An'hayla's Farscape

Waiting for Tomorrow

Author's Notes:

DISCLAIMER: Farscape, the Farscape characters, and the Farscape universe are the creations of Rockne S. O'Bannon and are owned entirely by the Jim Henson Company and Farscape Productions. The use of these characters here is for entertainment only, with no intent to infringe upon the rights of the owners.

DEDICATION: Very special thanks to Katie and Julie, for their wisdom and enthusiasm. You both deserve a plate full of cookies!

Archiving: Please, be my guest. Just let me know where: [email protected], feedback is always appreciated.

RATING: PG (language)

Spoilers: Infinite Possibilities - Post Ep, tiny speculation for The Choice.

The muse wouldn't let me sleep until I had done this. Blame the muse.

.Moya:
Chiana careened around the corner, running full tilt into command. "What did you say Pilot? Is it them? Are you sure?" The young Nebari could hardly contain herself. She glanced over the control panel, waiting for Pilot's reply.

Pilot hesitated. "Y-yes. Moya is quite sure. Talyn has contacted her, but I'm afraid he has some unfortunate tidings."

* * *

Hanger Bay:
Moya's crew gathered silently in front of the hangar doors, waiting to greet their returning companions. Jool noticed the distinct discomfort of her companions. It was odd, they hadn't really known the other 'Crichton.' He was a theory, an afterthought to her, but to the crew returning from Talyn, he was all too real.

Crichton watched the hanger doors slide open with a chorus line of rattlers tap dancing in his belly. He couldn't believe this was real. He couldn't believe she was here, in the flesh, just moments away from him. He worried about how to greet her. Should he play it cool and give her space? Should he sweep her up in his arms and never let go? Should he kiss her senseless? Should he-- His thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of the transport pod.

Watching the stairs inch lower with agonizing slowness, it was all John could do not to fidget and bounce like a child. She was going to be stepping off soon. He felt like a man left too long in the desert; he was parched for her, starved for her, his life had been hell, but now she was back. Everything would be okay, now his world could stop spiraling down the frelling toilet and he could stop, he could rest. Every day since she left he had looked for her return. His mantra had become "Tomorrow, she'll come back tomorrow." Everyday he had been waiting for tomorrow, and tomorrow had finally come.

Aeryn lingered at the controls as the others shuffled off. They were home, but it seemed as though everyone on the pod was reluctant to leave, reluctant to face what was coming. She angrily rubbed her aching eyes. 'I will not break down. John would want me to be strong.' She stood resolutely and threw back her shoulders. With a heavy sigh, she stepped out of the pod.

It was odd how none of the disembarking crew could quite look at Crichton, as though he was too bright a light -- like a sun or a solar flare. The human, with his single-minded intensity, appeared not to notice, but D'Argo did. He regretted the loss the others so obviously felt, but deep within his hearts, he was secretly relieved that whole 'twinning' fiasco was over, and then he saw Aeryn.

John was peripherally aware of the sad looks coming his way, but he stubbornly ignored them. Stark, Rygel, Crais - check. He doggedly refused to acknowledge that anyone was missing. The only one who mattered was Aeryn. Where the frell was she?

John's heart stuttered when she emerged. He drank her in as she slowly descended. His eyes roamed over the dark of her hair, the moon-glow of her skin, the quicksilver of her eyes, and sleek leather-clad form that invariably caused his throat to parch and his hands to moisten. But after a moment, John Crichton, the adolescent boy, was shoved out of the way by John Crichton, the man.

Her dark hair was once again pulled back into a severe, regimental tail. But where once she glowed vital with luminous energy, now she seemed tired, flat, beaten. Her shoulders slumped slightly, as if in defeat. He noticed fine lines on her face that he didn't remember -- tiny spidery lines at eyes and mouth that bespoke laughter, deeper creases across her brow that bespoke pain. Her quicksilver eyes were shadowed, smudged with dark circles that bespoke exhaustion and sleeplessness. He knew those shadows, he'd been down that road himself, and he shuddered in sympathy.

Their eyes connected across the maintenance bay. John shivered and Aeryn's already pale skin, drained of all color. She turned ashen, and then she fled. John moved to follow, but Crais and Rygel somehow managed to block his way. Crais grasped Crichton's arm in an uncharacteristic, and uncomfortable, show of friendship. John boggled.

"He was a valiant friend. We shall always honor his memory," the former Peacekeeper captain intoned. Bialar Crais averted his eyes as he sought the right words, he continued lamely, "Just give her some time." Giving the surprised Human a clap on the shoulder, Crais stepped back.

Rygel the 16th, deposed Dominar of Hyneria, snuffled. "He saved us all. Took out a Scarran Dreadnought single-handedly." He patted John's shoulder awkwardly, and then spun his throne sled and imperiously demanded, "Why is there no food? What the yotz is wrong with you people?"

As the others made their greetings and departed, Stark, who had stared after Aeryn sadly, took John by the arm. "We must speak. Let her go, for now," the Bannik said quietly. As the two friends, Bannik and Human, walked toward the crew's quarters, the sound of stifled sobs could be heard in the corridor. John hovered near Aeryn's chamber.

Stark gently took his arm and led him away, "They became very … close. In fact, they were … uh, sharing quarters." He allowed John to throw him aside, but returned to his friend quickly.

"No way!" John denied hotly. "Aeryn wouldn't do that … she wouldn't -" He felt like the floor had fallen out beneath him. In the dark arns of the sleep cycle, Crichton had harbored secret fears, but he had pushed them aside. His trust in Aeryn Sun was absolute.

Stark interrupted. "He, he … John once told me he felt as though he were on a … uh, hooney-moon?" Stark shook his head at the strange term. He hastened to explain. " They were happy. Aeryn was happy. She, she grieves very deeply, my friend. She's wept every night since his -- since he left us. I found her curled up beside him, that last night, when it was over. I think,… I think she was trying to keep him warm." The Bannik locked his eye with John's. "There is something I must share with you," Stark murmured solemnly. "He wanted you to know." He gently opened his mask, and a warm golden light enveloped them.

* * *

Aeryn's chamber:
Aeryn Sun sobbed into the red, scruffy blanket. It was their blanket, therefore -- precious. Just like anything she had of John's was precious. She nuzzled her face deeper into the soft nappy fabric, seeking his scent, seeking comfort. She sobbed again and wiped her eyes on the cloth, releasing a shaky sigh.

"I'm so frelling tired." Bone-weary, body and soul, the ex-Peacekeeper, the grieving lover, closed her eyes and sought surcease in slumber. 'Maybe, I'll dream…' With a final hiccuping sigh, she drifted to sleep.

John wandered back toward his quarters, lost in thought. A part of him was hurt and jealous, another part angry, furious. 'How could they? How could they just run off and forget about me? Dammit, I loved her, how could she betray me? I waited for her, and she goes off and frells the bastard. And him, she finally gives herself to that .. jerk! And then he, stupid idiot, goes off and gets his friggin' sorry ass killed. Asshole.'

He paused at Aeryn's door, glancing in. She appeared to be sleeping, her lithe form half curled around a dark red bundle. John's eyes prickled with tears as he watched her, longing and desire mixing badly with betrayal and unhappiness. She shifted restlessly, a soft whimpering moan escaping from her throat. She sounded like lost, frightened child and something cold and hard inside of him loosened, melting in his belly. Almost unconsciously, he palmed the door control and drifted silently toward her bed.

She mumbled something in her sleep. He could swear he heard his name in there somewhere. Then she sobbed and whimpered again, curling even tighter around the blanket she clutched, and burying her face in its folds. As though she were hiding.

John perched beside her carefully. He gently caressed her cheek and she stilled. With a soft sigh and a small smile, she nuzzled his hand. Enchanted, John stroked her hair as she relaxed out of the near fetal position she'd held, her limbs loosening with deep sleep. He sat beside her for arns, quieting her sleep, soothing her dreams, before he regretfully sought his own bed.

* * *

Later:
Aeryn sat in her quarters. Hiding. Next to her on the bed was a scattering of flimsies and John's notebook. She was painstakingly copying from it. "Rr- uh- unh .. run. Mmm.. kh, frell, ghu, gka?-uh-unh, gkun. Gkun? Frell." She flipped the book over and closed her eyes. 'What was that sound? It was always so hard to remember.'

She visualized the bunk. Their bunk.. She visualized them together -- relaxed, contented, hip to cheek on their bunk, John patiently prompting whenever she faltered. Tears leaked past her dark lashes as a rush of warmth and longing engulfed her. Squeezing her eyelids tighter, she strained to hear him in her memory and it came to her all at once, as if he whispered in her ear. She shivered. "Gah-uh-unh. Gun." A quiet smile flirted across her face as she bit her bottom lip. "Fah-uh-unh. Fun." She traced her fingers over the letters, and looked back at the page, her smile slipped as she remembered that they hadn't had a chance to get much further than this.

Aeryn stretched tired muscles, she hadn't been sleeping well lately, but last night -- she'd had the sweetest dream. It was almost as if John had come back to her, and for the first time since she had begun sleeping alone again, she had felt relaxed and safe. She thought about her life and the choices she had made. They were good choices; she had no regrets. Her thoughts drifted to the man she had returned to. Would it be wrong to seek his friendship? Was she being disloyal for wanting to be close to him?

She thought of the mystic she had met after leaving Dambada. "You must choose whether you want to continue living among the dead or if you will return to living among the living," the apparition of her father had said in the seer's hut. If that really was her father. She firmly blocked all thoughts of that frelling planet from her mind and flipped through a few pages in the book. She stopped at the odd shape John had once drawn. He had called it a "heart," but is resembled no circulatory organ she had ever seen. In fact, she thought, tilting her head, from the right angle it looked almost -- sexual. She smiled. Inside he had written both their names. She set to work on a flimsy, conscientiously copying each letter. J-O-H-N….

* * *

Maintenance Bay:
Crichton looked up to see Aeryn Sun walking toward him hesitantly. She clutched his notebook and several flimsies to her chest like a shield. For a moment he had the incongruous thought that she looked like a schoolgirl heading to her next class. 'Can I carry your books, Aeryn?' He shook his head to clear it, and waited for her to make the first move.

Placing the notebook and the flimsies on the worktable, Aeryn solemnly took a sheet and a stylus, and with a glance under her lashes to be sure she had his complete attention, began carefully scribing - A -E - R -Y- N. "Ay. Ee. Ar. Woo-Aiy. Enh."

John could see her small, satisfied smile as she gave him a sideways glance. Then she began again, carefully writing as she intoned each letter. "Jae. Oh. Aytch. Enh."

"You're learning English?" John eyes lit with joy. When he leaned toward her, she wouldn't quite let him into her personal space. 'This is going require some delicate work,' he thought to himself.

As the arns passed, John worked with Aeryn, gently prompting and encouraging her as she struggled over new words. Maybe it was just his hopeful heart getting the better of him, but he imagined that just a little of the torment had left her eyes. He leaned over and touched her wrist gently. She allowed the caress and a ghost of smile flickered across her lips. It was a start. He had to be satisfied with that. He knew she could love him with a depth unimagined. It left him feeling breathless. It might take time, but he was a patient man, and he had all the tomorrows in the world.

Sometimes late at night
I lie awake and watch her sleeping
She's lost in peaceful dreams
So I turn out the lights and lay there in the dark
And the thought crosses my mind
If I never wake up in the morning
Would she ever doubt the way I feel
About her in my heart.

If Tomorrow Never Comes,
Garth Brooks