Though she can tell now that he wants more from her. He wants to linger. They've been recreating partners for only a few monens, but they've been teammates for much longer and she finds she doesn't want to lose his presence, his gun at her side.

"Listen, why don't you contact Taris and see if any more rebellions have been reported."

Aeryn doesn't pose it as a question, but she is grateful when Kellum follows her order without argument. She watches his retreating back until he disappears around the wall and places the now spotless pulse pistol at her side.

Deciding to deal with him later, she firmly pushes Kellum and his expectations to the back of her mind.

*

She feels his shadow first, and expects it to be Kellum checking in with news. The cleaning cloth clenches within her fingers, stills against the barrel of the rifle in her hands as she meets eyes stark blue and thoroughly missed.

Aeryn swallows painfully against a suddenly parched throat. This couldn't be happening here. Now.

Is this real?

He kneels on the ground in front of her bent legs and shuffles close until his fingers graze her knee. "It's me," he says simply, as if answering her silent question. Just the sound of his voice, his presence, unnerves her and sends her mind spinning.

Is this how fate works? Cycles go by and he just appears, seemingly out of nowhere, dredging up long suppressed emotions and forgotten thoughts?

"Aeryn," he whispers. His eyes are wet. John's eyes are wet and full of joy and something else she can't name. He reaches out, lays his palm on her flat belly where her vest has ridden up, curling around her scars.

She finally finds her voice and doesn't care that it comes out unsteady; matching the quavering hands she eagerly places on his. "You didn't leave."

John glances away but her eyes are rooted on him. He's covered in dust, like she is, like everyone on this planet. He's dirty and sweaty and she can't tear her gaze away from him.

His attention returns to her and he shakes his head. "No... no, I've looked for you for five years, Aeryn. I couldn't go back to Earth."

"You couldn't return home?" she murmurs, dazed.

She feels his fingers press gently against her stomach. His eyes flit to their joined hands inquiringly, but he answers her question. "I found you again. I am home."

Aeryn sees hope staring back at her, fringed with fear and the weight of a cycles long search bearing down on him.

She wonders if he can see the secrets and trepidation in hers, and the dim hope she can't shield.

Raising his hand from her abdomen, she takes it between both of hers, tightens her hold. "John." It's a relief to say his name, to feel his warm flesh beneath her fingers. "How are you here?"

"This is the last place I expected to find you." John shuts his eyes tightly and then opens them slowly, a look of wonder on his face. "As for how I came to be here... it's fate, baby," he breathes, and gives a short laugh. "It's such a long story, Aeryn. Too long..." he trails off.

"Our stories always are." Yet they've still managed to find each other again.

She clears her throat, blinks away the sudden moisture in her eyes. "Maybe when this is over, we can take time for ourselves."

He grins widely then, and she allows his dirt-smudged fingers to skim down the side of her face. Their lips meet slowly, and as he slides his tongue into her dry mouth she deepens the kiss, gripping his black shirt tight within her fist. It doesn't last long, as they pull apart to take deep gulps of water from her thermos.

She saves her energy for checking weapons and making sure they survive the coming attack, vowing to ask questions later and decide which of his she will answer.

Aeryn allows herself to smile, to take comfort in their reunion, however short-lived it turns out to be. She considers another truth -- she will never tell John about her pregnancy and she is certain he doesn't know enough to ask.

No regrets, she thinks, and lets her gaze rest briefly on John's profile before returning to her task.

*

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