Title: Wax Wings
Author: MissAnnThropic
E-Mail: miss_annthropic@yahoo.com
Spoilers: Fractures
Summary: Introspective Crichton alone on the terrace with Moya and a DRD.
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 :(



Crichton lay on the floor of the terrace, eyes fixed overhead at a star they were passing under. It was probably tens of thousands of miles away, but it seemed so close and bright. It was as though he could reach out and touch its flares and coronas.

Crichton heard the chirp of a DRD near him and looked over at it, smirking glumly to himself to find it was the DRD with blue electrical tape on its eyestalk.

"Don't get too close, Moya, your wings could melt," Crichton warned lightly.

The DRD regarded him blankly, chirping again at him.

Crichton rolled on to his side, facing the DRD. When the other John had taken his recorder to Talyn (leaving John without an outlet for his own emotions and troubled thoughts) and then inconsiderately used up his last tapes for talking to his dad, he'd felt lost. Crichton had come to so much depend on being able to just talk and not have to explain himself or justify anything human he did. He'd had a tough time for a while until he'd thought of one person in this entire universe who was so compassionate enough to not judge him for what he was or wasn't. Moya.

Crichton had asked Pilot if he'd be willing to cut his feed to one of the DRDs for him. Pilot had been confused and asked Crichton why he would ask something so strange as that, and Crichton had explained as best he could that he'd like to talk to Moya without Pilot hearing everything he said. He professed he meant no offense, but that he just needed someone to talk to. Pilot had understood that... he depended on Moya's council almost on a daily basis, and he could not fault anyone for wishing the same correspondence with Moya, even if she could not speak back to them.

Crichton had thanked Pilot and been amused to find that Pilot had disconnected his own feed to the blue tape DRD that Crichton already knew individually.

It had been a great help, and it staved off so many things just being able to talk. And sometimes, just sometimes it seemed that Moya understood and responded to his words. A groan from the ship, a vibe even, but he could swear she understood him. He'd never expected her to care, and to suspect that she did made him feel safe.

Now that Aeryn was back and refusing to speak to him, he needed someone to talk to more than anything. After Crichton began confiding in her via the DRD Moya had come to know his moods and rhythms almost as she did Pilot's and had sent her DRD to him... knowing where he'd be and that he'd need to talk now.

Crichton sighed, looking up again at the sun and musing aloud, "You know... getting split in two like that and hearing about me dying... made me realize something. I'm Icarus. On my planet there was this legend, Greek I think, about two men, father and son, trapped on an island with no way to get home. Daedalus, the father, thought a long time and then thought to fashion giant wings from wax for him and his son to fly away on. Daedalus told Icarus that the only thing he could not do was fly too close to the sun or his wax wings would melt and he'd fall to his death. Icarus promised he wouldn't, and father and son put on their wax wings and began to fly off the island. But Icarus was foolish and curious, and he began to fly higher and higher. He flew toward the sun to see that he could... and when he got too close his wings began to melt. Icarus fell to his death, despite his father's warnings. It's about living foolishly and a message to not take such stupid risks... but that other John did. And he's me... no matter how I'd like to think he wasn't me, he was. He was Icarus and so am I... he flew too close to the sun and his wings melted, and I can't help but think that that means I will someday too. I just realized that I've always been Icarus... I've been flying too close to the sun all my life, and I don't believe I can change. There's another old saying on earth that you can't teach an old dog new tricks. I've just never realized my wings were made of wax until now. And the scary thing is... knowing that doesn't make me think any differently of taking chances. I seriously must have a death-wish... and I'm sorry I had to put Aeryn through this before we got that. Knowing what I do now, it's no different. I'm not afraid of falling... I'm afraid of not flying. I'm just... sorry for everyone who ever grew attached to their own Icarus. I wish I could apologize to Aeryn, you know? I'm so sorry his wings failed him."

Crichton stood up feeling unburdened, looking down gratefully at the little DRD that regarded him calmly, and then there was a shift and movement under his feet as Moya changed direction.

Crichton steadied himself on his feet, then looked up through the terrace forcefield at where they were going. Moya rose easily and gracefully closer to the star.

Crichton tilted his head back, closing his eyes. He knew he would look foolish if anyone caught him, but he didn't care. After everything he'd been through, at this point none of that mattered.

John raised his arms, holding them out beside him like a soaring eagle, caught in an updraft and riding it higher into the sky. Heat filtering from the star reached through the shields and touched his face, filling his blood with a freedom and sense of higher existence that he'd known only a few times on earth... when he'd been in the cockpit of an F-16 Falcon searing through the sky at unbelievable speeds, and his first time rocketing out of earth's atmosphere into space.

He was flying.

His worries melted away for a moment in time, even as the star's rays touched his wings of wax.

Crichton consciously felt his blood pumping, and in a swell of gratitude and compassion he'd like to think he knew at that moment what Moya was thinking, and why she was doing this. 'If you can't fly to the sun, I'll take you there... my wings are not made of wax.'



END