Phoenix

By: Kelly Hill (ceallaig)
Author’s note: This was the direct result of ‘what if’-ing on the bboard and the SACC list. Thanks to Beth and Lauren for giving me even more food for thought, to Sarah and Sharon for their beta skills, and to Adele and Ann for their medical expertise. And fair warning – have a hanky for this one …

“Can he understand me?”

The voice was one from his dreams, and sometimes his nightmares; a loved voice, a lost voice. He didn’t open his eyes – if this was a dream, he wanted it to continue. If it was a nightmare, he’d just have to ride it out, like he always did.

Zhaan’s soft reply, “Yes, but he will have trouble answering you. He has regained some of his speech – apparently the human brain is far more resilient than I thought – but simple yes and no questions might be best. His speech might be better if he practiced more, but he doesn’t seem to have the heart for it, and he …. gets frustrated easily.”

“I’d imagine so.” The other voice sounded amused. “The man who liked nothing more than the sound of his own voice chattering on and on …. “ The voice went quiet for a moment, then said, “What about the rest of him?”

“There has been physical impairment. I did my best to repair him, but … there were seizures in the beginning, and there is weakness on his left side. It’s improving, but slowly. And he refuses help unless there is no alternative.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me? All right, Zhaan, leave me with him. Let me see what I can do.”

“Goddess be with you both.” He heard the soft footfalls, the swish of the door opening and closing, sensed the presence of another person drawing closer to his bed. He lay very still, scarcely daring to breathe. Please, let it be a dream … 

“I know you’re faking, Crichton.   You might be able to fool Zhaan, but I know better. Open your eyes.”

The light touch of a hand on his shoulder, and he flinched, eyes resolutely closed. “Do I have to pry them open? You know I can, and I will.”

No! he wanted to scream. You’re another illusion, like my mother. You can’t be here. I saw you go down, we pulled you out of that lake. I watched them put you in the cryo unit. No more, please God, no more, I can’t take it …

The words would not come, he knew they would not, so he did the only thing he could do. He turned on his side, curled into a ball, his good hand gripping the edge of the bed with desperate strength.

“Going to make it hard on me, are you? All right, if that’s the way you want to play it …. “ Determined fingers reached over and began to uncurl his from the bed. “There’s one …”

With a strangled cry, he bolted upright and sat on the edge of the bed, his back to the apparition.

I can’t see you, I can’t talk to you, I killed you, for God’s sake!  Trembling, hunched over, he forced his mouth to form words: “G-go ‘way.”

“Not until you look at me.” His eyes opened then, but he stared at the floor. He heard the footsteps come around the bed, saw the boots coming into his line of vision. “John, please, look at me. What are you afraid of?”

The voice was soft, gentle, so persuasive. He wanted it to be real, wanted her to be real, so badly. But it hurt too much. His mind was damaged, his body, his soul. The only thing he had left intact was his sanity, and that had been hard-won. If this was a mirage, and it disappeared, his sanity would go with it, finally and for all time.  He had struggled back from the edge so many times, he didn’t have the strength to do it again.

“P-please,” he whispered. “Can’t … n-not again …. “

Two hands took hold of his, and a face came into view – framed in dark waves, great blue eyes radiating love and sadness in equal measure, generous mouth in a soft smile. “I’m here, John, I’m really here.” Pressure from her hands on his, strong and warm. A sheen in her eyes, a catch in the beloved voice. “I know you don’t believe it, I don’t blame you. If I were in your place, after the things you’ve been through, I wouldn’t believe either. But you’ve always been two people, the scientist and the man. The scientist, the tech, listened with his head. The man listened with his heart. What does your heart tell you?”

He looked at her fully then, looked deep into the blue eyes, searching, praying for the answer. His good hand disengaged from her grip, and one finger traced feather soft across her cheekbone. Her eyes closed for a microt, she smiled fully, and he knew.

“Aeryn.” The name was little more than a breath, the first breath in a new life. “How?”

“It’s a long story. For right now, let’s just say that Tocot wasn’t the only healer who knew about the cryo facility. And the one that found me knew more about Sebacean physiology than he did. Damaged systems can regenerate, with the proper treatment. As soon as I was able, I set out to find Moya – and you.”

“Healed you … free?”

“Not quite. I did the healer a service in exchange for her treatment. There’s a certain Varkelan that won’t be bothering her anymore – or anyone else for that matter. A small enough price to pay, I thought.” He tried to keep his face neutral, but her next comment told him he didn’t succeed: “And you’re thinking – how does she justify sacrificing his life for hers?   I checked his background – he won’t be missed, not even by his family, from what I understand. Satisfied?”

If the words had still come easily, he might have argued the ethics with her. But then, he might not have. Somehow it seemed ungrateful to question a miracle. How it happened didn’t really matter. What mattered was that she was here, in front of him, whole and well …

Whole and well. He looked away from her, down at his left side, the truant fingers that would not do his bidding, the arm that sometimes had no strength, the leg that supported him only when it chose to.  His body had once been solid, dependable, a source of pride. Gone now, perhaps forever …

It didn’t matter before. It was … right … somehow. I was paying for failing you. I fought Scorpy off in that cockpit, whipped the bastard to a standstill, but I did it too late. If I’d tried harder, you wouldn’t have … I could have saved you, somehow. There wouldn’t have been the funeral, or the nightmares, or the tears in the dark.

He wanted to say all this, and so much more, but the words hid behind the dam in his mind. What finally came out was: “Aeryn … l-look at me … listen … to me.” How can she stand to be in the same room with me? “I can’t …”

His voice broke on a sob, and he pushed her aside, rising unsteadily to his feet. He started across his quarters toward the door – it didn’t matter where he went, he had to get away from there. His body had other ideas, his leg choosing that moment to collapse under him and sending him to the floor with a crash.

She was at his side in a microt, kneeling to help him up. Anger and shame gave him the words that sorrow would not: “No! Don’t want … help …"

“Well, you’re going to get it whether you want it or not, because we need to talk, and I am not sitting on the floor. Come on.” With an effort, he got back to his feet, leaning on her as little as he could, and she led him back to his bed. He sank onto it, not looking at her, agony burning in his mind and heart. You’ve seen it all now, seen what I’ve become. Why did you come back? It was almost easier when … when I thought you were dead…

She placed a chair in front of him and sat down. He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at her, wouldn’t have to see the revulsion and pity in her face. He felt her hands on either side of his face, heard her say, in her most commanding voice, “Look at me, John. Open your eyes and look at me. Now!”

Against his will, his eyes opened and his gaze met hers. “Now you are going to listen to me, John Crichton, and pay attention, because I don’t want to have to say this again, ever.”  She took his damaged hand in both of her own strong ones. “Do you think I care about this?  It matters to me only because it hurts you.  I love you, John. I don’t love a hand, or an arm, or a leg. I love a man, a good man, a strong man, a man who couldn’t be broken, no matter what anyone did to him. That is, until I came along.”

This time, there were no words because shock took them. He simply stared at her, disbelief plain in his face. “I thought that might get your attention,” she said. “You’re punishing yourself because of what you think you did to me. You’re broken because of me.  Well, I won’t have that. I won’t be responsible for that.”

Her hand came up and gently but firmly pinched his lips shut, stifling any protest he would have attempted. “I talk, you listen, remember?” He nodded his head, very slightly, and her hand came down. “First of all, you did nothing to me. Scorpius did.   And when we find him, we’ll make him pay for it – together.”

She paused, then laughed, and John thought he’d never heard anything so beautiful in his life. “It’s a funny thing about death, though. I may actually owe that half-breed abomination a debt. Do you know, in a frelled-up way, dying may just have been the best thing that ever happened to me?  It taught me that life was for living, not hiding from. You’ve been hiding from life, John, and that has to stop. Well, I’m giving you fair warning, right now, that I will drag you back kicking and screaming if I have to, but you will live again. I promise you that, and you know I keep my promises.”

Steel crept into John’s eyes. “No … p-pity … “

“Pity? Oh, I do pity you, John Crichton, and you’re going to pity yourself a lot more, having me as a taskmistress. You’re going to start to wish I’d stayed dead. I’m waiting for the day you curse me out – that’s when I’ll know you’re on your way back.”

She stopped a moment, and the softness in her eyes was reflected in her voice. “Zhaan says you don’t seem to have the heart for living anymore – that’s why your speech isn’t improving, why you’ve shut yourself off. You taught me that I had a heart. Now it’s time for you to find yours again. I’d like to help, if you’ll let me. Will you?”

John looked into her face and read only love there, and determination, and a hope he could feel echoing in his own heart. Tears stung the back of his eyes as he nodded.

“Say it,” she ordered.

“Y-yes,” he whispered, smiling.

“Good. First order of business is to get something to eat. No one should work on an empty stomach, and I am famished. How about you?”

John started to nod, caught himself. “I’m … hungry, too.”

Oh, that smile – it could melt granite at twenty paces, and a mere human flesh and blood heart was no match for it. She’s got me, she knows there’s nothing I won’t do for her, including live again. Why not? She did it for me.

“What’s this?” Her fingers found the string around his neck. John looped the string over his head and pulled the amulet bag out from under his shirt. Zhaan had made it for him, of a soft black material and silken cord, and it had not left his neck except to shower. He handed it to her, watching her face as she opened it and pulled out the contents. “A lock of hair … my hair,” she said, her voice soft with wonder. “Zhaan said you’d taken a lock of my hair at the memorial service, for courage during the operation. And you’ve kept it?”

“It was … all … I had,” he said, feeling suddenly foolish.

“Well, it won’t be all you have from now on, not if I have anything to say about it. But you keep it anyway.” She placed the cord around his neck again and tucked the bag back in place.

He caught her hand in his good one. So much he wanted to tell her, but there would be time, later, when the words came easier. For now he just smiled and said, “I’m … glad you’re … home.”

“So am I,” she said as she settled her arm around his waist. “Let’s go – I think we have some catching up to do.”

the end