Author's Note: To tell a story of a person who is suffering mentally more than physically, I decided to write this story in a certain manner. I wanted it to read like a chain of broken thoughts, as if you yourself were lying there on the operating table, left with only the power to think.

**This story precedes "Desperate Measures" to set up the main character's state of being.

Thanks to JilaCosa for beta-reading my story!

*Feedback greatly appreciated.*

*****

Feathers. No. Velcro. Nah. Fingernails. Yes! The itching sensation on his nose was screaming for relief. The muscles in his arms were too stiff so fingernails were out of the question. He was immobile. Or was he tied down? Locks of raven-black hair. Hmmm. The sharp-edged blade of a knife. That would do. Where were all these things coming from? At least he was thinking of ways to relieve that frelling annoying itch at the tip of his nose. Maybe I should sneeze. Nah. The ever-present itch wasn't inside his nose.

Insane. The current state of mind of John Crichton came down to that one word.

Psychotic laughter sliced through the thinning air in the large spacious operating room. A twinge of uneasiness spread throughout John. His failing body grew tense. Several microts passed as he held his breath, listening intently to the silence around him. His unsteady gaze towards the ceiling shifted as best it could from one area to the other to see if it could catch the source of the frightening sound. Scorpius? A few more silent microts passed. John let out a breath and calmed down considerably. The laughter had come from within.

A few microns of sanity cleared John's mind. He knew his situation was grave. His body was strapped to a cold operating table. His brain was exposed to bacteria and other threats. His speech was damaged.

John struggled with his constraints briefly. There was no hope. He could feel the reality sinking in. Death was close. John hummed as best he could a song he had heard long ago as a child. A lullaby. The tune somehow comforted the weak human.

Disjointed memories from his life began to play into his aching mind. Backyard BBQs. One happy BBQ in particular came to be the day his father received notice that he was going to space for the first time. John and his friends ran around the yard wreaking havoc on his younger sisters while his father and mother sat together enjoying the sunset. The Sun. John could almost taste the aroma of the roasting barbecue chicken on the grill. He could almost feel the hot muggy atmosphere one could nearly slice with a knife. And he could almost see the love in his mother's eyes. Mom. The memory vanished instantly and was replaced by another more agonizing memory.

His mother was deathly ill. Nearly as pale as John presently was himself. She too was lying helpless on a table. But John's mother had tubes and monitors surrounding her like prison bars, striving to keep her alive. Why am I remembering this? This graphic memory was short but to the point. John had almost forgotten that he had visited his mother one last time before leaving her alone to travel to Cape Canaveral for training to become an astronaut. Following in the footsteps of his father. Why did I abandon her? I knew she was dying. Oh mom, I'm so sorry! Tears began to stream from John's eyes, traveling down the sides of his face onto the cold surface under his head.

A light, foul smell began to greet his itching nose. The doctor! John suddenly remembered what had happened just before his mind decided to take a vacation from reality. The doctor had died. Scorpius. Wormhole technology lost. He had screamed. Time wasted away.

Frelling Scorpius. He'll pay for this. Scorpius would pay dearly for all the pain and suffering John and his crew mates endured. John clenched his fists in anger. The veins in his neck began to stand out and his breathing grew rapid. Time. He had time to dispel his revenge on the half-breed. The intense hatred for the creature burned deep within John. He was scarred to the core. Scorpius was no longer the predator. He was now the prey.

Moya and his fellow crewmates entered into his mind. John smiled as he could almost feel the soothing motion of living aboard a living ship. The warmth was so inviting. His home. His family. John thought of all the misfits aboard Moya and wondered where they were now. Were they all in good health? Did they escape before Scorpius or even the PeaceKeepers discovered they were here? John could only hope. Hope. His hope was dwindling fast. At least D'Argo was reunited with his son. Something good for once had graced the crew. John's smile began to fade. A horrible sinking sensation grew within his body. Oh god, Aeryn. I killed her.

John's left hand had shaken before. He had occasionally taken note of it. But this time, the shaking began to take over his entire left side. Before John understood what was happening, his entire body began to convulse and his conscious thoughts were gone.

Ignorant human. Frelling human. You killed her. You're no better than your father. He was the hero, you know. Canaveral, this is Farscape One. Can anyone hear me? I'll always be with you. Keeping you safe.

John blinked his eyes several times. The bright light above him was almost too much for his distressed eyes to handle. The constant voices that had just whispered into his ears moments before vanished.

His nose itched. His arms were definitely tied down. John could feel the harsh straps digging into his skin. Moments passed and John swore he could feel the itching spread gradually towards his cheeks. His imagination could have gotten to the best of him, but John swore he could hear the ticking of a clock, counting down the arns or even the microts to his demise. Tick. Tick. Tick.

His mind began to torture him once again. Goosebumps rose on his bare skin. The chilling air of the chamber he was in was far from the cause. John trained his eyes on the illusion standing beside his feet.

"Dad?" John whispered in a puzzled state. John did not notice the fact he could speak so fluently. His father stepped over to his left side and placed a hand on John's arm. John could feel the warmth emanating from his father's hand.

"Son, don't give up. You have to stay awake. They're coming for you." Jack said in a hushed voice. His face displayed caution and worry. Jack ran a hand alongside John's cheek and smiled down at his confused son.

"Is it really you?" John asked, his voice broken.

"Wake up, John. You must stay awake. They're coming. Hold on, son." Jack repeated himself.

John noticed the walls around them morph into a square room with a soft shade of blue. He frowned. Why were all the walls blank? Where was his stuff? His baseball memoirs and his souvenirs from IASA. His childhood keepsakes that had decorated his room were gone.

"What's going on? Dad?" John's voice began to shake. "Dad?" Jack began to back away dreadfully.

His father vanished. An army of PeaceKeepers surrounded his bed. John screamed as loud as he could hoping this mental torture would allow him to die in peace. A bright flash enveloped his vision.

His head was tingling. His breathing was slowed and disrupted at times. Anger flamed within. And his nose itched like hell.

"Aeryn no!" John screamed as he viewed Aeryn strapped tight in her ejected chair, plummeting fast towards the icy planet below. Panic and fear enveloped his body but the guilt was much more evident.

Aeryn splashed into the icy cold water, gasping for air. She screamed to him, yelling something about remembering. Remember what? No! Aeryn!

Her body instantly turned blue as she reached for the sky. John could see the hate in her eyes. Just as soon as this memory appeared, John witnessed Aeryn standing before him in the operating room. He wanted to jump up and give her a hug. He nearly forgot he was strapped down.

"Aeryn," John began. He noticed her chilling glare as she slowly stepped forward, with her face an icy shade of blue. Her eyes were as piercing as the freezing water she had drowned in.

Aeryn stepped forward and bent over to whisper in John's ear. He could feel her cool breath on his cheek. John so desperately wanted to reach up and soothe her hair. But more than anything, he just wanted her to scratch his nose.

Tiny billows of steam rolled off her face as she looked into his eyes. Guilt paraded John's conscience. Aeryn's blue lips began to move. Words of hate and promises of a slow death poured out of her mouth. John shook his head, denying everything she was saying. Somehow, he could not hear her but he knew exactly every word she spoke. John's entire body began to convulse once again. His exposed brain matter was the cause of his constant seizures.

Aeryn disappeared. Simply vanished with a cloud of white smoke. In her place stood a purely evil creature. Scorpius. His grin carried more bacteria and critters than the average garbage pit. John screamed louder than he had ever before. Scorpius spooked him to the core but at the same time, boiled the anger deep within John. The train of images stopped just as sudden as they had begun as well as the seizure.

John had been staring at the walls for quite some time now. They appeared to be in motion--a calming motion like the gentle currents of an ocean. John's heart was pumping rapidly in his chest. His hands were clenched so hard his fingers were nearly drained of blood. He panted, trying to catch his breath. How long had it been since the last wave of memories? John couldn't be sure. That damn itching on his nose was more intense than ever.

Aeryn entered his mind once again. A peaceful memory at last. John was cradling her in his arms in Pilot's den after another hectic day aboard Moya. Aeryn's hair held a heavenly scent. He could almost smell it now. Almost feel her hair-- John suddenly realized this portion of the memory was real. The memory vanished and John tried to peer down at his right hand. Clenched in his fist was a lock of raven black hair. Another memory surfaced.

The funeral. The last one he had been to was his own mother's. Now he had to attend a funeral for the second woman he loved most and he had caused her death. The lock of hair. He had removed some of her hair to save as a keepsake. A part of her he would always carry with him. To remind him why he lived on in this nightmare of a life. A tear dripped down the side of his face. The pain and guilt within him grew more intense than ever. He had almost given up his memories of her during the surgery.

"Where is your hope now?" A voice called out. John searched the bare room with his eyes. No one was near.

"Fight, John. Fight it." The voice demanded. John frowned with confusion. Was he hallucinating? Were the voices real?

"What happened to that intelligent young man who bravely attempted to break barriers set only by himself? Where's that scientist, that logical man who dreamed of nothing but the stars? And to live a happy, successful life, doing what he loved most?" The voice was oddly familiar. John couldn't place it.

The voice was right, John realized. He had always been strong, even brave enough to face the unknown. He had one final frontier to conquer his very own mind. Though Scorpius appeared to be his greatest enemy, John began to recognize that his own mind was his ultimate enemy. He was in the battle for his life. He had to succeed for the sake of all the lives he had touched, for Aeryn and most importantly, for himself.

For some reason, determination began to build within him. The driving will to survive another day returned with the hope he counted on to bring him home someday. John felt stronger both mentally and physically. He was going to get out of this situation. And he was going to make sure Scorpius would not see another solar day.

The itching hadn't ceased. It was still nagging at his senses. John laughed at the itch. It was almost worse than Rygel or even Scorpius for that matter. All of them were annoying.

He chuckled a little longer. In an instant, a flash of disjointed visions and memories, some not his own, paraded through his mind. John wriggled his aching head, squeezing his eyes shut. Stop! STOP! His chest tightened and he felt he could no longer breathe.

Earth, the sparkling blue ocean, DK laughing with French fries stuffed into his nose, Alex kissing him, flying for the first time, his parents. John feared he was witnessing the most precious moments of his entire life flashing before his eyes. Am I dying? Focus, John. Don't let it drag you down. Focus. John smiled. The determination within grew stronger.

Another memory surfaced, this one remaining to unfold in his mind. The very first day he had arrived on this hellish side of the universe. John remembered the fear and shock he had felt that day. One quiet moment after the most chaotic day of his life surfaced from the rest. He had recorded his first message to his father on the flight recorder. "This is John Crichton, somewhere in the universe." John laughed. The giddy laughter transformed into chaotic laughter. After a few microns, John quieted and began to cry. His heart was drowning with sorrow, despite the new emotions of determination and hope. One message remained for his mind to mellow over until his awaited death on that dreaded operating table. "This is John Crichton, alone in the universe."