Originally posted 10/15/03Okay, this is my husband's fault. He read "Shock" and did his usual fine job betaing, and then he said, "So, where's the Aeryn point of view?"
Because obviously John wasn't "getting" her any more than she was him, at that point....
And I thought, Oh, help. I don't know what's going on in Aeryn's head, any more than Aeryn does....
But I gave it a shot, and the Bunnies seem to think it works -- Thanks to everyone who gave me their thoughts on it!
Sorry if the metaphor makes you queasy.....
You can read
Shock before or after this one, it doesn't matter -- they're a matched pair.
Rating: G, maybe PG
Setting: Before DWTB
Spoilers: Through DWTB
Disclaimer: Not my characters, not my universe, I'm just playing with them to keep myself from going crazy waiting for a frelling announcement! (Ahem...)
Free Fall
Aeryn Sun's head whirled. Even walking as she was, resolutely, one foot at a time, towards Moya's maintenance bay, she had the almost physical sensation of rolling, tumbling, as if she were piloting an out-of-control prowler. She didn't know, couldn't tell, which way was up, as John might have said.
She hadn't much liked the sensation when she'd been in training. She absolutely hated it as her constant companion.
And it
was constant, now, that lurching, heaving sensation.
John had taken her world from her, replaced her foundation with himself -- and then died and left her behind to flounder.
At Valldon, she'd found the means, if not a reason, to keep living, and she'd found the strength to come back to Moya and face the man she was going to see right now. Crichton, but....not.
And since she'd been back, she hadn't dared to allow herself to reach out to him, because she knew that she
could love him, probably did love him -- and losing him was what had sent her into this spin.
Helping him fulfill his plan to make John's sacrifice meaningful, to keep wormholes from Peacekeeper hands as well as Scarran, had made it better for a time, given her something to focus on, lessened the feeling of being tossed about in turbulence. She wasn't sorry she'd helped. It meant something. But success had come at such a cost.
Her world was tumbling again.
The closer to Crichton, the more she spun out of control.
And it was worse, now. That frelling med tech on the Command Carrier had had the temerity to tell her she carried a child.
A child.
She stumbled, and had to hold onto one of Moya's ribs for balance.
She carried a child that would bind her to Crichton forever, whether she wanted that or not, if it was genetically his.
If it wasn't....it could mean she would lose him forever, depending on how he reacted.
She had no idea which she wanted -- or even if she wanted the child itself, much less Crichton.
Her maternal genes certainly didn't look promising -- look at how well her own mother had handled having a child....
No child, no lover....
Deep breaths. She had to do this. This was right, or at least needful. Really, it was the only thing she could think of to do.
Get away from Crichton, away from the tumbling, the rolling, the falling, and learn to stand on her own two feet again.
She stood up straight, tested her balance, and let go of the wall, started walking again, one foot determinedly in front of the other.
She was almost there. Her footsteps slowed as she approached the maintenance bay. She had one last chance to change her mind. One last chance not to hurt him any more than she already had.
No. The decision was made. She would stick to it. That was one little bit of control returned to her.
She bit her lip and entered the bay.
He was there, as she'd known he would be, working on his module, and that falling sensation took hold of her again. Best to get it over with quickly, one sharp pain and then move on....
"Crichton," she began, but her throat was so tight the word was scarcely intelligible, even to her own ears. She took a breath and started again. "John."
He turned and looked at her then, apprehension on his face. "Hey," he said quietly, leaving it to her to say what she'd come to say.
She swallowed, to ease her throat and settle her queasy stomach, and finally managed to get it out: "I'm leaving."
He stared at her, face blank, and she didn't even try to guess what was going on behind the mask. She didn't dare.
Some corner of her mind was telling her to ask if he was all right, but she couldn't. Whatever the reply, it wouldn't change things, and it would only make the dizzying lurches worse.
One microt passed, then two, then three. Counting them off soothed her, kept her from thinking.
"Leaving, huh?" he said at last, without a change in his expression. "When?"
It was a fair question, and one she could answer. She took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes. "After Talyn's remains are laid to rest in the sacred space," she said, and waited for him to say something.
"Uh-huh," he said, an automatic, polite reply, giving away nothing of what was going on in his head.
She bit her lip to stop its trembling, and said, "I just wanted you to know, before I told the others." She hoped he'd see it for the kindness she intended.
"Okay. Um, thanks," he said, face still blank, and turned away from her, turned back to his module, cutting off any more conversation.
In a way, she was glad. She didn't have to find any more words for feelings that didn't
have words.
The room steadied, just a little. She'd done it. She'd told him. She'd lived.
So why did she feel as if she'd just cut off her own arm?
She told herself it was better to lose an arm, a leg, a heart, than to live in free fall.
But her throat ached, and tears threatened, and she turned and pushed off with her feet, fleeing the bay before she lost what little control she had.
It was the only thing she had left.
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