Disclaimer; I don't own Farscape or any of its characters. Please don't sue me!

Feedback; Go on then! E-mail me at jesspallas@hotmail.com

Archiving; If you like it, take it. But please, let me know first.

Rating: Not sure what the standard is but I'd guess at PG and General. No naughtiness (sorry shippers) but there are a few fights.

Spoilers; Nothing major. References to TWWW, EFG, HOTR, Nerve and DMS.

Timeframe; Season two, between DALD and OOTM.

Summary: With Pilot facing death, Aeryn is forced to relive her past.

Recap; Moya has been boarded by a race called the Rani, who have a grudge against Pilot's race. John, Zhaan and Chiana have been locked in the maintenance bay whilst D'Argo and Aeryn got into a big fight in the Den in an attempt to rescue Pilot. It failed and Pilot has been poisoned70;.

"Rygel, are you done yet?"

Chiana had never been renowned for her patience. From outside, an angry huff was her reply.

"If you don't stop bothering me, I'll leave you to get free on your own!" The Hynerian retorted, his reply muffled by the door.

"Pip, leave Cranky alone," John called across the room. "Come help me with Zhaan, huh?"

"I really don't need help, John," Zhaan muttered as she sat, eyes closed, leaning back against the fallen workbench. The Delvian had begun to come round not long after Rygel's impromptu appearance and although still groggy, appeared to be recovering.

"Whatever I was injected with was designed to work on fauna not flora." Her eyes opened and her gaze was intense. "But if I were anyone else, I might be dead by now."

There was a meaningful pause. John exchanged a worried glance with Chiana. What was happening elsewhere on Moya? Had Aeryn or D'Argo fallen foul of the needles? Had Pilot?

Abruptly, Chiana grabbed John's arm. He turned, his eyes questioning, but she shook her head quickly.

"Listen!" she hissed.

Beyond the hanger door, there was movement. Voices hissed, low and guttural. There was a murmur, a clank and the sound of jets firing followed by a low insect hum and the grinding sound that accompanied the opening of Moya's docking bay. The three prisoners exchanged astonished glances. The Rani were leaving! But were they beating a hasty retreat or retiring victorious?

A shout of triumph from Rygel arrested their attention. The door swung open with a lazy hum, as though it had never intended to do anything else. Almost as one, the human, the Delvian and the Nebari leapt to their feet and set out at a run into the corridor. Rygel barely managed to scramble aside to avoid their rush. He glared after them in annoyance.

"Thank you all so much for your overwhelming gratitude!" he roared down the corridor after them, but they were already gone, indifferent to his irritation. The little Dominar paused for a moment, then turned his thronesled and set out towards the centre chamber. All this exertion had made him hungry!

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

For the second time in an arn, John rounded a corner and found himself face to face with D'Argo. The big Luxan pulled up short in surprise, his eyes wide. He looked breathless, and an uncharacteristic anxiety creased his features. In one hand, he gripped his Qualta blade. The metal edge was stained with Rani blood.

John felt a terrible apprehension run through him. What had happened? And where was Aeryn?

"D'Argo, what70;" he began but was cut off short as the Luxan pushed roughly past him to where Zhaan stood, catching the Pa'u's arm in his strong grip.

"Zhaan, Aeryn needs you in Pilot's chamber, now!" he declared, half dragging her down the corridor. John felt himself go cold. He remembered Zhaan's words about the needles. Please don't let her be hurt! He rushed forward, grabbing D'Argo's arm.

"What's happened to Aeryn?" he exclaimed. "Is she okay?"

D'Argo brushed him aside effortlessly. "She's fine. It's Pilot who needs help."

A hushed silence fell. John felt a surge of relief but quickly suppressed it beneath rising shame. Pilot was his friend too; he had no reason to feel relieved. D'Argo and Zhaan were already moving fast in the direction of Pilot's chamber, Chiana a step behind and John hurried to catch up.

"So it was the Rani," he said.

"Of course it was!" D'Argo snapped impatiently. "Where were you? You should have come straight down to Pilot's!"

"We hit a snag," John drawled. "Some joker locked us in the maintenance bay. If it hadn't been for Sparky dropping by, we might still be there."

"How could you be so foolish?" D'Argo was not happy. "Aeryn and I were forced to attack twelve Rani unaided! Now thanks to your stupidity, Pilot is dying and we are all at risk!"

"Hey, now wait a minute70;" John began, intending to defend himself, but Zhaan intervened.

"This is not the time for arguments!" she exclaimed, imposing herself between the two male as she fixed them both with a steely gaze. "Save your energy. We may need it."

There was a shamed silence. D'Argo flicked an annoyed glance at the human, but Zhaan was already striding away, followed quickly by Chiana and the disagreement was put aside in favour of more pressing issues. Side by side, the two moved hurriedly after them.

The entrance to Pilot's chamber loomed ahead. John followed the others inside but pulled up short, eyes wide at the grim scene before him. Rani bodies lay strewn around the chamber, red-orange blood oozing across the walkway to drip down into the darkness. The walls and floor were riddled with sharp little needles, the console burned by pulse fire. Beyond it all, huddled behind his console, Pilot lay half slumped, his breathing shallow and irregular, his eyes closed tightly and his features creased in pain. Firey red lines radiated like licks of flame from a small wound in his neck; an empty syringe-like gun lay discarded by his arm. Beside him, gently supporting his head, was Aeryn, the paleness of her face heightened by the dark mass of her hair. She was shaking.

Zhaan was with them in moments, stepping passed the corpses and puddles of gore as though they weren't even there. With a gentle deftness she examined the wound.

John watched her work, his own guilt over his earlier relief rising with every microt. Pilot looked terrible, his agony written on every feature and those streaks of red didn't look too healthy either. He was getting a bad feeling about this.

Zhaan finished her examination. Her face was impassive; too impassive. He watched as the Delvian picked up the abandoned syringe-gun and sniffed at it experimentally. She paused and smelt it again. All at once, a wash of apprehension crossed her features. She suppressed it almost immediately, glancing anxiously at Aeryn, but the peacekeeper had not seen, too concerned with her ailing friend. Breathing hard, Zhaan placed the gun down and looked away; straight towards John. He caught her eyes at once, his awareness of what had just passed in her face plain for her to see. Sorrow touched her azure features as he read the truth hidden in her eyes. He felt his stomach drop and swallowed, briefly closing his eyes before glancing across to Aeryn. He noted her pale face and anxious expression and wondered how in the Hell he was going to tell her.

"I think you'd all better leave," Zhaan spoke softly, but her words carried. "I need to speak with Pilot alone."

"I'm not going anywhere!" Aeryn retorted hotly, her expression indignant.

Zhaan met her stare, deflecting her anger passively with a barrier of calm.

"Please, Aeryn. This is important."

The peacekeeper wavered. "But70;"

Pilot opened his eyes and looked up at her and the words died on her lips.

"Aeryn. I'll be fine," he whispered slowly. "I want to hear what Zhaan has to say."

He knows, John realised. He felt hollow inside. He knows what she's going to say. Damn, how can this be happening?

Biting back his emotions, he stepped forward, trying to smile.

"Come on, Aeryn," he said, offering his hand.

Aeryn stared at him for a moment. Then she rose abruptly, jumped down and shoved passed him, storming out of the chamber with a stony expression. John hesitated a microt, glancing back at Pilot and Zhaan. The navigator met his eyes.

"Go after her, commander," he said softly. "I think soon she might need you very badly."

John could barely speak. "Pilot70; I'm so sorry we got you into this70;"

Pilot cut him short. "My decision, commander. And right now, someone else needs your sympathy more than I do."

John nodded slowly. Somehow this didn't feel real, as though he could just reach for the remote, hit rewind and make it all disappear. But he couldn't, of course. This was real life. You only got one shot at it.

But at this moment, he wished with all his heart that his shot had been a better one.

With a deep breath, John Crichton turned his back on the ailing navigator and hurried after Aeryn.

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

He found her on the terrace. She stood a little way away from the entrance, her back to him as she faced the stars, a void of black and paleness that both blended and contrasted with the view. Her shoulders were tense and rigid, her fists clenched. She looked like a pulse rifle of the verge of overload.

Despite his reservations, John stepped into the firing line.

"Aeryn?" he said softly.

Her body, already taut, tensed further. She didn't turn, didn't even respond. She just stood there, a shimmering void of darkness just beyond his reach.

John sighed and moved closer still, aware as he did so that he was taking his life in his hands.

"You okay?" he ventured.

Her head jerked; a hiss of annoyance and exasperation escaped her lips.

"What do you think?" she snapped, but there was tremulous note to her anger. John wisely kept his distance.

"This isn't your fault, you know," he told her.

"Who said it was?" The edge of distress was now blatant.

"Nobody, except maybe yourself. See, this is what I think. You're blaming yourself for what's happened to Pilot. He's your friend and you care about him and now you're beating yourself up 'cos you think you could have done more." John's voice was rising; emboldened by her silence, he moved over to stand at her shoulder. "Well, here's a newsflash, Aeryn. This ain't your fault. It's not anyone's. It was just bad luck, bad timing and bad judgement. You're probably the least to blame of all of us! You were against putting Pilot at risk from the start. You tried your heart out to protect him when we got boarded. You fought to save him but you couldn't. But that don't mean you didn't do everything you could!"

Aeryn wheeled to face him. To his astonishment, John realised her face was streaked with tears.

"Everything I could?" she exclaimed, fighting to hold back her sobs. "How can you say that? The first real friend I ever made is down there, on the verge of death, because I was caught unprepared! I should have stayed down there with him! I should have been ready! I knew how scared he was, how dangerous the Rani were, but I didn't even pass that on to you! I promised him John! I promised I wouldn't let him get hurt and now70;"

Her voice choked; tears overwhelmed her. John caught her gently and held her against him. For a moment, she struggled, but his persistence paid off - she eased herself onto his shoulder and let her sobs escape. Tenderly he cradled her, providing a rock of support as she unleashed her frustration and anguish, letting her emotions run free.

It was a long time before he let her go.

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

An unnatural silence lingered in the centre chamber. Although Moya's rhythms had returned to normal once the Rani had departed, a pulse of tension seemed to run through her systems, a reaction that showed her concern over the illness of her Pilot. It created an edge to the air that seemed to shimmer and press down upon them all, with a weight that was almost palpable. It made talking too hard, too much off an effort and even restricted the lungs, leaving the gentle wisp of light-drawn breaths the only sound to be heard.

It had been several arns now since Zhaan had banished them from the Den. D'Argo and Chiana had left as ordered and wandered in silence to the centre chamber where they had encountered Rygel, indulging his appetite with the last haunch of Keva. Wordlessly, they had joined him, picking meat off the bone until John and Aeryn had appeared, hand in hand. Both had stopped, self-consciously releasing their hold on spying the others, but no comment had been made and so they had settled side by side to wait, in silence, together.

It was a long wait. The microts dragged like arns, the arns like weekens, but nobody spoke, lost deep in their own thoughts, as if to speak would make it real and force them all to face it. A mix of sorrow and selfishness played through their thoughts - concern for Pilot's well-being, but concern also for themselves and what would become of them and their home on Moya if their navigator were to die.

So it was with a combination of apprehension and relief that they heard the echo of soft footfalls in the passage and Zhaan appeared, her expression uncertain. Aeryn half-rose to greet her but words failed her as she met the Delvian's eyes. Zhaan hesitated, almost as though she was afraid that she had given away too much, but then she sighed and looked down. Aeryn's face became stricken, her white knuckled hands gripping the table. Gently John placed his hands on her shoulders and eased her back into her seat.

"He's not going to make it, is he?" he said softly.

Zhaan looked at him, her eyes welling with tears.

"No, he isn't," she replied.

There was a moment of stunned silence. D'Argo bowed his head, his features set and emotionless. Chiana continued to stare at the Delvian Pa'u, dark eyes wide, mouth half open as though she couldn't register what she'd just heard. Even Rygel paused in his eating, his face wary. But John ignored them all, even himself, his attention fixed on Aeryn. The peacekeeper was immobile, staring in disbelief at the table top. Concerned, John leaned forward and rested his chin on her shoulder, softly squeezing her upper arms in an attempt to reassure. She didn't even acknowledge his presence.

D'Argo broke the silence. "How long does he have"

"I can't be certain," Zhaan replied, her voice hushed. "The poison is called Athsat. It causes a slow degeneration of body and mind as it moves throughout the system. When the deterioration becomes widespread, the body ceases to function and the victim dies. In beings of our stature, the process takes about four solar days. In a creature of Pilot's size it will take longer - perhaps even weekens."

"Is he in pain?" Chiana's grey face was pale.

"Yes." Zhaan's eyes were haunted. "And it will get worse. He is already having trouble maintaining Moya's systems."

"Can't you mix up some kind of antidote?" John's eyes never left Aeryn.

The priestess shook her head. "There isn't one. Athsat is virulent and universally fatal."

"Can't Moya drain it from his system like she did for Aeryn?" D'Argo asked, leaning forward as Zhaan sighed.

"No," she replied. "The Athsat is harmless to Moya but she is incapable of dispersing it. The Rani chose their poison with care and they chose well. Moya can do nothing."

"Can you at least give him something for the pain?" Aeryn's voice was hoarse and rife with emotion as she looked up at Zhaan.

"I could have," Zhaan replied quietly, meeting the Sebacean's gaze. "Until the Rani destroyed my medicines."

"Bastards." The word slipped out before John could catch it. His shipmates glanced at him. They said nothing, but the sentiment was mirrored in their eyes.

It was Rygel who asked the question that no one else dared ask.

"What about us?" he said abruptly. "This is all very sad, I'm sure, but will we be able to control Moya if Pilot dies?"

"Pilot says it is unlikely." Zhaan responded with a certain reluctance. "He has70; arrangements70; well in hand. He has already sent out a distress call to any leviathans in the vicinity and is guiding Moya as best he can towards the commerce planet. We can wait there until we receive a response. The other ship will act as a guide and accompany Moya back to Pilot's home world where we can70;"

"Get a replacement?" There was acid disdain burning through Aeryn's voice.

Zhaan did not reply. She stared at the floor.

Abruptly, Aeryn shrugged free of John's hold and came to her feet.

"I take it he knows?" she said coldly.

The priestess nodded. "I told him everything. He seemed to know it was coming."

"You say he's having trouble controlling Moya?"

"That's right." Zhaan was watching Aeryn warily, concern etched on her features.

"Then he'll need my help. Excuse me."

The peacekeeper swept passed and disappeared into the corridor. John rose to follow, but Zhaan's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Leave her, John," she said softly.

The former astronaut continued to stare into the passageway.

"Do you think she'll be all right?" he whispered, voice barely audible.

Zhaan met his eyes, her face filled with sympathy.

"Only time will tell," she said.

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

The Chamber was dark and silent, the creature at its centre motionless. For a chilling instant, Aeryn thought that Zhaan had made a mistake, that Pilot had died in her absence. But then the navigator stirred, his large head lifting ponderously as he looked up and met her gaze.

"Officer70;. Aeryn," he acknowledged with unusual informality. He shifted, four arms moving haltingly over the controls. "I was just resting."

Aeryn forced back her emotions, although her heart still beat too fast in her chest. Control yourself! She admonished herself silently. He needs you to be strong!

The peacekeeper started across the walkway in short, brisk strides.

"Zhaan said you were having problems controlling Moya," she said brusquely. "I thought you could use my help."

Pilot nodded. "I would appreciate that. This Athsat is affecting my co-ordination."

There was a strange note to his voice, a tone that Aeryn didn't recognise. He was watching her intently, his eyes a mystery that gave nothing away. There was a tension about him that differed from his usual state of controlled panic and it seemed almost as though it had something to do with her.

She hauled herself onto his consoles, an action she had performed a thousand times before but felt at that moment so strange as to be almost frightening. She noted the red serpents that snaked along his neck had spread, touching his cheek and the base of his forearm. His eyes followed her gaze and she jerked quickly away to avoid being caught out. But his expression made it plain; he had seen where she was looking. He seemed on the verge of speech.

Quickly she jumped in first, eager to forestall him with a change of subject.

"I think it might be a good idea for you to go over some of these controls for me. I'm still a bit uncertain on70;"

She glanced up and her voice tailed away. His features were awash with feelings; hurt, frustration, confusion, anger, but above all overwhelming fear.

"Zhaan has told you, hasn't she?" His voice was rich with the same cocktail of emotions as his face.

Unable to speak, Aeryn nodded wordlessly. There was a plea in his eyes, a plea for her understanding but something else too, an elusive request that lingered just beyond her reach.

"Then why are you doing this?" There was both hurt and pain behind his words.

"Doing what?" Speech was a strain; Aeryn's voice shook.

Pilot was staring in disbelief. "Pretending that nothing's happened!" he exclaimed.

Aeryn leaned forward, fighting a resurgence of tears. "I came down here to help you because of what's happened70;"

"But you won't acknowledge it!" His voice dropped from its angry tone to one that begged for understanding. "I don't need technical assistance, Aeryn. I need a friend." He took a deep breath. "I'm dying, Aeryn. And I'm scared. Very scared."

There was a lengthy silence. The darkness seemed to magnify a thousand fold, a heavy cloak that sought to wrap them away from the world. The two stared at each other, bound together by blood and friendship but facing a crisis that could rip them apart for eternity.

Then slowly, almost tentatively, Aeryn reached forward and rested her hand on one of Pilot's claws. The contact seemed to break the tension; both visibly relaxed. Aeryn looked at her friend, her expression filled with sorrow.

"Pilot, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. It's just70; the thought of you dying70; that isn't something I really want to face."

There was an almost rueful expression on Pilot's face.

"You're not the only one," he said, echoing the words spoken in command what felt like cycles ago. He sighed.

"This is not how I thought it would be. It certainly isn't how it's supposed to be. A leviathan is not supposed to outlive their Pilot. It's supposed to be a bonding for life." He paused. "That probably sounds a little hypocritical coming from me. I am here at another's expense after all, but still70;.

Aeryn squeezed his claw gently. "I know what you mean."

"Do you?" Pilot looked down. "I have tried to explain to Moya." His voice had an edge to it. Aeryn could only imagine how much that conversation must have hurt him. "I think she understands. I hope she does. She wasn't ready when she lost her first Pilot. I do not want that to happen with me." There was a hint of bitter regret in his face. "I've caused her nothing but trouble in life. I can only hope my death will go more smoothly."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Aeryn sat up straight, her expression fierce. "You've done everything you could for Moya! You're an excellent Pilot!"

"I'm sufficient," he replied bitterly. "And at times I am barely even that. Look at the trouble I've inflicted on this ship. I caused the death of her true Pilot. I have almost got her killed on more than one occasion. I almost killed myself and left her helpless! I manage but I am never comfortable, never in complete control." He sighed again. "Poor Moya. She deserves a real Pilot. She'll be better off without me."

"That is enough of that!" Aeryn snapped angrily. "We've been through his before and you agreed with us!"

"I conceded," Pilot corrected coldly. "The difference being that I had a choice between living or dying back then. Now I don't."

Aeryn looked away. Pilot took a deep breath, gazing down at his panels. He seemed to be deep in thought, almost struggling with himself, with some terrible decision. Despite herself, Aeryn found her eyes drawn back to him. He seemed aware of her but did not acknowledge it. When he finally looked up, his eyes were haunted.

"Aeryn." His voice was halting and almost reluctant. "I need to ask you a favour."

"Anything, Pilot."

Pilot closed his eyes uncomfortably. "Don't say that until you've heard what it is." He met her eyes once more, his gaze again filled with that mysterious plea. "I need you to understand; I wouldn't be asking this if I wasn't desperate. But I am falling apart! Everything that matters to me is slipping away. I'm losing Moya; I can barely hear her now. I always knew I would die not hearing her voice, but I thought it would be because I followed her beyond, not preceded her!" The anguish in his eyes was indescribable. "Do you have any idea how it feels to know she is there, to feel her pulsing around me but not to share in it? I cannot do it. I cannot sit here and slowly rot to death in silence, listening only to the sound of my body screaming in pain! I do not want this to drag on for weekens. I need it to end. Now."

Aeryn felt the blood drain from her face.

"What are you saying?" she said in a voice that shook.

The intensity of his gaze was frightening.

"I want you to kill me," he said.

Her heart froze. Darkness and silence swamped her, engulfing her like waves of energy. Her mind seemed to scream. This wasn't real! This was a dream, a nightmare. At any moment she would wake in her cell, the illusion over and hear Pilot's voice calling her to command. It had to happen! There was no way that these events could go on. It hurt far too much to be real.

"Aeryn?"

Pilot's quiet voice jerked her attention back to him. He was watching her with obvious concern, but his eyes still asked that terrible question. She felt sick. How could he do this to her? He knew her history, her role in the death of Moya's first Pilot. But the past was a shackle from which there was no escape. Time and again, it came back to haunt you.

"I can't." The words slipped out almost unconsciously. "You know I can't. How can you even ask me?"

"Who else is there?" There was an eerie calm to Pilot's voice. "I barely knew what friendship was before I met you. I can trust you, Aeryn."

"That's why I can't!" Aeryn felt her desperation rising. "Ask someone else! Ask anyone else!"

"They wouldn't understand." Pilot was immovable. "You were a peacekeeper70;"

"No longer!" Aeryn interrupted hotly.

"That doesn't change anything." Pilot ignored her protest. "I know you believe in killing out of mercy. You asked Crichton to kill you when you faced the Living Death."

"That was different!" Tears leaked unbidden from her eyes.

Pilot met her gaze. "How?"

She had no answer. Her protests, her arguments, died on her lips. She remembered the heat, the feeling of horror as mind and body slipped from her control. She had pleaded with Crichton to end her life. Was this situation really any different?

"What about Moya?" The words were half-hearted.

"She knows I intended to ask this of you. She is prepared. The commerce planet is barely half a solar day from here. You should reach it without difficulty."

Aeryn felt herself nod. Her resolve had crumbled. Pilot was right; she couldn't let this drag out, leave him suffering because of her own selfish desire to keep her friend a little longer. She owed him this. Somewhere deep inside, without her consent, a part of her had made the decision.

Numbly, she rose and climbed down onto the walkway, pulse pistol released from its holster and braced in one hand. She turned to face him, fingering the weapon.

"This won't be quick," she heard herself say. "Your species are endurant."

"I know." Pilot's expression was a strange combination of fear and gratitude. "But it is quicker than the alternative."

She felt detached, absent, the movement of her body under the control of someone else. Her mind, unable to comprehend the act she was about to commit, appeared to have shut down.

"Do you want to speak to the others first?" her mouth said.

Pilot shook his head. "What would I say?" He looked at her intensely for a moment.

"Besides, I think it may be70;easier70; if we keep this arrangement between ourselves. Simply tell them I died. There is no need to tell them how."

"That's probably best." A part of her was screaming in silence but her body failed to listen, continuing to act out the set of moves that would lead to the death of her friend. Her hands gripped the pistol; her arms raised and she levelled the barrel at Pilot.

"Are you ready?" The words had no emotion behind them.

"I am." Pilot smiled weakly. "Thank you, Aeryn Sun. You have been a good friend. Of all I leave behind apart from Moya, it is you I shall miss the most."

The screaming rose, clamping her body and destroying her detachment. She stared at her friend along the barrel of her gun, her hands shaking uncontrollably. She felt herself balk; she couldn't do it! He was her friend and more; a part of her was him. How could she even consider this?

He must have sensed her hesitation. His orange eyes met hers and held.

"Aeryn," he whispered. "Please."

She could take it no more. The scream ripped free, escaping her lips like the wail of a banshee. She tore herself free of his gaze, of his pleas, of his life and all he meant to her. Her eyes jammed shut and she flung her head to one side, knowing if she faced him she'd feel too much. She lost feeling in her hands but yet she felt the pistol jerk and keep jerking, rocking in her hands. Brilliant red flashed against her eyelids, flooding the chamber. She knew she was firing but she continued to scream as though her lungs would burst, kept herself in darkness as though to see or hear what she was doing would somehow make it real. Her gun vibrated, hot against her shaking palms as she freed its deadly energy so as to free her friend.

And then suddenly it was over. Her scream died. Her gun went still. The firing had stopped. Had she halted it? She wasn't sure. Silence and darkness returned like phantoms to fill the chamber, freezing her in place, gun extended, eyes tight shut, head turned aside. There was no sound, nothing but a faint smell; the smell of burnt flesh. The odour was familiar. She had experienced it in this very chamber, three cycles before.

"Pilot?" The name escaped her lips before she could stop it. There was no response. The silence deepened.

She had to look. She knew that. She had to be sure her task was complete. But she couldn't. Memories rose to haunt her, memories of her last murder in this room and of the victim of this new one, memories of his voice, his eyes, his friendship. She couldn't look, couldn't see hi like this. She couldn't.

But she did. Almost against her will, she felt her head turn to the front. Her hands shook around her still extended gun. Reluctantly, fearfully, her eyelids slipped open.

For a moment, she could only stare, stare in morbid disbelief at what she had done. Tendrils of steam rose in indifferent spirals to vanish into oblivion. There was no question he was dead. She felt hollow inside, as though a part of her had been ripped away. It was just the same as before, an image identical to the one in her memory. There was only one difference.

His time the image hurt.

What have I done? She could take it no longer. The gun tumbled from her nerveless fingers to clatter on the walkway. She found herself gasping for breath as she backed away, her eyes locked on Pilot's smoking corpse. Something inside of her snapped; her mind seemed to dissolve. She could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears, her blood racing through her veins in a flood. Suddenly she had to get out.

She turned, caught her foot on a DRD and stumbled. For a moment she teetered on the brink of the void. A perfect solution, a part of her whispered invitingly. Just fall. The pain will be gone then.

But she didn't fall. She caught herself and pulled back, regaining her balance instinctively. Around her, she became aware that something was happening. The floor was shaking; a low rumble reverberated around the chamber followed by an agonising, rolling cry that seemed to echo through every corner of the ship. Aeryn realised what it was almost at once. Moya was mourning the loss of her Pilot.

She ran. There was no consciousness to her flight, no direction, nothing but movement driven by a desperate urge to flee the leviathan's sorrow. But there was no escape. The song was everywhere, emanating from every inch of wall and floor, filling her head until it was ready to explode. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe.

What have I done?

And then John was there. He appeared out of nowhere, his eyes wide as he saw her, her arms extended towards her like a lifeline. But she cast him aside and ran on. He called after her, questions she dare not answer, the words lost to the wind and the leviathan's cries.

Other faces appeared, calling her name, but she spurned them all, shoving past in her haste to flee. Hands caught her, held her; she screamed, hysterical, fighting and struggling to be free but they proved too strong. John appeared once more, holding her face, talking to her, his eyes filled with concern, but she couldn't speak, only struggle and scream. She saw John glance up, saw Zhaan appear beside him and felt a sting and sudden hiss against her skin. Reality began to spin - the faces faded. Her struggles lessened, her scream felt far away. She watched the world fade to black to leave only a single thought.

What have I done?

END OF PART TWO.