Summary: Missing Scene filler for challenge:
Episode: I Yensch, You Yensch

XXX

// I missed that dance. Aeryn. Don’t come with us //

// No. We started this together Crichton. It’s how we’ll end it. //

The words echo as she leaves the room. It’s the closest he has to an admission of love. The closest he’ll get. And all because fate decided to play the dirtiest trick in the book. Hand him the girl, hand him the dream. Just hand it to another, who was effectively him; waiting in the wings until one of them was happy. Then snap. Gone. Leaving one dead and loved, the other alive and paying the price, a price that could never be paid in full.

He looks up at her receding back, a kaleidoscope of thoughts filtering his mind. He sits heavily on the floor, no longer sure if his weight can carry him the short distance to his quarters. A DRD scuttles up, eyes bright. He pats it absently like one would a pet; fingers skim the blue tape around the broken eyestalk. Three cycles old and still there, one of the few things still intact after everything that has happened. He suddenly wishes he were the DRD - still intact, still functional.

The DRD senses his grief. Eyestalks move up and down expectantly. Waiting for some kind of acknowledgement other than the one pat. “I’m fine.” He whispers. Trying to convince himself rather than his little yellow friend. It bleeps, nudging slightly at his leg. He continues to pat it whispering the words over and over.

It bleeps again and he realises that it wants more confirmation. Something he doesn’t know he can give. Instead, he stops patting and moves his hands to lap, fingers locking and interlocking. His mind playing the last conversation like some pre-recorded message. Idly he plays along.

// Press one to replay //

// Press two to confirm //

// Press three to delete //

He opts for three, erasing the conversation. Closing his eyes. Feeling it’s not the only thing that’s being erased from his life.

The DRD bleeps and the message / conversation starts over in his mind. He sighs. It seems that some things can’t be so easily erased. He tries another track and stores it in a distant part of his memory that holds those painful memories. It’s getting pretty crowded in there. He mentally closes the door, seals it, and tries to find a happier place, a safer place, one that he uses for sleep cycles.

Sleep.

When was the last time he had been able to do that without it being induced through alcohol or drugs? When was the last time he was able to just close his eyes and think happy thoughts? His thinking is cut off by another nudge to his thigh. He looks down eyes widening slightly. The DRD is still there. His hands move to pat it again.

“S’ok, go find someone else to play with Blue. I’m fine.” It stays, waiting like a pet at a graveside pining for its dead master. How appropriate that he thinks of that saying.

He cups the eyestalks carefully in one hand. “Moya?” He isn’t sure it is, but is just as sure the DRD doesn’t have a mind of its own. It operates by voice command. If he isn’t commanding it to stay, someone else is. “Pilot?” The eyes blink. He remembers this game from a lifetime ago. “Once for Moya, twice for Pilot ok?”

The yellow machine blinks three times.

Did that mean both, or none? He laughs softly. “Both” he confirms, if only for himself. His mind wanders again. Hand all the while comforting his friend. Trying to give it what little reassurance he has left.

Another DRD appears. It comes to his free hand, seeking out the comfort that its twin is receiving. He looks at the two in confusion. Both proceed to nudge at his thighs, one intermitting with the other. He raises his hands and tries to shoo them away. He wants peace. He wants Aeryn. He wants salvation. He doesn’t want this. Not another set of friends feeling sorry for him, trying to cajole him out of his mood.

He rises if only to free himself of the insistent battering to his legs giving new bruises that he can do without. He has enough of them already, some which will heal, some that wont. He steps around the yellow twins and starts to walk away. They move swiftly cutting off his exit. He looks down, shakes his head and side steps them again. The move is counteracted. He places hands on hips, suddenly tired of people meddling with him, trying to help, stop, or push him in a direction he isn’t sure of.

“What?” It comes out sharper than intended but he doesn’t care. He’s past that. Past worrying for others, trying to take on everyone’s concerns, never having time to consider his own. The DRD’s continue their ruthless pecking at his feet. Peck, peck, backup. Peck, peck, backup.

“Follow? Is that what you want me to do? Pilot? Moya? What do you want?” He asks the empty room, suddenly aware that he actually wants to know what has brought on this impulsive behaviour. It’s leading his mind away from a place he doesn’t want to be.

They tap again moving back as one. He takes a step forward and stops testing out his theory. They repeat the performance reassuring him that he is right. He sighs heavily. “Ok lead the way Blues Brothers.”

He walks slowly, as slowly as they will allow. If he stops, they do, if he passes they scurry ahead. His boots click on the floor vibrating the sound around the corridor. He wonders aimlessly where they are taking him. He hopes it’s to his quarters, the tiredness he feels doubles in density from the battering his body and heart have taken over the past momens. He dismisses the thought as he passes the crossroads that would take him that way.

XXX

// I missed that dance. Aeryn. Don’t come with us //

// No. We started this together Crichton. It’s how we’ll end it. //

She walks away leaving him alone. She can’t handle this; the grief, the guilt, the shame. Emotions are not known to Peacekeepers. She tries to find that part of her. She searches her soul. It doesn’t come. Why would it, after all this time? She could fight, guard and protect him. Just couldn’t face the emotions that were human - that made him John Crichton. She finds herself at the doorway, daring herself not to look back, not to see the man she is destroying.

She forces herself forward. Unsure of the direction she is going, so much like her life at this point. She knows he doesn’t fully understand her final statement. She isn’t so sure she does either. When John had died, her John, she had wanted the same. Wanted to give up, leave the cruel world that she had came from. Find the fate that had decided to give her everything then take it away. She remembers seeing him as she walked from Talyn. Emotions rising to the surface, Peacekeeper training forcing them back to a deeper place.

She knew then, when she saw his face, just exactly what had transpired, even if he didn’t. She had left this one, deserted him, and never really thought of him. She had been content with her life on Talyn. When that had been ripped from her she had remembered him, only then. Wondering if this was fate, giving her a second chance to love again. The thought was crushed when she saw him. Knew she couldn’t just pick up where they had left off.

// Hello John //

The first and last time she graced him with her dead lovers name. Rationalised that by doing so, she would not fall for him again. Not allow herself to be torn in two again. Valldon had taught her many things. The past was gone, couldn’t be re-in acted. She could have been more, so much more. But more meant pain, a pain she had never felt in her lifetime. A pain she didn’t think she could face again. Un-surety was so much part of her life now.

Distance.

That was the key. She could protect him, watch over him, go with him to the Command Carrier. That was what she was trained to do. That was what she did best. It was better this way. No complications; Aeryn Sun Peacekeeper. It was what she was bred to be. Until he came, turning her world upside down and inside out. But she could get back to that. That was safe. That was easier, uncomplicated. She nodded her head in confirmation. Walking past his quarters then finding herself stopping. Just for a microt. Just to inhale the scent that was uniquely his. They were perfect. She had been allowed to touch that part of her heart. Feel it. Succumb to it. She breathed deeply. A reminder of what could have been, of what had been.

A DRD appears from the corner tapping at her foot causing her concentration to break, distracting her from the smell. Her eyebrows knit together. A fleeting thought comes and goes. She steps over it in her haste to leave the smell that is piercing her heart. She walks on, stopping to look back once. The DRD is following, eyestalks flashing.

“Pilot? Is something wrong?” She asks wearily.

“No Officer Sun, why do you ask?” Comes the docile reply.

She smiles, slightly annoyed with herself for always thinking the worst. “Nothing. A DRD is here. I just wondered why.” She curses under her breath. He was going to ask where.

“Where?” Comes the echoed reply to her thought.

“Tier three. It’s ok Pilot. Don’t worry, it’s probably just cleaning or maintaining.” The reply is too quick, too vague. She hopes he doesn’t question it further.

The comm. crackles slightly, hesitantly. “Officer Sun, are you okay?”

She hears the emphasis in his words and sighs. How many times will they ask that same question before giving up? “Yes Pilot. Thank you.” She dismisses any further communication by switching the comm. to silent. She wants peace. She wants Talyn. She wants the past.

The DRD bleeps trying to get her attention. She finds herself crouching down in spite of the reservations that seep into her mind. She looks into the lights and pats its head. Cursing again at another trait she has acquired from the human.

Patting a machine.

What next? Talking to the walls?

She shakes her head and begins to rise. The bleep stops her moving on.

“What?” She asks quietly. “What do you want from me?” Because everybody wants something. Nothing is free. Something given, something taken away. Wasn’t that how this universe worked?

It moves forward, then back reversing into her foot. She jumps both from reflex and surprise at the movement. It follows, bumping her foot, bleeping, talking, doing something not machine like. She moves again. It allows the step, staying in front, waiting. She stops, and the pattern repeats. She moves forward again, deciding to take the left of the corridor. The DRD has other ideas. It wheels in front of her, impeding the route, repeating the pattern and waiting.

She sighs. She is no good at this – communicating, be it to a machine or anything else. Given the alternative it is better. At least it won’t ask questions. Not directly. It just seeks her foot. She shrugs her shoulders and follows. What else is there to do? She can go to her quarters, dissect the conversation in her head, she can walk around but that might result in meeting one of the others. This has to be better than that. And so, she follows, muttering under her breath all the while.

XXX

The DRD’s stop at Tier 5 waiting for their companion to catch up. They seem undecided on which path to take. He sighs hands back on hips. “Can we hurry this up guys?”

They do, moving to the left and stopping at the base of the corridor, a door ahead. The pulsating voice of Moya seems louder, more vocal. He studies the surroundings. Has mapped the route. Absently biting down on his lip as he tries to remember why this area is so familiar, yet not.

Still playing the game he waits for further instructions. “Well?” He asks impatiently. “Are you gonna decide or am I leaving at this point?” They bleep in unison. “Is that one bleep for yes, two for no or three for confusion?” They comply this time.

One bleep.

It leaves him wondering what part of the question they have answered. A microt passes before he understands. He waves his hand in front of the door. It sways open. The DRD’s stay put. He looks down at them then back to the door.

“And behind door number three is…” His voice trails off as he walks through, his breath hitching in recognition - The starburst chamber.

He has been here a few times. The most recent being when Chiana was possessed with the Energy Rider. His anger begins to rise. Was this a joke? Was Chiana responsible for this? His mind replays that scene and his body reacts involuntary.

“Chiana?”

His voice echoes, but no reply is forthcoming.

The DRD’s scoot away and the door closes swiftly, clicking behind him. He stands waiting, waiting for something, anything to happen. When it doesn’t his anger subsides leaving him feeling slightly perplexed. He stamps his foot in frustration at the absurdity of his situation. He curses to himself. Why did he always opt for the rational? Why did he never learn that rational wasn’t always the best way forward?

XXX

She hesitates at the door, looks down at the robot. Waiting for an answer, an explanation. None come. It moves back and blinks. She crouches down fingering the eyestalks. “What?” Not expecting an answer, she gets it though, in the form of a signal. The eyestalks tap at her hand then focus on the door. She stands moving her hand over the panel. The door opens and she steps through not looking up, not seeing the figure in front of her.

He whirls round at the sound of the door, fully expectant of Chiana. His mouth opens then closes. Lost for words. She does that to him. Turns him from confident to a stuttering mess with the flash of a look, a look that speaks louder than any words. The look of mistrust, fear, anger. He sees all of this as her eyes finally meet his.

He steps back quickly, grazing his thigh on the starburst tower. Hoping that the movement makes her understand that he too doesn’t comprehend the meaning of the situation. Their eyes remain locked. Neither daring to make the first move. Yet both hoping the other will. The pulsating suddenly grows louder and with it, the chamber lighting changes subtly illuminating their features.

“Moya.” It is said as one, quiet and unbelieving at the conspiracy to get them both here, in the same place, at the same time.

They keep the distance, a distance that spans momens. A distance that neither is sure can be breached, repaired, or widened. They stare, both losing themselves in their own thoughts. The crackling of light dims then shines, encasing their bodies, invading their souls.

He waits. It is his right.

She had said the condemning words. Had sanctioned the action.

His eyes search hers. Looking for something, anything that would allow him to stay or walk away.

“I don’t think I can be more.” It is a statement, a realisation, a vocal thought.

He seizes it with both hands. “You already are.”

“He died. He left me.”

He closes his eyes, pursing his lips waiting for the onslaught of words that will undo what little holds him together. He knows where it is leading. Broken promises, words that were his, yet not.

“He died, yet here you are.” As if saying it like this will make it go away, clarify it, understand it. Make him understand it. Make her forget the pain she holds on to so tightly, the pain that tells her she is still amongst the living. Just.

He opens his eyes. Finds her standing closer than before. Hand in mid air. Reaching out to touch a face that he owns and memories that don’t belong. Her hand moves closer and he bats it away.

“Don’t” A whisper, a plea not to allow her to touch what might never be hers, never be his. Her hand drops, the moment forever lost. “I’m alive. I didn’t die. I didn’t leave you.”

She nods slightly, eyes shining from the light, or unshed tears? “Part of me died. Part of me wished that it had been me. I don’t know how many parts are still left. Still here.” She thumps her chest, the side that houses her broken, shattered heart.

How can he answer that? How can he even try? This is her time. Her time to talk, to explain, to reason, if only for her own self-preservation, her own sanity. He owes her that much. He owes a lot more. None of which he can ever hope to repay in this lifetime.

Yet he finds himself answering, knowing it is what she is waiting for. His voice soft, as if addressing a frightened wounded child.

Isn’t that exactly what she is at this point in time?

“You have to search for the parts that are missing. You have to decide if they are worth keeping.”

“And if I cant find them? Can’t justify the inevitable outcome? What then?” She is seeking his advice, relying on his emotions to guide her.

“If you can’t find them search harder, they may just be lost, misplaced.” Ever the hopeful, hopeless human.

“Am I lost then?”

He curses his choice of words. It is leading them to a decision neither is prepared to make, to sacrifice. He steps forward, hands by sides. Making no movement to comfort, to heal. He doesn’t need healing in the way she does. His heart is bruised, battered, fractured even, but not beyond repair. Hers, hers is shattered from a love lost, from a love gained, from the finality of an outcome that will, at some point in time, be relived.

“You are Aeryn sun. You are who you are. You made choices; you have to decide on a path. Some paths lead you back to yourself. Others? They lead you further away. You have to find the right path for you.”

“Have you found your path?”

Checkmate. Take a question and turn it back on itself. Throw the opponent. Play your hand.

“My path never faltered. I made my choice.” The heaviness in his voice is heartbreaking.

“Can it be changed?”

He looks away, breaking the eye contact that holds them in place. He deliberates, contemplates and tries to focus. She could be asking any number of things with that one simple question. Was his path to stay, or go?

Given the choice, would he return from the Command Carrier?

Given the choice would he want to be a constant reminder of what she had lost?

A reminder of what he had lost?

He wants to know, wants to believe that there is hope. His choice is to do what he does best. Make bad plans and wish upon stars.

“Everything changes. Even if we wish it wouldn’t. I am me. I never broke any promises. I…” he falters. Searching for the words that will either make or break them. Wondering if they are already broken. Wondering if fate has decided to play fare or dirty this time. “Can’t promise that I won’t die too.” He finishes quietly, with surety.

It is said.

The unspoken words that she needs to hear. The truth she needs to understand, the path that she needs to take.

“Then we finish this together. We rely on your hope and your faith. Is it enough?”

He finds his body moving and his heart cracking. His hand strays to her hair. Brushing back a loose strand tucking it behind her ear. Not daring to make contact with her skin. Not daring to step over the boundary that she has set.

“We finish this together. Then we see what happens. See what is in store for us. See what card fate decides to play. It’s enough.” He watches her eyes, the windows to her soul, and the reflection of emotions that she won’t allow to be displayed on her face.

He feels her face as she leans into his touch. His heart cracks some more as he wonders who she is touching. Her reply answers the question his heart is asking.

“Then I am not lost.”

“You will never be lost. I will be here.” He touches her chest, her heart. Feeling the rhythm of the beat, “No matter what fate decides, know that. Know that you hold a part of me.”

The tears threaten to fall as she smiles in understanding. Part of him died, part of him lived, and part of him still holds her heart. It seems that the protected has become the protector.

It’s enough.

It’s enough to see them through the battle of Scorpius, the battle of survival. It’s enough because they both know there is something, however little, there is something worth returning for, something worth fighting for. And she understands the words from the other; they no longer hurt. Much.

// She takes time //

Time.

It is something they both have given. This conversation has allowed them both to realise that there is something worth returning for. However slim, it is tangible and yet almost mythical.

There is a slither of hope.

And wasn’t that what they lived for, the hope?

He steps back from her, walks towards the door. “Moya, you can let us go now.” He doesn’t want to leave, wants to stay in here forever. Even if it is like this, it’s more than he has had since she returned. Maybe more than he gets when they return. Yet he knows in his heart that he has to leave. Everything has been said. To stay will only prolong his agony of being so close to her, and yet a universe apart.

The door swings open and he sneaks a backward glance. Its allowed, it’s needed. “Thank you.”

She turns and smiles, both to him and Moya, for he is thanking them both.

She replies softly looking at him as she speaks. “Yes, thank you.”

And he nods, understanding that she is doing the same.

XXX

Moya is satisfied.

She opens the door.

She has accomplished what she set out to do. Allowed them some solace; some trust, some understanding that hope is not lost.

Not yet.