Title: Thought for the Lovers
Author: MissAnnThropic
E-Mail: miss_annthropic@yahoo.com
Spoilers: Natural Election
Summary: John, Aeryn and Shakespeare ala Romeo and Juliet.
Disclaimer: None of it's mine. I'm just a sad little fangirl that spends her days writing fanfic and watching taped episodes of her favorite shows :(



"John?"

Crichton did not react to her voice calling his name. He remained still on his windowsill perch in the Center Chamber, eyes locked on the soupy gases of a green nebula that Moya had drifted near in her wanderings through Tormented Space.

He wasn't being rude... he was lost in thought.

Aeryn Sun moved from her position in the doorway where she'd stopped short, not having expected John to be alone in the galley and having been taken off guard. After a pause and questioning address she stepped closer carefully, caution in her movements as always lately around him.

Crichton stared at the green mass outside Moya, lips moving silently and a look of consternation on his face.

Aeryn knew that look so well, learned to read it on a face she'd been so much closer to, and tried to recall anything that might have him upset. At one time it would have been a wholly futile effort to try and decrypt the thoughts of the lone human, but Aeryn's store of knowledge on this human had been increased tenfold.

It was just too bad that even with all that, she didn't know what could be bothering the John Crichton before her now.

Aeryn stopped short of the end of the table, standing facing him for a while, waiting and watching him. Aeryn Sun had not gone looking for him, though anyone who might catch her staring at his form might think she had. There had been a time, it seemed like a lifetime ago, when she would have gone out of her way to avoid the human and his company. Now she was always waiting, just wishing to be let into his heart again, yearned for the solace of his touch that he could not give her.

Crichton's right hand, resting atop his thigh, was absently curling into a fist and then relaxing, his tongue frequently darting out to wet his lips, brows furrowed over far-gazing blue eyes. He squinted his eyes, frown deepening as he muttered under his breath to himself.

Aeryn watched him, understanding his behavior no more than ever despite her greater knowledge of his individual quirks, but as of late understanding hadn't been nearly as important as watching. Lately, watching was all she was allowed to do. She remembered a time when all she'd had to do was reach out and there would be his touch, his smile... everything that silly human had to offer another living being and more. Now, she sought him and he pulled away, retreated into shadow warily, afraid to get hurt. Again. She'd hurt him so badly, cut more deeply than she'd ever known before, for only now did he let her see the depth of his wounds. He let her see that now because he didn't have the strength to pretend for her. He let her see the damage she caused, then he shied away before she could think of how to fix it.

So she watched, wondering what it would take. He'd tried to tell her. He'd asked her to get her story straight, but she had no idea what that meant. It must have been a human saying again, one she did not understand. She dug through memories of a John she'd known much more intimately, focused herself on learning the human's language, hoping something there would give her a clue. So far, her salvation was still buried in a mind she cherished but did not know.

So she watched, waiting. All she had to offer was herself, and for another John what seemed like ages ago that had been enough. Maybe if she gave it time, stayed nearby for him, a time would come when what she had to give would be enough for this John, too.

Crichton seemed to realize she was standing there, dropping his gaze and letting the concentrated look on his face fade as he glanced over at her. She smiled faintly, hopefully. In return she got the half-smile she'd grown used to lately.

Today she would not be saved.

Aeryn tried not to seem disappointed as she asked, "Wormholes?"

Crichton looked vacantly at her a moment, obviously still entangled in the last tendrils of his earlier thoughts, then his expression flickered, "Huh?"

Aeryn moved to the table and sat down, "What were you thinking about?"

Crichton turned his eyes away, he never let them linger on her for too long these days, glancing out the window again before he answered, "I'm forgetting."

There was a finality in his voice, almost the tone of one speaking to himself, and he made no attempt to elaborate on that one cryptic response.

Aeryn frowned. She'd noticed he'd been dejected lately. She'd assumed it was just the usual things that always plagued him (Scorpius, wormholes, any of his plethora of unpleasant memories) even though something had been nagging at her that this was different.

"Forgetting what?" Aeryn asked, hoping he'd talk. Aeryn Sun trying and hoping to get the human to talk... things had changed so much.

Crichton was quiet a long time, almost long enough for Aeryn to think he'd decided not to tell her.

Aeryn had almost given up waiting when he asked, "Do you find yourself forgetting the Peacekeepers?"

Aeryn blinked and paused a moment, "I don't think..."

Crichton interrupted, "Not the big things, but the little stuff. Do you still remember?"

Aeryn thought a moment, pushing aside the joy of just having a conversation with Crichton to consider his question. After a while, she shook her head, "I don't understand what you mean."

Crichton looked away, sardonic expression flickering over his features fleetingly before that distraught heaviness settled back in.

Aeryn tried again, trying her best to sound sensitive, "What are you forgetting?"

Crichton brought one hand to his face, wedging his elbow against his upraised knee and fingers against his lips as he replied vacantly, "Home."

A long silence followed, Aeryn not sure what to say (afraid the wrong words would send him away again) and Crichton lost in himself and whatever black void he'd believed had swallowed the only memories he'd been so true to all these cycles.

Aeryn, feeling awkward, offered, "If you... need to talk..."

Crichton snorted lightly, though not maliciously, and closed his eyes to listen to the emptiness of Moya's walls. He reached down to his left thigh and picked up a writing utensil Aeryn hadn't seen before and without opening his eyes let his hand move the object over an area on Moya's rib structure by his foot. Wormhole equations. She didn't have to see them to know that was what he scribed. It consumed everything he did, even the things he did not know he did.

Crichton opened his eyes to the sight of himself writing. After a moment of blank staring he stopped, pulling his hand away and clasping it in his other. Pilot had gotten on to him about writing on the walls. Usually he didn't know he was doing it until he saw the marks.

Crichton studied the equation a moment, expressionless, before he set the pen down while speaking gently, "Smells, directions, just things that I used to think were trivial information. I'm starting to lose it."

Aeryn said nothing, willing to sit as long as he'd talk.

Crichton looked upward, a mannerism of exhaustion. "I can't remember exactly what the lake at Sawyer's Mill smelled like. Details... I don't know anymore. I can't remember how to get to that little dive off Highway 80 with the great grilled cheese sandwiches. I don't remember who was the Prime Minister of Russia when I left."

Aeryn watched him, and when it was obvious he was finished she ventured, "I won't ask why these things are important," and mentally she added, 'I know better now'.

Crichton sighed, almost with a sneer that had nothing to do with Aeryn herself, then shook his head, "Actually, I've been sitting here trying to remember a story I had to learn in high school. Most of it was poetry, actually, the author was a master of word, or so Mrs. Warshaw would say. I used to be able to recite pieces of it word for word, then yesterday I thought of it again and tried to remember how some of it went, the parts I USED to know... now pieces are missing..." he faded out, turning his eyes back to the nebula.

Of all the things in the universe, the most unstable and tenuous was Crichton's memory. It had been through too much... forceful extraction in the Aurora Chair, Ancient meddling, madness, invasive brain surgery, Scarran tampering... that Crichton could no longer remember some things was not all surprising considering what he'd been through. Knowing that didn't make it any easier on John or his friends, though.

Aeryn's own memory sparked, painfully but hopefully, and she risked the sting by saying, "Is it the sunshine one?"

Crichton frowned, confused, and looked at her.

Aeryn swallowed, uneasy and unsure as she began, "The one that says 'you are my sunshine, my only sunshine'... uh..."

Crichton's lips twitched in an almost smile, his voice actually soft when he corrected her, "That's a song, Aeryn." He didn't bother asking where she learned it; he knew that and didn't want to go there.

Aeryn was fine with that.

"They're alike, though, songs and poems. I'm forgetting those, too." Crichton seemed to sag on his perch, "Lyrics and stanzas down the cerebral drain."

Aeryn wasn't sure what that meant, instead asking tentatively, "What is the... story?" she continued at his nod, "that you're trying to remember?"

"One of the old classics, written by a guy named Shakespeare. Famous writer from my planet, weird, but most visionaries are. I can only remember pieces, chunks here and there, most of one quote..." he shrugged helplessly, looking about ready to let it go... another festering lost wound about his home world residing within his mind. There had been a time not so terribly long ago when he'd fought the surrender, resisting losing even one more bit of what he once was to his life now. Recently, memories were little more than reasons to know pain, and Crichton was ready to be done with the hurt. To stop remembering would be to cease that sharp heartache... Aeryn too spent late arns wishing she did not know enough to recall her own name. It would be so much easier. The other John, Talyn, Xhalax... all that pain would stop. A prospect of infinite temptation and boundless horror all in one fell swoop.

Aeryn cocked her head, "How does it go?"

Crichton looked at her, a little surprised, "The Bard is the height of human nonsense... you probably wouldn't like it."

"Do me." Aeryn challenged.

Crichton's eyes widened, staring at her, then a real smile cracked his face when he retorted, "TRY me," and he trailed off into a chuckle.

Aeryn smiled inwardly to herself... it was good to hear him laugh again, even this tight and tense laugh. For once she didn't mind having butchered a real attempt at an Earth saying and making an eema of herself, just because it made him happy for a microt.

Crichton took a slow breath, corners of his mouth returning to normal, then he cleared his throat, "Ahh...

"Dear Juliet, why art thou yet so fair

shall I believe that unsubstantial death is amorous

and that the... umm... the monster keeps thee here in darkness

to be his paramour..."

He looked at her warily, catching a contorted look on Aeryn's face. One he wasn't used to seeing... the look of her trying so hard to understand his earth nonsense. She wanted to be a part of what he clung to, wanted to try for him. The effort was almost too much for him to handle and he cleared his throat, "It was written in old English. Lots of people tried to modernize the language, but it loses something when you... it just isn't the same. Kinda loses Shakespeare's flavor... I don't know," he shifted and looked back out the window, "maybe it's all just dren anyway."

Aeryn watched him, waiting. She knew further words danced on the tip of his tongue, and Crichton was never good at restraining those on-the-cusp speeches. She didn't have to know this man's bed habits to understand that... this idiosyncrasy was as old to her as John Crichton himself was. From the first day she'd known him, he'd done this. She felt safe in reading that him now. It wasn't a burning memory of times on Talyn from whence this intimate knowledge came. It was just plain and simple human Crichton.

Aeryn felt terror for him, for the man he'd always been underneath it all, when he defied the most basic things she knew about him by not finishing the thoughts that begged to be spoken, "I... don't remember the rest," he told her flatly, and Aeryn was almost certain that he'd originally started off to say 'I'm sorry'. She wasn't sure when he stopped apologizing, but he didn't anymore.

"There was a part somewhere that went... uh..." he sighed heavily in resignation, "never mind," and looked down at his scribbled notes by his foot, trying to look engrossed.

Aeryn took a moment to make sure her voice didn't falter when she asked, "What else do you remember?" 'Keep him talking' a part of her chanted, knowing that for all the danger Crichton's mouth got him in, he was oft found in the greatest danger when he was quiet. He'd said so little about going up to stop the Scarran Dreadnought, had been morosely silent when they blew the Command Carrier. She'd come to equate John's voice with the surety he was not going to risk his life. When he was taciturn she couldn't rest for wondering what crusade he was rushing off to now. When the frell did he get the idea that he was supposed to be the hero? Let someone else die for the greater good, let someone else grieve that hero's loss, Aeryn Sun was done with it.

Crichton was frozen a moment, like a flesh statue, then he sighed and seemed to abandon all notions of protecting her... or himself. It was more than he had the strength to do these days.

"'How oft when men are at the point of death

have they been merry?

which their keepers call a lightening before death

how may I call this a lightening?

my love...

death that hath sucked the honey from thy breath

hath had no power yet upon thy beauty

thou art not conquered

life's ensign is yet crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks

and death's pale flag is not advanced there'

That's really all I remember. Used to know alot more... but it's falling apart and slipping away."

Aeryn was silent for a long time, not sure what to say. Sharp memories clouded her thoughts of the Other John, weak and near death from the radiation sickness, professing that he was proud of his life. That he'd never felt better even as his body broke down and gave up on him. The smile he'd tried to muster in those last precious microts. The nearly unbearble sensation of holding him close to her and feeling nothing; no pulse against her skin, no rise and fall of his chest, none of the warmth she'd grown to cherish. She remembered John a hollow shell, and all over again it hurt like the moment she lost him.

Crichton looked out at the nebula gases again, musing aloud to himself, "To hezmana with Romeo and Juliet, they had it easy compared to... just compared."

Aeryn looked down at her hands, trying to remember what she'd come in here for. It escaped her now, all she could think or feel was the pain, the aches of time and the numbed shock as realization dawned on her. When it finally clicked in her brain what Crichton had been talking about. She knew Romeo and Juliet, the Other had told her about them. In his telling, it had not been so nearly a morose and tragic tale. She'd remembered love and fate... the Other had failed to mention any death. Fitting that this John before her would speak of the same love epic but mention the dark underside of the intrepid romance. The Other Crichton had whispered tidbits of the lovers and spoke of the human idea of love conquering all, the Crichton left behind clung to the ending when the two lovers had lost each other to that most wicked thief whom Aeryn sadly knew all too well.

Crichton smirked languidly, looking down at his right hand resting on his thigh and murmured, "I think I like the sunshine one better," as he returned to opening and closing his fingers slowly.

Aeryn swallowed almost painfully, surprised to find her throat so dry, and asked, "Would Romeo and Juliet both go to the place humans believe in? The light?"

Crichton looked over slowly at her, a mildly off-guard look in his eyes as though it had been so long since he asked himself the same question that the notion was new to him once again. And that it had come from Aeryn, of all things; he didn't know how to react to that. So he didn't, he stood back and let her lead.

Aeryn could lead in everything but those matters concerning John Crichton. She asked, "Would they be together again?"

A silence hung for a few microts before Crichton shrugged, looking off into the distance vacantly, "I don't know. Shakespeare's characters had a habit of existing in limbo between this life and whatever's after it. Wouldn't surprise me in they were both lost forever. Hell, it's just a story. Shakespeare never lived any of his tragedies. What could he know?"

Aeryn felt the old flight response kicking in deep within her chest. She might have tried to fight it, resist the urge to run, but not today. Without a word she stood and turned back to the door, not looking back until she'd reached the doorway.

A time existed when he would have watched her go, would have been hurt that she'd left. Now, he was back to the same pose he'd been in when she arrived, eyes absently cast out the window, expression lost within himself as his lips whispered the ghost words of elusive memories.

She would have to wait longer still for any ray of light, any indication that he could trust himself to love her again. Until that day came they'd move through Moya's halls, always crossing paths but in all intents and purposes lost to each other.

She hoped he was wrong, and that Romeo and Juliet would not be lost forever. Blossoming from her Peacekeeper upbringing, Aeryn was hoping for once for a happy ending.



END