Watching

by Jessie

Spoilers: Specifically TWWW

Disclaimer: I come in peace. Farscape ain't mine. If it were . . . well, that's another story.

Archive: Just ask and you shall receive.

Authors note: I think it's obvious whose POV it's from, but just in case it's not as apparent as I think- the guy's name is Vellorek. Remember him? This *is* J/A shippy.

So, on with the story . . .

******

There she is.

There he is.

And the other one- the Luxan, the escaped prisoner. I don't recognize the girl: perhaps it's true what I've heard. That they take in strays when they can.

I know more about them then they think. Do they know of the rumors? The wanted beacons? I'm familiar with her shipmates without ever having met them. I admit I've been trying to convince myself that keeping tabs on them has nothing to do with her. That it is only an interest in the Human, and why such powerful men have been driven to hate him; how these prisoners could have escaped so easily, it would seem. But it has everything to do with her. I'll admit it now. I want to know she is where she belongs. From the rumors, I'd say she is.

So many rumors. I wonder if they know how many lost souls have clung to their image, these stories, as a form of hope. If they could escape, why can't others?

'The Delvian's renounced her priesthood.'

'The Pilot isn't bonded naturally.'

'The Leviathan's child is a rare breed. So's his mother.'

'The odd one isn't Sebacean, even if he looks it.'

'The real Sebacean left the Peacekeepers. She escaped.' The rumors have been spreading from planet to planet. I can only be sure that one of them is true. She has escaped.

She's found a new life; I can see it. And I'm glad. I've found one too. But she still carries her training with her. Mine's all but shed away completely. It's been so long since I've needed it, since I've needed a gun at my side.

I want to confront her. Talk to her and set the the rumors straight. And I almost do, but stop, knowing it would be awkward for her. For him. There's a rumor about them as well. That a born Peacekeeper gave it all up to follow a lesser being. That pure oxygen is not something to mess with. I think I heard this one from the source. If memory serves, he was a pirate. Or she.

I watch the human. Something like myself, or so I've pieced together. There are so many accounts from various creatures, telling of the oddity that this man is. Hero. Tech. Saint. Politician. Bastard. I haven't gotten all the stories straight just yet. The way he moves and speaks- so different from anything I've ever seen. Yet so familiar. He loves her. Good. She needs someone to love her. But does she . . .

Yes. I see it in her eyes, in her body language. They've been close. Are close, in a way. I'm proud of her; she's come so far. I wish I could tell her that. Tell her that I was right, that she's flourishing in this new place. But I know I can only watch. Though perhaps . . . perhaps I can talk to him.

*

"John Crichton." I say once I've cornered him away from the others. No more watching- I've got to know.

"Who are you? What do you want?" I smile. He's a good one. Can tell I was a Peacekeeper, but is trying to decide whether I still am or not. He's changed since he first got to the uncharted territories. That much is clear to me, that much is the one thing all of the stories hint at.

"I'm not a Peacekeeper." I make the decision for him and he relaxes. Somewhat. He is so much like me. Like I was. Yet so vastly different. I can't put my finger on it. Whatever it is, I can tell it's just what she needs.

"Just want to check up on an old friend."

"Listen buddy. I've never seen you before in my . . ." He trails off as realization hits him. He recognizes me, I don't know how, but he does. Through the scars and the years, he sees a face it would be hard for him to forget. I watch all this flicker across his eyes. I've always been good at reading eyes.

"You're dead." He whispers.

"Not yet. I should be but . . . not yet." He regains his composure, which is an unusual one. I like it.

"Aeryn. I just want to know how she's doing." He thinks about this one, not sure what to tell me or what my motives are. Deep down, he's the trusting type. And it's probably gotten him into trouble more than once. 'Perhaps,' I think, 'he's a little too much like me.'

"She's fine." He pauses. Takes a deep breath. Decides to say what he's been wanting to for some time. "You were right. She's thriving." He takes another breath, each word very hard for him to say, especially to me.

So he knows about me. I feel like congratulating him. If she's told him anything, then I know he's done well. "And she can be more. She is more." He realizes the unnatural way these words sound, but doesn't care. He believes in what he's saying and is thankful that there is someone he can speak them to. Someone who knows what he's talking about.

"Good." I say, finding comfort in what he's told me.

"She thinks your dead." There it is. The jealousy I've been waiting for. I smile, happy that he is in love enough to be jealous, yet smart enough to know when it's a good time for this emotion, and when he should keep it hidden. I like him. Knew I would. Always have. Ever since the rumors, the reports from old friends still in high places.

"We should probably keep it that way."

"Wait . . . you mean you're not going to . . ." He trails off again, unsure how to finish his question. I answer anyway, knowing he deserves that much- an answer.

"No. I'm not. I have a new life and so does she. I wouldn't- couldn't take that away. She's found the right person for her. Enough like me to keep at her, enough of himself to be . . . the way it should be."

He stares at me in understanding. I think I've just blown him away. He definitely wasn't anticipating what I had to say. I think he's been waiting a long time for someone to say these words, to reassure him that this is right and he is the one, even if he already knew it. But I don't think he was expecting that someone to be me.

*

I'm watching again. I suppose, over the years, it's become a skill of mine. Always watching. And listening.

He's nervous, but his mind is made up. The reassurance of another is there- my voice is with him- and he uses it to stabilize his fears. I wonder what it is he's used before in this manner.

'. . . withstood the aurora chair.' I remember hearing. It was an older female officer who wanted to leave the Peacekeepers so badly. She could taste it on her tongue like a sweet serum that wouldn't go away. She always knew what was happening to Moya, to him, and to her. She envied them all such that they had become an obsession of sorts. ' . . . knowledge of wormholes . . . escaped Crais . . . destroyed the base . . .' she would laugh at this. She had such a beautiful laugh. It was a shame she had to hide it.

"Aeryn." I watch him move to her. She's happy to see him, I can read it in her clear eyes, but her face is almost disgusted by his image. She hasn't gotten rid of her mask . . . yet. I can only hope he's as stubborn as I am.

He is. The stories were true. I grin broadly; it isn't often that I'm presented with the opportunity to do so.

I have no regrets as I see them in each other's arms. At last I have no regrets.

"I love you." I almost want to whisper as he does into her ear. Even from this distance I can feel those heavy words leave his mouth. This is right.

"I . . ." She can't say it. She knows it. I know it. Thankfully, so does he. But she tries anyway. "I . . . I do . . . have feelings for you." It's a start. A good one. Luckily, he sees this. He realizes what an effort it is. And he pulls her to him even more closely.

As I said, I have no regrets, no promises left un-kept to myself. I leave my watchers post and say a final, silent goodbye to the radiant Aeryn Sun. This is right, I whisper, knowing it is. Wormholes. Insane commanders. New lives. Nothing in the universe is an accident.

Fin

Back to Farscape Fanfic