Title: As You Were
* * *
"You'll never make it work, Crichton. Nana tried, for fifty cycles and more
she tried. I tried. Every tech in the system has probably had a go at that
comm system. No one can make it punch through the mist."
"Well, it doesn't hurt to try, does it?" John retorted. "What else am I
supposed to do with my time? Make things grow?"
Ennixx rolled her eyes. "How about growing up, for a start?" she muttered
darkly.
"I heard that. Look, I'm not a farmer70;"
"70;you're a pilot. An astronaut. And this isn't your home. I've heard the
speech before, and it isn't any more interesting now than it was the first
time. Or the fiftieth."
John finally pulled his head out from under the transport pod's comm panel
and stood up, folding his arms across his chest. "Fine. You obviously came
here to give me some great advice, to tell me how to live my life. So just
what is it you think I should be doing, Oprah?"
Perhaps the Erp-ism was supposed to distract her, maybe even annoy her, but
Ennixx was every bit as stubborn as her grandmother. In the few short
weekens Crichton had been with them on the Favored Planet, she'd learned to
take his quirks in stride.
"Talk to her," she said simply.
"I do talk to her."
"Oh, sure70;for a few microts in the evening, and not even every day, and
never about anything that matters."
"And whose fault is that? She spends all day in her fields or out in the
woods, she comes home late and tired, and if she says a word to anyone,
it's usually to bitch about her crops."
"It doesn't have to be anyone's fault. You could make a difference, make
things right. Crichton70;*John*70;I always thought you were just a dream or
something. Almost a myth. But I never saw Nana so happy70;or so
regretful70;as when she spoke of you. And I can already see you're just the
same70;so why are you letting this happen all over again?"
"Why's *she* letting this happen again," Crichton shot back, "if she cares
as much as you're implying?"
"Oh, for Chilnak's sake70;just look at her!"
By that point, John's jaw was firmly clenched, and he was staring at his
boots.
"The John Crichton of the stories wouldn't let something so frelling
trivial as age get in the way," Ennixx went on coldly. "And if you're *not*
that Crichton, then you don't deserve her anyway. You never did."
* * *
Ennixx left, but John's mind just kept turning over her words. And over,
and over.
Had Aeryn really had feelings for him? Maybe. Probably.
Could they ever get back what they'd lost in that mist? Not a chance.
Crichton might be an insufferable optimist, but even he had his limits.
So could they try again, start over here? How the hell were they supposed
to do that? Aeryn had had enough trouble believing he could truly care for
her, after everything she'd been and everything she'd done, when she was
young and beautiful. Now she was old and70;and still beautiful, but he
doubt she'd see it that way. He'd never managed to convince her then70;why
should now be any different? Where could he even begin?
In the end, John went back to work on the comm, half-hoping an answer would
fall from the sky and hit him on the head70;and for once and a wonder, one
did. Or rather, a small paperback book fell from a jumble of wires. It
certainly hit him on the head, though, with one of its hard, sharp corners;
John swore and ducked out from under the panel, then reached back in70;and
found himself holding a copy of *Shakespeare's Sonnets*.
It was the same one Alex had given him a lifetime ago, when he first
started pushing to get into the space program. A sort of good luck
talisman, which he had carried with him to every test and interview; and
even after he and Alex were history, he'd carried it on his first two
shuttle trips. John had more or less forgotten about it by the Farscape
mission, when his dad had given him the puzzle ring instead, but it had
still gone up with him, in the pants pocket of his flightsuit. And been
lost with him down the wormhole. Then been lost again, all by its lonesome.
He'd always suspected Rygel had something to do with that. He wasn't sure
how it had ended up here in the transport pod; but perhaps, at least for
the book, this was the right place at the right time after all70;
* * *
He didn't tell Ennixx about his plan, or even that he had one, that he
might be taking her advice. Perhaps she simply didn't need to know. Perhaps
it was pride70;
Or perhaps it was the odd, almost bitter sensation he felt whenever he
looked at the young woman; the voice in the back of his mind that said 'you
should be my granddaughter, too'. He didn't like that voice much; what it
seemed to say about him, about the kind of person John Crichton had become
in his travels. Maybe even always had been, without realizing it. In fact,
there were times when the other voice almost seemed easier to live with.
It didn't really matter, though; none of it mattered. All that mattered was
that he take this chance. If he could finally make this one thing
right70;then maybe there was hope for the rest of his life.
So in the middle of dinner, as Ennixx tried and failed once again to start
a cheerful conversation, and Aeryn was staring petulantly at her stew70;he
began to recite, softly:
"To me, fair friend, you can never be old,
There was a long silence, during which Ennixx grinned, John forgot how to
breathe, and Aeryn continued glaring at her dinner.
Then she threw down her spoon and stalked out of the house.
* * *
Several heavy moments fell before John remarked dryly, "That went well."
"Go after her, you oaf!"
"Ennixx70;you were right here. It didn't work. She didn't like it. She
doesn't care anymore. Assuming she ever did."
"She did, and she does," Ennixx replied firmly. "Just go!"
There was enough of her grandmother in her at that moment that for once,
John Crichton did as he was told.
* * *
He found her, naturally, beneath one of her trees in the field out back;
sitting on the ground, leaning against the trunk, her eyes closed.
"Go away, Crichton," she growled, before he came within ten feet.
"Aeryn70;I need to talk."
"You always do. But don't you think you've said enough?"
"I70;don't understand. All I70;"
"Don't you think I know what we lost?!" she snapped, and her eyes snapped
open, flashing in the moonslight; for the first time, John saw the tears
glistening beneath them. "And that it was my own frelling fault?"
"It was just as much mine70;but I decided I'd been making that mistake for
long enough, and one way or another, it had to end."
She refused to meet his gaze again, and for once she really did look all of
the 165 cycles she claimed. So very tired. "We can't go back, John."
"No. We can't70;so isn't that all the more reason to go forward? I didn't
write those words I spoke tonight, but I meant every one. Aeryn, I70;"
"You're either fooling yourself, or trying to 'be nice' to me. Taking pity
on an old woman. Either way70;don't. I don't need it, and neither do you."
"Aeryn70;you are *wrong*, in more ways than I can count. I know just what
I'm doing, I'm not trying to 'be nice', I would never take pity on you, I
don't see any 'old woman' here70;and I do need this. I need *you*." A ball
of ice settled in the pit of his stomach, and his voice dropped to a fierce
whisper. "Damnit, Aeryn70;I love you."
She looked up, and her eyes widened for the merest fraction of a microt;
but it was enough. In that instant70;John knew that he'd won, he'd finally
won!
Even though what she said was, "I'm not the woman I was, Crichton."
"No70;you're *more*."
"Oh, right," she retorted. "More ancient, more wrinkled70;" But she was
smiling by now, he was sure of it.
"That's not what I meant, and you know it!"
"Do I, John?" Yup, the amused twinkle in her eyes was unmistakable. "Then
just what did you mean?"
Crichton sighed, mock put-upon. "I guess I'm just gonna have to show
you70;"
Then he knelt down, took gentle hold of her shoulders, and kissed her,
deeply. However else Aeryn Sun had changed, she tasted just the same70;
* * *
And from the window, Ennixx grinned.
THE END (For now70;)
The original Sonnet 104:
To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
Author: Elflore
Disclaimer: Farscape and its characters are the property of a group of
insane evil geniuses (but we love 'em anyway). This story was written not
for profit, merely for fun, and the chance to hang out with John and Aeryn
a little more in between episodes. The poem quoted is Sonnet 104 by William
Shakespeare, although I altered it slightly to fit the time frame of my
story; the original version is included following the fic. Say70;if the
Bard lived now, does anyone else think he might be writing for Farscape?
Rating: PG. Mild use of colorful metaphors.
Spoilers: The Locket. But if you've not seen the ep, this won't make a
whole lot of sense anywho!
Archiving: Probably, but e-mail me first: Elflore@aol.com
Feedback: Always, please, for better or for worse! Again, just e-mail
Elflore@aol.com
Notes: This might well become the first in a series of "Locket: The Missing
Cycles" fics, depicting events in John Crichton and Aeryn Sun's life
together during the 55 cycles they were stranded in the mist. Just my
personal visions of that time, however. There was quite a bit of debate
after the episode aired, for instance, about whether or not John and Aeryn
ever admitted their feelings to one another. Read on, and thou shall learn
my answer70;
For as you were when first your eye I eyed,
Such seems your beauty still. Two winters cold
Have from the forests shook two summers' pride,
Two beauteous springs to yellow autumn turned
In process of the seasons I have seen,
Two April perfumes in two hot Junes burned,
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah, yet doth beauty, like a dial hand,
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived.
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived
For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred-
Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead."
For as you were when first your eye I eyed,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold
Have from the forests shook three summers' pride,
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turned
In process of the seasons have I seen,
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burned,
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah, yet doth beauty, like a dial hand,
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived.
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived.
For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred --
Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead.
by William Shakespeare
(1564-1616)