Thanks to my beta reader, Kelly Hill. Without you my fics would be nothing...ok, they'd be something but they'd certainly be full of mistakes!! Thanks!!!!

DK stood in the center of the room he shared with Jack, confused, torn. The joyous reunion was shattered by the awful truth, a truth that DK couldn't face. The look in John's eyes, his sudden, terrifying anger, the very way he walked and talked, all changed. All of it warped; the old John had eroded away and nothing but this shell remained. Or, maybe more accurately, the old John had been wiped out, replaced by this hollow, angry man. Either way, DK had lost his best friend. That man, the one carrying John's name and wearing his face, was a psychotic monster. He shuddered visibly, then began packing. He wouldn't stay another night aboard this ship.

Voices from the hall caught his attention, but did nothing to hamper his resolution. He stuffed clothes into his bags furiously, wildly. His back was to the door when Jack and Aeryn came in. Their voices stilled, wondering. The air was charged with DK's anxiety and anger.

"What's wrong, DK?" Jack asked quietly.

"I'm leaving. Someone better get a shuttle ready soon or I'll just go jump out a hatch. I ain’t staying another night here." Jack and Aeryn exchanged puzzled and worried glances.

“What happened? Where’s John?” Jack asked with concern.

"Last I saw of him he was down in the maintenance bay, by Farscape 1. As to what happened..." he turned to Jack and they both saw the fear and loathing there, "...well, let's just say I saw the real John today. I'd just as soon never see him again."

Aeryn reacted as if she'd been slapped. Her eyes widened and she took a small step back. "What did he say? DK, tell me what happened!" she asked quickly.

"What happened? Where's John?' Jack asked with "What did he say? What happened?" DK almost spat in disgust, turning from Aeryn to Jack. "He's nothing but a cold blooded killer, Colonel, some space cowboy who carves his kills on the butt of his gun. Hell, it's worse than that," here he turned back to Aeryn. "He's insane, isn't he? Tell me he isn't."

Aeryn knew both of them were watching her now, but she didn't have an answer. She could only shake her head. "You don't understand, DK. You don't know what it's like out here."

DK turned back to his packing, his suspicions confirmed by Aeryn's lack of denial. John was insane, and he was a killer. "He showed no remorse, Colonel, none at all. There were nineteen hatch marks on his gun, all PeaceKeepers. Apparently," he said with disgust, "they're the only ones he keeps track of. Who knows how many others there are."

"DK, why don't you let Aeryn explain, we really don't know what's happened..." Jack began. But DK wasn't in the mood for explanations. His best friend was a psychotic killer and how he came to be that way was of no consequence.

"There's nothing that will change it, Colonel, and nothing you, or Aeryn, or anyone else can say will change my mind. I'm leaving."

"Now who's being stubborn?" Aeryn said grimly. DK ignored her. She asked him then, "How long ago did you leave him in the maintenance bay?"

"I don't know, maybe half an hour ago," he replied, zipping his bag shut.

Aeryn shot a concerned glance at Jack, knowing that he would understand. Right now the only thing that mattered was John. DK was Jack's responsibility, but she had to see if John was all right. Chances are, he wasn't. She left swiftly.

It was eerily quiet in the maintenance bay. Footsteps echoed menacingly off curved walls. John knew without looking that it was Aeryn, come to see if he was all right.

He wasn't. He never would be again. His worst nightmare had come true, his fears made real. DK despised him, who he was, what he had become. If his best friend thought him a monster, what would the rest of the world think? What did his father think? Was he packing now alongside DK? Had he chosen his surrogate son over his long lost blood son? John feared the answer.

Aeryn came into his view then, strong, silent Aeryn. She moved quietly to his side and sat there, her shoulder and hip against his own. She was relieved to see that he had had the presence of mind, despite the circumstances, to put his pulse pistol back in his holster. At least his survival skills were still intact.

"Hey," she said softly.

He said nothing. There was nothing he could say, nothing she could do.

"You need to talk to your father," she said. She took his hand in hers, squeezing it gently.

He said nothing still.

"He's worried about you, about what DK said."

"Are you sure he isn't packing too?" John asked then.

"Maybe you should ask him yourself," Aeryn replied. She squeezed his hand again. "He's your father, John. Do you really think he'd leave now, after all this time without you?"

John sighed and lowered his head. She was right, but right now, facing his father was the last thing he wanted to do. He nodded his head.

"I'll talk to him, but later. I need to time to think," he said, turning to face her.

She smiled, despite the haggard and anguished look on his face. "OK then." She stood, still holding his hand. He turned his face up to hers, and she squeezed his hand again. "We've been through so much, John. Don't let this take you back."

He could only nod in reply. She left him then, to the silence and the echoes of the past.

Zhaan was surprised when Jack sought her out. He looked concerned, and his face showed a weariness that hadn't been there before. She set her newest potion aside and approached him.

"What is it, Jack? What's wrong?"

"Tell me, Zhaan. What happened to John?" He asked.

She was taken aback. This was not quite what she had expected. "What exactly do you mean, Jack?"

He told her of DK's encounter with his best friend and his subsequent refusal to listen to anything Jack or Aeryn said. He was packing and heading back to the planet. Zhaan sighed deeply and hung her head.

"I should have foreseen this, or something like this. John has changed greatly in the time he has been gone, and so much of it has been traumatic," she said finally. "There is so much to tell that starting is difficult."

"Then tell me, is my son insane? Is there any truth in what DK is thinking?" Jack begged.

Zhaan hesitated, and in that hesitation Jack saw the truth, or a part of it. He sank down onto a chair and felt his mind go numb. "Oh my God," was all he could say.

Zhaan seated herself across from him and held his hands in hers, hands so similar to Johns, a sense that felt familiar. He looked up, asking for the truth. Zhaan nodded her head.

"It is a long story, Jack, and I am thinking that maybe DK should be hearing this as well," she said at length.

"If he'll listen," Jack replied sadly.

"If he wants to get off this ship, I don't see how he has any choice," she said with a half smile. Jack smiled back.

"I'll get him."

"No need," she answered, raising her left wrist to her mouth. "Pilot, where is DK right now?"

"He is still in his quarters. Would you like me to send him to you?" Pilot had been listening in, second guessing Zhaan's next move.

She smiled fondly. "Yes, please do, Pilot." She dropped her wrist and looked across at Jack. "It's not what you think, you know. And he's not insane. He's just..." she paused, waiting for the right word to come to her. "Battered," she said finally, "He's been battered and torn for so long, and he's managed, every time, to recover so well." She shook her head slowly. "Eight or nine cycles ago I wouldn't have expected him to make it this far in his recovery, but as usual he has amazed me."

DK entered just then, an angry, thwarted look on his face; a belligerent look that meant he wasn't prepared to listen. Zhaan sighed deeply, understanding the depths of his feelings, and knowing her words would fall on deaf ears. But maybe she would be able to sow the seeds of reunion; maybe in time to come DK would remember what she was going to say now and come back to his friend. Maybe.

"I guess you won't let me leave until I listen to what you have to say," he began angrily as he flopped down in the chair next to Jack, his arms folded across his chest. "Go on, let's get this over with."

Zhaan folded her hands serenely and looked from one to the other. "You need to understand that to tell all that has happened in the last eleven cycles would take more time than we care to share right now," she began. "But I will start at the time before the twins were born. In fact, the roots of this story begin about a year from when John first joined us...."

John Crichton paced Moya's halls like a feral animal, his ravaged mind whirling. Focus, he insisted to himself, focus. You can do it. He walked fast, his feet trying to keep pace with his mind, his thoughts trying to sort themselves into something resembling order. But thoughts and images of the past and the present insisted on meshing in horrible ways, spinning and screaming and begging to escape. He couldn't let them escape, he didn't want anyone else to come to harm because of him. His walk turned to a long, loping run.

It was ship's night, the lights were dimmed to minimal levels and the DRDs were out in force. He took no notice of them, even when need made him leap over one. Focus, he thought hysterically, focus. He ran harder, banking off walls and skidding around corners, slipping on the surface more than once. Focus, focus, focus...

He hit the wall, literally and figuratively. His physical and mental stress levels peaked simultaneously, sending him caroming off the nearest wall and sliding along the floor. He lay still, panting and wheezing, his eyes staring unseeing at the floor. He didn't move.

Some minutes later, a DRD buzzed by, nudging him where he lay. He made no response. The DRD sent the image back to Moya, who relayed it to Pilot. Alarmed, Pilot alerted the crew, starting with Zhaan.

"Zhaan, wake up. There is something wrong with Crichton," he called to the sleeping Delvian until she responded at first sleepily, and then with urgency.

"Where is he, Pilot, and can you tell what happened?" she asked as she hurried from her quarters. He related Crichton's condition but could only say that the DRDs had reported Crichton racing through the ship, out of control. Zhaan hurried, knowing that the others would be close on her heels.

He lay where he had fallen, his breathing still fast and his eyes still unfocused. She checked his heart rate and was alarmed. Before she could asses his condition further, D'Argo and Aeryn hurried to her side.

"What the frell happened?" Aeryn demanded. Zhaan could only shake her head.

"Help me get him to the med lab," she asked instead. Aeryn made to pick him up, but D'Argo gently pushed her aside. "Let me," he said quietly. The look of concern he sent her soothed her possessiveness, and she let him pick up the limp human.

Once in the medlab, Zhaan ran the scanner over him, checking for everything. His breathing was still fast and shallow, his heart rate was still racing and his pulse was strong. But the scan picked up wild, erratic readings in his brain, peaks and valleys that suggested unusual amounts of activity. She set it down fearfully.

"I just don't know. His brain activity is so abnormal, at least, abnormal for John and he doesn't seem to know we're here," she said softly.

Aeryn edged closer to the bed where John lay, worry heavy on her face. "What can you do?" she asked. "What can *we* do?"

(...focus, don't let the voices take you down, especially *his* voice, focus....no, no nonononononono....focus...don't listen to him, don't listen, focus...focus....)

"...sedative.........shouldn't be harmful.........won't wake....."

(nononononononono.....don't listen! He's trying to trap you don't listen don't listen don't don't don'tdon'tdon't....)

"......been a long.........shouldn't...........wake..........?

(focus, focus focus........no, don't listen, don't let him trap you again.......no.....)

"John? Wake up," the voice said softly. He closed his eyes tight, refusing to look. He knew where he would be, and he didn't want to look. A hand, callused but gentle, squeezed his comfortingly. Confused, he opened his eyes.

Instead of the slick depths of his dreams, he encountered the comforting confines of the medlab. Moya's enchanting humming filled his ears, and the hand holding his belonged to Aeryn. He frowned, confused. "How did I get here?" he asked.

Aeryn squeezed his hand gently. "The DRDs found you. D'Argo carried you here. Zhaan gave you a sedative to help you relax..." she began, but he cut her short.

"No, how did I get *here*, on Moya?" He looked supremely confused and his hand was trembling ever so slightly in hers. "How did I get off the Gammak base?"

Aeryn was dumbfounded. It had been more than two monens since his escape from Scorpius and his Aurora chair, but apparently John had forgotten everything that had transpired since. She shuddered from deep in her soul.

"You've been onboard Moya for more than two monens," she said gently. "Don't you remember? Crais stole Talyn and then we almost lost Chiana at that cemetery planet?" She was babbling, almost as terrified as he was. How could he have forgotten? Just last night he seemed fine. She remembered letting him kiss her good night, still not quite ready to cross that other line yet, but relishing his taste and the feel of his arms around her...how could *he* forget?

Before he could answer, Zhaan swept across the room and settled on the edge of his bed. She ran the portable scan over his body as she spoke.

"Are you feeling any better, John?" she asked him. He could only nod mutely and cling to Aeryn.

"Then let's see if we can clear up your confusion," she said with a gentle smile as she laid down the scanner. "You've been back on Moya for almost two monens, like Aeryn said. We have indeed had several close encounters with Scorpius and Crais, as well as with others. But I think I have come up with an explanation for your memory loss and confusion." And for his strange nocturnal running as well, she thought to herself.

"During and after your rescue from the Gammak base, we seemed to be always on the verge of being caught, always running from one attack to another. Always running from danger to danger. Our 'down time', as you call it, was minimal and short lived. What I think happened is this. Your body secretes a chemical when you are in danger, something that seems to give you strength, that makes you ignore pain."

John interrupted her here, adding his take. "Adrenaline. It's called adrenaline."

Zhaan nodded, glad for confirmation of at least this part of her theory. "In the time since you escaped, your body has been relying on this adrenaline to keep you going, almost forgetting the stress it had been under. But in the last few weekens, there has been no need for the adrenaline in your system, and so your body is relaxing. And, unfortunately, remembering. And forgetting." She smiled.

"So in other words, I'm going through withdrawals from a two month long adrenaline high and just now starting to have a nervous breakdown?" he said grimly.

"That sounds...crude but possibly accurate," Zhaan replied. Aeryn squeezed his hand again, drawing his attention.

"Zhaan thinks you just need rest," she said hopefully.

"Sure, nothing that a good long nap won't take care of," he said sarcastically.

Zhaan noted his cynical response but said nothing as yet. Let him rest a bit more, then she would approach him with her idea. He wasn't ready yet, and she wondered if he ever would be.

He slept, and in his sleep, dreams came unbidden. No more of the ordinary run of the mill nightmares for John, but dreams of shrieking reality that catapulted him to the edge of insanity. Always a dark room splattered with shards of bright light, littered with images of terror, accompanied by a constant scream that he knew all too well to be his own. These dreams chased him all night long. He would waken, only to drift off and start again.

Aeryn sat beside John's bed unable to even attempt sleep. His frantic tossing and turning was punctuated by moans and unintelligible words of protest. She would stroke his face and whisper soothing words and he would come half awake, only to drift off and into savage dreams again. Some arns later, he seemed to be sleeping more or less peacefully, and Aeryn's head dropped to her chest. Her hand still clasped firmly in his, she slept.

She woke up later disoriented and confused. Shaking off sleep, she realized she had curled up in a ball in the chair next to John's bed. A soft noise brought her attention back to John.

Seemingly only half conscious, his blue eyes stared dully at the ceiling through barely open lids. His body was wracked by subtle tremors, like small seizures, periodically eliciting a moan of pain. Aeryn slid to the side of his bed, resting on her knees and gently stroking his face. "John, wake up, please, wake up," she pleaded. His face showed no recognition at all and his body continued it's trembling. Aeryn raised her terrified face and shouted to the ceiling, "Zhaan! I need you now! Get in here!"

The trembling increased into shuddering spasms that seemed to pull grunts of pain from John. His eyes were still unfocused; he showed no response to Aeryn or to Zhaan. Aeryn held his hand and spoke gently to him anyway, hoping he could hear her. Zhaan ran the scanner over him yet again, this time reading the results grimly.

"His brain functions are more erratic than before," she said softly. "I hadn't wanted to do this yet, but I think I must try Unity. I fear it's the only way to save him."

Aeryn shot her a look of fear and gratitude in equal measure. "Won't that be dangerous for you?" she asked.

Zhaan sighed deeply. Of course it would, but what else could she do? John was suffering. She couldn't sit here and do nothing about it. "I must at least try. He would do no less for one of us."

As the other's ran breathless into the room, Zhaan took John's face in her hands, slicking his sweat dampened hair back and pressing her forehead to his. The rumble of protest from D'Argo was stilled and silenced by a look from Aeryn. And then Zhaan was aware no more of her crew mates.

Whirling confusion and pain assaulted her like a demonic hurricane. She felt her soul-self gasp and recoil from the madness within. Images of Scorpius and Crais towering, raging, inflicting pain and ripping John's mind to shreds. Images of a dark room, its slick walls fractured by bright shards of light and visions of his past. Pain that dug deep into his mind, into her mind, delving for more pain to feed on. And over it all, the overriding feeling of hopelessness, of fear, of anguish. Drawing on all her years of searching for strength within herself, Zhaan shuddered and steadied her breathing, slowed her pulse. She soothed and sought John's battered mind, finding him hiding, cowering, in a dim corner of his past.

"John, John, you must come with me. I can help you," she crooned softly.

Heedless of her voice, she felt him pull tighter within himself and reject her offer. She tried again.

"Don't look there John, look here, look at me. I can help, let me help..." she murmured as soothingly as she knew how, calling him back. After endless microts, she felt his presence as a rush of fear.

"Zhaan! Get out, he'll hurt you, get out get out getoutgetoutgetout..." he babbled frantically.

Again, Zhaan soothed him. "No John, he's not here, he can't hurt you anymore. You're safe on Moya, Aeryn is beside you, D'Argo is here, we won't let anyone hurt you. You're safe, safe..."

Her thoughts and emotions eventually soothed John's ravaged mind, and he began to calm himself. Slowly his mind clambered for a foothold in sanity once again, struggling to keep above the maelstrom of pain and suffering that Scorpius had bequeathed him. In time, his breathing slowed, his thoughts became clearer, his mind focused on Zhaan.

"Zhaan, it's dangerous for you to be here, even I know that," he said eventually.

"Of course it is, John. But what kind of Priestess would I be if I let you suffer without trying to help? Would you have sat by, doing nothing, and let one of us suffer?" she asked, knowing the answer already.

A soul deep sigh made John shudder. "No, I guess not." She felt him look about himself again, as if just now becoming aware of his surroundings. "It feels...different than before," he said.

"Of course, you are different, as am I. We have both become attuned to each other, you are able to feel and sense much more than before. Can you feel the power within you?" she asked.

"Yes, I guess I can," he said softly, then paused. "Am I going crazy?"

"Your mind is unable to handle all that has happened to it in the past few weekens. It is crowded with images of your pain and suffering, for that is what is foremost in your mind. You need to deal with those images, put them behind you, and look for something in your present time to focus on. Find something good in your life to keep you looking ahead." Here she paused, and he felt her smile.

"What? What are you smiling about?" he asked. "I felt you smile."

"Yes," she said, but did not elaborate.

"What is it then?" he asked.

"You must search for your focus yourself, John. I cannot. It must be you who discovers what is of paramount importance in your heart."

She felt John's mind skitter wildly away from those images that gibbered and hammered at his defenses, and search for something else. There was so little that had happened to him in the last cycle that was worth holding on to, so little that was soothing and comforting. He struggled and moaned as he searched, memories of the past cycle spinning around him like a kaleidoscope of pain and suffering. Oh, but then...

There, in the shuttle, he and Aeryn bundled up in EV suits, mouths entangled in a frantic, passionate kiss...and there, on the false Earth, a much more subtle and less hurried kiss on the bed, shoulders and hips pressed together...the radiant Aeryn Sun, coming to his rescue on the Gammak base...a driven, desperate Aeryn leaving to 'share' Talyn with Crais and locking her hand with his...and a warm, loving Aeryn lying back in his arms, fragrant hair tickling his nose, soft curves molding into his own...

"Aeryn..." he breathed, wonderingly, hopefully.

Zhaan smiled. "Yes, Aeryn. She is with you now John, she hasn't left your side since we found you. Hold onto Aeryn, hold onto your love for her. It will save you, I promise."

She felt him shudder, this time with longing. Now, now he was ready.

"We must purge you, John, rid you of the past that threatens you. Are you ready?"

"Yes, I'm ready," he said with conviction.

Zhaan smiled and murmured, "You truly amaze me, John Crichton. You could have been a P'au."

And then they plunged headlong into the cauldron of pain and suffering.

The tension of waiting threatened to overwhelm Aeryn. John and Zhaan had lain locked in a lovers embrace for more than an arn, sometimes shuddering convulsively, but more often so still they seemed dead. Patience not being one of her better virtues, it took all the willpower she possessed not to pull them apart and demand...something, anything. John lay so still, so lifeless, that she feared he would never return. His periodic moans did nothing to dispel her uneasiness.

D'Argo paced unceasingly, his long strides a steady rhythm in the still room. Chiana perched on the edge of a console, hugging her knees to her chest and watching the pair on the med table with disconsolate eyes. Rygel hovered to one side, seemingly bored, but still there, for what it was worth. Pilot kept vigil on them all, wondering and watching, hoping for the safe return of John and Zhaan.

With a gasp, Zhaan suddenly was flung from John's still form. She landed unceremoniously in a heap, her normally healthy blue skin a pale translucent color. With a cry of distress, D'Argo leapt to capture her slender form, gently picking her up and carrying her to the nearest bed. Chiana and Rygel, torn between their two downed comrades, flicked their eyes from one to the other in hope.

Aeryn settled on the bed next to John, taking his hand in her own. It felt cool, waxy, lifeless. She stifled a sob of fear, holding her pain and suffering close inside. Gently, she stroked his brow, pushing his unruly hair back and soothing him all in one uncharacteristic gesture. "Wake up, John," she cajoled tenderly. "You have to wake up now."

His eyelids flickered open. Slowly the room came into focus, from fuzzy brightness to sharp clarity. As he had hoped, the first thing he saw was Aeryn, but her face was drawn into an expression of pain he had never witnessed before. His concern for her overrode his own feelings of well being, and he groped for her hand.

"Aeryn, what's wrong? Are you all right?" he croaked.

She shook her head, twin tear tracks coming unbidden to her face. "Nothing, now. You're awake," she said. "I didn't think you'd ever wake up."

He sighed in relief, then cast his gaze about for Zhaan. "Is Zhaan all right? Where is she?"

"She's over there, D'Argo is with her," Aeryn replied. She spared a glance at D'Argo, who nodded briskly back at her. Zhaan was going to be fine then. "She's resting, John. How are you feeling?"

"Like I just did some really trippy acid and went through the freak show with Freddy Kreuger while the Wicked Witch of the West stir fried my brains," he quipped. Aeryn sighed in frustration, then laughed lightly.

"Well, at least when you don't make sense I know you're all right," she said.

He squeezed her hand. "I don't think I'll ever be *all* right, but I do feel better."

"Good. Maybe then we can take up where we left off last night then," she said with a mischievous smile.

He frowned, unable to remember. "Where did we leave off?"

She smiled secretly and leaned closer, gently kissing him. "We were right here..."

"So, OK, that guy Scorpius really fried his brains, I can understand how that would mess him up. But being mind fucked by some alien doesn't justify going Billy the Kid," DK fumed. "Screwed up I can understand -- terrified, traumatized, even insane I can deal with. But homicidal? Completely unremorseful? That's a pretty big step." He settled back in his chair again, dark eyes burning with unreadable emotions.

Beside him, Jack sat in numb disbelief. What other horrors had his son been subject to and survived? How much could any one man take? The human mind could be amazingly elastic, bending and twisting and not breaking, under extreme duress. But it could also be fragile. Sometimes it would shatter at the least little trauma. He shook himself out of his self indulging funk and turned to Zhaan.

"I'm wondering the same thing," he said quietly.

Zhaan sighed and nodded her head in resignation. "There is more, of course. There is much more." She folded her hands on the table and focused on the smooth surface, unable to meet their eyes.

"John made a good recovery, but he had changed, subtly. We all did, of course, but the changes in John were easier to see. He used to be so much more open, ready to make friends with strangers and even enjoy their company. Out here, that can be a failing of course, and dangerous. But John lost that and became more...distant. He was still the same in most ways, but sometimes he would simply...retreat. Just pull inside himself for awhile and be a bystander instead of a participant in daily life. We let him, knowing he needed that space to heal. He also became more intense, more likely to be suspicious of traders on commerce planets."

"That would make sense, of course," Jack said hopefully. "After all he had been through, I mean."

"Yes, it did make sense, and it was healthy. He and Aeryn started sharing quarters about that time, and they seemed so happy. He was doing just fine until about four monens after his recovery. That was when we encountered Scorpius and his command carrier yet again."

John sauntered through Moya's halls humming quietly to himself. Life, when it stopped throwing him curve balls, was good. The last few weekens had been tranquil in contrast to the previous ones. All the commerce planets they had encountered had yielded enough food and supplies at such equable prices that they felt positively giddy with wealth. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood most of the time. Moya was operating smoothly, and except for her constant concern over her lost offspring Talyn, she was also feeling relaxed for the first time in what felt like forever.

But the most incredible and amazing event in the past few weekens was when Aeryn happily moved her possessions into John's quarters. If their days were filled with the tedium of repairs and regular maintenance and duty, their nights were filled with desire and lovemaking unlike anything John had previously encountered. Not that Aeryn was kinky or that Sebacean women were different in any way, but that the two of them seemed two halves of a whole. Separate, they were two different people, but together they became one, a creature of sensuous passion with an unquenchable appetite for sex and love.

He whistled casually as he strolled into command, a jaunty tune, a happy sound. Zhaan looked up with a serene smile as he entered.

"You sound happy," she said.

"Happy, content, full of warm fuzzies. The sun is shining, the sky is blue, the stars are lined up in the heavens and all is right with the world. With my world, that is," John quipped, giving Zhaan's waist a gentle, loving squeeze on his way by.

Zhann laughed, a rare sound it seemed. "Well, not that I understood half of what you said, but that's wonderful."

"You wanna know what's wonderful Zhaan?" he asked with a happy grin. "The simple things. Friends, food, comfort, someone to hold onto at night. *That's* wonderful."

Zhaan watched him go to work on one of the consoles, checking with Pilot for it's required performance parameters. This was a different John, more cautious and careful, to be sure, and more deadly, but, if possible, even more caring and vulnerable than before. No, she thought, that wasn't right. He wasn't so much vulnerable as open, his feelings completely exposed. There was no question on where you stood with John Crichton, he let you know. There was a certain toughness, a shell of strength that he could draw around himself when needed, that hadn't been there before. And all it had taken was for Aeryn to reciprocate his love.

Zhaan hid a smile as she remembered those first few days of their new cohabitation. The two of them would often disappear for long periods of time, christening, as it were, as many parts of Moya as they could think of. Pilot, with a prudishness Zhaan thought amusing, was offended. Zhaan calmed him as best as she could, insisting that as the newness of their relationship tapered off, so too would their appetite for dangerous sex. Only partly mollified, Pilot retreated in lofty disdain.

Zhaan was secretly pleased at Aeryn's lack of emotional baggage in the matter. She had thought that the ex PeaceKeeper would have had more problems dealing with all the issues involved, but that seemed to not be the case. If anything, Aeryn was the more aggressive of the two. Although not overly demonstrative in front of the others, she had no problem taking the lead when she thought no one was looking. Not that John let her lead all the time. Sometimes, the two of them weren't as secluded as they thought, much to Zhaan's amusement. No sense in letting that little secret out.

John smiled and hummed to himself as he worked, thinking about that first night. When he was finally moved from the medlab to his own bed, he was nonetheless surprised when Aeryn insisted on sleeping on a bed next to him. 'what,' she asked, 'would he do if he woke from one of those dreams in the middle of the night?' And so she slept next to him, an arms reach away, close enough to touch but oh, did he dare? Not at first, not for almost a weeken.

His sleep was not dreamless, but the dreams of torture seemed to be insubstantial, fading. His sessions with Zhaan had helped his battered soul recover, and his hold on Aeryn's hand in times of crisis bolstered his confidence and strength. Not demonstrative by nature, Aeryn was learning that simply holding onto John not only helped heal him, but her as well. She adjusted quickly.

Almost a weeken after the move back to his quarters, John had a particularly disturbing dream. Shapeless and formless as dreams sometimes are, it still possessed the power to bring him shrieking from sleep, clawing the sweat dampened air with crazed hands and throwing himself from his bed. For long minutes he was unaware of Aeryn gently holding him, soothing him, calming his frayed nerves. Then as the dream began to fade, he realized she was cradling him in her arms as they both lay in a heap on the floor. His head was in her lap, his arms clutching her waist, her hands stroking his hair and back. Several deep breaths later, he managed to sit up a little.

He found himself nose to nose with her, faces mere inches apart, eyes searching for a way to the soul. He leaned in, letting his forehead rest against hers, feeling her breath quicken and her heartbeat race. She smelled intoxicating, a heady mixture of clean soap and a wonderful, womanly scent that needed no name. It was simply Aeryn. He breathed deeply, drunk on the feel of her body, the scent of her hair and skin, the touch of her hands on his neck. He might have breathed her name, he wasn't sure.

She in turn indulged in something she rarely let herself do. She relaxed in his arms, giving and getting comfort, demonstrating, at long last, her affection. Her eyes closed as she reveled in the sensations; the softness of his skin, the strong, musky, male scent of his body, his hands, firm and tender, caressing her back. Wanting, needing more, she raised her head just enough to brush her lips against his cheek, kissing the corner of his mouth. He sighed, responding to her kiss with one of his own, equally as tender and chaste. Eyes still closed, she gave a wordless moan as his lips and then his tongue trailed down her face from her eyebrow to her jaw line, leaving a line of fiery heat unequal to any she had known before. It was impossible, but the mere touch of his lips on her neck sent shivers of ecstasy through her body. She moaned again, this time capturing his mouth with her own, probing his mouth with her tongue in rapturous abandon.

He returned her kiss, tasting her and letting her taste him. His hands never ceased their sensitive explorations of her body, stroking and inflaming her. Slipping his hands under her loose shirt, he felt the silky soft texture of her skin under his palms and nearly wept for joy. Her body seemed to be melting into his, breasts now firmly planted against his chest, her mouth an extension of his. Rapture and joy flared in his brain, the sensations her hands and mouth were creating almost overloading his circuits.

She pulled back then, slowly, and tugged at the shirt impeding her exploration of his body. With a sensuous smile, she pulled it over his head and tossed in unceremoniously aside. Before he could react, she leaned in and nipped him lightly on the collarbone, eliciting a gasp of pleasure and retaliation. As gently as she, he lifted her shirt, discarding it in the general direction of his own. His hands lovingly cupped her breasts even as his lips caressed her mouth once again. She lost herself to the sensations.

The bed seemed unnecessary, comfort was subjective. They twined together, their now bare legs tangled, backs arching, feet slipping for purchase on the floor. Hands and lips and tongues moved restlessly as they learned each other's secrets. He learned that a nip on the rib cage could send her into ectasy, while she discovered the sensitive spot on his lower back where his spine curved to the buttocks. And more, so much more.

Finally, inflamed with a heat and desire completely out of his control, he slid his body over hers, kissing her, dueling with her tongue even as he moved to fill her. She moaned and arched her back, gripping his shoulders and thrusting up to meet him. Heaven could never be so sweet, he thought giddily, so sensuous. He let his body set the pace, feeling her need swell and ebb and swell again, overriding his own desires. Oh, this was so right, so right.

She gasped with the completeness of it, the feeling of comfort and love. Never had she felt so fulfilled and needed all at once. His mouth never stopped inflaming her, nipping and kissing her neck and face, tugging at her earlobe, murmuring into her hair. His hands continued stroking her breasts, her back and buttocks, spreading the heat. He held himself back even as he drove her to the edge, stroking now deeper and stronger, now slow and sensual. She moaned and rocked with pleasure, then suddenly snapped her hips up and nearly screamed with the release. Mindless of his state, she clutched him and moaned softly, writhing beneath him as he too finished, gasping her name into her hair.

That night they got very little sleep, but it didn't seem to matter. Their souls were entwined as intricately as their bodies had been earlier, their lives as mingled as their breath.

He smiled again at the memory, and the memories of countless other such nights since then. If he could truly be happy out here in the nameless depths of space, it was with Aeryn. Maybe there was some huge cosmic reason for flinging him out here after all; maybe Aeryn was that reason.

"Zhaan, Commander Crichton, I am picking up a distress beacon. It is still some ways distant, but not far off our course. Should I alter our trajectory to intercept it or do we assume it's a trap?" Pilot interrupted John's reverie. Both he and Zhaan moved to the sensor array and searched for the signal. It was just as Pilot said, close enough to their present course to make a course change insubstantial, but still...

"What do you think, John?" Zhaan asked softly. He shook his head.

"I might be feeling on top of the world, Zhaan, but I don't trust anonymous blips in space anymore. Let's pass them up, it smells like a rat to me," he replied.

Secretly agreeing with him, even though the P'au in her rebelled at the thought at possibly abandoning helpless spacefarers to their fate, Zhaan asked Pilot to call the others to command. "We must make the decision together," she said, and John agreed.

They all filed in within minutes, D'Argo striding purposefully into command, Chiana ducking in almost unseen, Rygell on his whining throne sled, complaining as usual, and Aeryn, walking with the stealthy grace of a long, lean cat, her unfathomable eyes latching onto Crichton immediately. There they were, his family, "in a Jerry Springer sort of way" as he had once said. Aeryn came to his side at once. Their bodies touching, becoming one, they listened as once again Pilot told them the new information.

With a minimum of discussion, they decided to veer away from the distress call. Everyone felt that the call was a trap. Better to move on than to fall once again into the clutches of an enemy, old or new. Discretion was the better part of valor, John thought grimly. He turned to Aeryn, letting his lips nearly, but not quite, touch her ear. "We don't want to interrupt our plans for the evening," he said seductively. She gave him a slow smile in return and surreptitiously squeezed his buttocks. "Not much chance of that," she responded.

"Oh get a room!" Rygel snorted in disgust, spinning his throne sled around and parting with a string of muttered curses. D'Argo rolled his eyes at the departing monarch.

"He is just envious," D'Argo insisted. Then he frowned, "But then, so am I."

John glanced over his shoulder at Zhaan, who was working unaware of their conversation. He nodded towards Zhaan and Chiana, and addressed D'Argo. "What's holding you back, Big Guy? It's not like any of you are getting any younger. Like they say, Carpe Diem." "Who says? And what does an aquatic animal have to do with anything?" D'Argo rumbled, embarrassed and very confused. John laughed, hugging Aeryn around the waist with one hand. She shook her head at John's attempts to help D'Argo.

"No, D'Argo, it's Carpe Diem. It means 'seize the day'."

"Oh," D'Argo said lamely. "Well, that at least makes sense. Of a sort."

"Yeah, well, think on it, it might grow on you," John answered with a laugh.

"Grow?" D'Argo queried. "Why would I want anything to grow on me?"

"Forget it," John waved his hand. "It's not worth explaining."

"Never is," Aeryn butted in.

"Oh, why thank you Miss Sun," John gave her a mock bow. "Your words of wisdom never fail to move me beyond all belief..." She shut him up with a hand over his mouth.

"I almost wish he had forgotten how to talk," D'Argo groused good naturedly, then shook his head. "No, a silent John Crichton would be more difficult to deal with than one who has diary of the mouth."

That did it. John crumpled to the floor in paroxysms of laughter. D'Argo and Aeryn watched him intently, wondering what had set him off this time.

"Diarrhea, D'Argo, not diary!" he managed to spit out finally.

"Whatever," D'Argo muttered.

The rest of the week passed uneventfully.

G'baen was not the worst commerce planet they had been too, but it was a shoo in for the top ten. Dust and grit permeated every item sold, and the crew of Moya tired of its stench in short order. Poor sanitary conditions and even poorer trade routes provided the travelers with a lack of selection and a wish to be elsewhere as soon as possible.

John wandered the food booths, lost in thought. He and Zhaan had come down alone on this trip. They not only anticipated very little worth purchasing, they felt a need for speed. Rygel would insist on lengthy haggling, Chiana might feel the need to appropriate someone else's purse, and D'Argo was in a foul mood. And Aeryn was feeling, well, sort of sick.

And this had John worried. Aeryn was never sick. She insisted, however, that she would be fine, it felt like a slight case of Plagarreain flu. Not overwhelmingly assured, he nevertheless came down to help Zhaan.

The food they found had only one thing going for it. It wasn't food cubes. Other than that, it was reprocessed dren, but beggars couldn't afford to be choosers. Or, John thought wryly, the most wanted crew in the uncharted territories couldn't afford to be picky. Food was food, no matter how much it smelled like a ten day dead camel.

He sauntered past a booth selling clay pots, idly gauging the quality of the workmanship (poor to piss poor), and suddenly became aware of a figure shadowing him. Making no sudden movements lest he alert his tail, John examined one of the hideous pots. The salesman barely moved from her spot behind the counter, although she did favor John with a jaundiced eye and declare, "Tha's the finest work on G'baen, none better," in a bored monotone. John smiled distractedly and used the shopkeepers tin back drop as a mirror to reflect his shadow's progress.

The man resembled a Sebacean (gee, John, why not human? he wondered fleetingly), but was squatter, with spiky bronze hair and flowing mustaches. He glanced furtively in John's direction, thus proving to John that he wasn't hallucinating. Smiling inanely at the bored shopkeeper, he wandered off with studied nonchalance. Casually reaching up to scratch an itch on his chin, he activated his comm.

"Zhaan," he said quietly. "Oh Zhaan...."

"Yes John, what is it?" she responded, sounding rather harassed.

"Well, it may be nothing, but there's this nasty little customer following me. I doubt he wants my autograph."

"Head for the pod, I'll meet you there," she said swiftly. "And be careful."

"Always," he said, smiling as he sidled past another vendor. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of what he at first thought was the man following him, but this time to his right. Oh shit, he thought, he has a friend. Should have known, he thought grimly. Even more alert now, he scanned the crowd for more familiar faces and found two, one in front pacing him and one to his left, trudging along like a drone. Damn, damn, damn, there were four of them. He let his hand brush the pulse pistol at his side reflexively, taking comfort in its presence. If only D'Argo or Aeryn were here, he'd feel a lot more comfortable. Then he growled to himself, hell, he didn't need them to take care of himself, he was a big boy.

When he was almost within sight of the pod, Zhaan's voice diverted his attention.

"John, I'm at the pod. Are you close?"

"Yeah, I'm just a few minutes...." he scanned the horizon to get his bearings, .." south. I should be there in a few microts. I've got lots of company, there's four of them now."

"Bounty hunters?" she asked with trepidation.

"That's my guess," he replied, dodging a woman with a squalling infant. "Short little guys, bronze spiky hair, big mustaches. Not exactly blending in with the scenery, so my guess is they know I'm onto them." This thought filled him with slick fear. If they were so casual as to not worry about him seeing them, they might be tough customers.

"The pod is prepped and ready to go, just get here and I'll cover you," she said encouragingly.

"Thanks, Zhaan, I'm on my way. In fact, " here he craned his neck and could just make out the front end of the pod. "I'm almost there, I can see the pod."

"I'm ready, just be careful..." Her reply was cut short by a sudden eruption of screams of rage and indignation from the market. She stood in the pod doorway, pulse rifle ready, searching the swirling, frantic crowd for John. Her height gave her an advantage, and so she saw the four figures rush him all at once with weapons drawn. John, a creature of habit, used the crowd like a true middle linebacker, shoving people out of his way, letting unaware citizens block tackle for him and making incredible headway through the mess. The bounty hunter in front of him he dodged skillfully, ducking under his outflung arm and using his momentum to hurl the man aside. The other three passed their swearing comrade with strong leaps, one of them seizing inspiration and jumping to the top of a sellers stall, running unencumbered the length of the roof, and leaping down on John as he raced underneath. Zhaan cried out a warning, but too late.

John fell under the crushing weight of the bounty hunter. The air whooshed out of his lungs, leaving him gasping for breath. Rough hands grabbed for his wrists, to bind him, and John had a sudden flash of what was to be.

Scorpius's face leered at him in a black room shattered with indigo light, PK Barbie standing at attendance. No way, he thought, I'll die first.

With Herculean effort, John heaved up and tossed the unsuspecting bounty hunter off his back. Roaring with combined rage and fear, he pulled his pulse pistol and fired at point blank range, nearly obliterating the man's face. Never stopping, he sprang to his feet and swung the pistol around, aiming for the first head of spiky bronze hair he saw. This one managed to duck before losing face. The next wasn't so lucky, and the top of his head disappeared in a flash of light. John began to run again, this time ignoring the now screaming bystanders. Get out of my way, he thought hysterically, get out of my way. The whine of a pulse pistol behind him spurred him on to greater speed. Only half a block to the pod, he could make it. He made Heisman trophy leaps over prone bodies and never looked back.

Zhaan was shouting to him, the crowd was shrieking, the remaining bounty hunters were grunting orders and he was shittin' and gittin', when suddenly the world fell out from under him. One minute he was running like Deon Sanders, the next he was face down in the G'baen dirt, his body numb, his hands and feet twitching. Sounds died off to a dull roar, and everything seemed to pass into slow motion.

Zhaan, firing her pulse rifle. The crowd dispersing rapidly. The remaining bounty hunters grabbing his arms and twisting them roughly behind his back, binding him, speaking in a thick, gravelly language his microbes had some trouble with. And over it all, the impending doom he felt inside. Scorpius had him, yet again. His eyes locked on Zhaan's, pleading. He watched her in slow motion as she swooped through the crowd, her blue robes swirling about her, her beautiful face set in rabid determination as she began to shoot.

One of the bounty hunters fell almost at once, grunting something untranslatable as he did. Bright gouts of purplish blood pumped from his body once, twice, and then ceased. The other one left John where he was, disabled by the neural stun and bound by tight manacles, to fend off the raging Delvian. All John could do was watch in mindless terror as the bounty hunter shot Zhaan, as he saw her fall, lifeless, to the ground. It was then that he knew he was truly lost. He let his head fall, and gave into the grip of the stun pulse and his own fears and pain.

Aeryn stood in the terrace, her arms folded tightly to her sides, her hands gripping her elbows. Her face was stony, unreadable, her mind in a turmoil she had never before known. Losing friends was part and parcel of being a PeaceKeeper. She had lost more friends and comrades by the age of twenty than she could remember. But nothing had prepared her for this.

Pilot had received a distress call from Zhaan, saying something about bounty hunters stalking John. And then...nothing. Fighting the nausea that had been threatening her all day, Aeryn and D'Argo took her prowler down to the planet, and found Zhaan nearly dead from a blaster shot. Of John there was no sign. Zhaan had recovered long enough to tell them what had happened, and then passed out yet again. The remaining bounty hunter had taken off in the pod. D'Argo speculated, and Aeryn agreed, that the distress beacon they had picked up earlier had most likely been from the bounty hunters. Finding their trap hadn't worked, they had headed for the next most likely commerce planet to lay in wait for them.

Torn between saving one crew mate and finding another, Aeryn made an anguished decision. She and D'Argo carried Zhaan to the prowler and took off for Moya.

And now, standing in the silence of the stars she knew that while Zhaan would live, John was back in Scorpius' hands. Aeryn let her resolve break, and she wept.

Merryc was a PeaceKeeper officer of the finest stripe. Unfailingly loyal and obedient, he pursued his career as a PeaceKeeper with a diligence unparalleled by any. He had taken each and every assignment, no matter how dull or tedious, as serious as if he were guarding PeaceKeeper command itself. It was his unflagging devotion to duty that got him assigned to Captain Crais' command carrier, and that same now unfortunate duty that put him here, in the worst assignment he had ever had as an officer.

Escorting prisoners was not the best of duties, but Merryc felt it was certainly not beneath him. If his commanding officer decided he needed to escort prisoners, then that's what he'd do. But ever since Crais' defection, a vague unease had permeated Merryc's sense of duty and devotion. After all, it wasn't hard to give one's loyalty to Crais, a seasoned officer and a known hero. But Scorpius, well, the Scarran half-breed wasn't Sebacean, and he certainly wasn't operating on all thrusters. At least, that was Merryc's opinion. Not that he shared this with anyone else. But devotion to duty had become a burden for Merryc ever since the human came on board.

He knew little about the human, having served in a different part of the command carrier when Tauvo Crais died, and he didn't know the traitor, Aeryn Sun well at all. But he had heard much, and wondered more. What was it about this man that caused Sun, an officer to be admired, to defend him, and then to defect with him? What was it about him that drove first Crais, and then Scorpius, to hunt him down? As he walked the human from his cell to where Scorpius waited with his chair, Merryc couldn't help but be impressed with the man's mivonks. Most beings begged and pleaded, whined, groveled. Even some PeaceKeepers had wept at the last, before they were strapped in. But not the human, and he had no little experience in that hideous beast. Instead, he mounted the chair with a deep calm, and looked Scorpius in the eye like a man. Then, incredibly, he hawked up phlegm and spit in the half-breed's face. Unable to help himself, Merryc found himself silently approving the bravado of this human, John Crichton.

But such theatrics held no sway over Scorpius. He merely wiped it away and signaled to his apprentice to switch on the device, and the torture began. Merryc found himself profoundly grateful for the helmet that hid his face. His disgust at Scorpius and his chair knew no bounds, and his respect for the human was growing by the microt. What a PeaceKeeper this man would have made! He found himself fidgeting, and made himself still. No good in attracting attention, not here. Better to drive the thoughts of the human from his mind. Better to survive.

Was the nightmare back or was he really here, in Scorpius's chamber, strapped into the chair again? He glanced down at his arms, and saw blood where the straps met his arms. Nope, this was no dream. He hadn't bled like this the first time. The previous days were coming back to him, endless days of mind numbing torture. He let his bloodshot gaze wander about the room, and saw his ever present guard. PeaceKeeper bastard, stood there by the door day after day and watched, never made a move, didn't have the balls or mivonks or whatever to see that Scorpy was a lunatic and needed to be stopped. Crichton let his gaze slide off the guard and around the rest of the room within his eyesight.

The console stood empty, no PK Barbie there to gaze at him with empty eyes. He shuddered with the memory. Somehow, PK Babs upset him even more than Scorpy. She looked normal, except for those soulless depths.

He let his mind wander again, wondering what was going to happen next. How long had he been here? If he went by his sparse meals, which came at regular intervals, it seemed to be no more than a week. He wondered if Zhaan was alive or dead, and what the others were doing. He hoped Aeryn wasn't trying to find him, he couldn't bear the thought of her dying like this, or from the living death. He hoped, with a passion he didn't know he possessed, that he would just rupture an artery in his brain when Scorpy hit the switch next time, and rob the bastard of his prize.

Movement alerted him to the return of Scorpius, gliding into the room with deceptive grace. Behind him was PK Barbie, resplendent in black and red. Was John mistaken, or did the guard seem to shrink back as she passed?

"Scorpy! You old son-of-a-bitch, back so soon?" Crichton spat out merrily. Scorpius let his face twist into a mockery of a smile. The guard noticeably twitched. Only John seemed to see it.

"Your resistance to the chair is admirable, Crichton, but we have found a way around even that," Scorpius crooned. "Your human brain functions at different wavelengths than a Sebacean one, it seems. Our techs have been recalibrating the Aurora Chair to automatically adjust for that, so now things should go much faster."

"Oh, now that's jus' peachy," John replied. "Now you can pan fry my gray matter in record time."

Scorpius cocked his head to one side, observing John closely. "I have a question, Crichton. Why do you feel the need for this needless bantering? You gain nothing from it."

Crichton laughed, and hawked up another goober of phlegm. With wicked aim, he spat it into Scorpius's eyes. "But I do gain something from it, Scorpy. I *know* that no matter what, you will *never* be able to take away what I am and what I've done. So screw you, Scorpy, and the horse you rode in on.” He glanced over at the statuesque beauty behind the console. "You too, you cold ass bitch."

The guard drew back now, seeming to fade into the walls. He wanted no part of what was going to happen next. Scorpy seemed to grow, looming larger over John Crichton, his face suffused with rage. Whatever had set him off, John hoped it would cause the equivalent of a heart attack or something, but as luck would have it, it didn't. Instead, Scorpius spun around, wiping his face and spitting out his orders.

"Full strength, maximum extraction. Rip his mind apart," he growled, his voice suddenly and frighteningly deeper.

Then the wave of pain and memories hit, and John Crichton forgot who he was.

Tagan was a mid level tech of extraordinary talent, high ambition and a decided lack of trust in her fellow PeaceKeepers. She found out early in her career that she could give but a fraction of her talents to her job and keep out of the line of sight of the powers that be. Nobody but she knew the extent of her skills, and she made sure to keep them well hidden. Someday, and soon, she would be leaving all this. Life under Scorpius had decided that for her.

She pulled out the last connector and began to bundle up her gear. Nobody really watched what techs did, except other techs. And since she was the only tech in the room, she felt reasonably certain no one really gave her a second look as she scraped the smallest amount of the human's blood into a glass vial brought for just that reason. She needed a genetic sample of his blood if she was to pull this off, and time was running out.

She slid the vial into one of her pockets and straightened up, gathering her tools with her. She nodded deferentially to the guard as she left the room, thinking to herself that he resembled nothing but a dank, dark beetle, mindlessly scurrying about his day. He hadn't even noticed her taking a sample of the human's blood. He would be an obstacle, but not an insurmountable one.

Merryc watched the tech as she left, pondering both her action, taking a sample of the human's blood, and her defiant look as she left the room. Knowing full well that she thought herself unobserved and believed her facial expressions schooled, he hadn't let on that he had seen. But now he was wondering...why? Why had she done it? For what purpose? And more importantly, why did he not say anything? Merryc had much to ponder, and time was running out.

*Whirling colors kaleidoscoped in his brain, the blues and greens screaming rage and pain, the reds pounding out fear and loathing, the yellows whining with anxiety. Lost in a maelstrom of suffering, John Crichton let go, letting his mind sink deeper and deeper within himself, finding and then abandoning his center, his sanity. It was easier to disappear, to forget not only what had happened but who he was and why he was here, hurting, screaming soundlessly into the deeps. He sank deeper, deeper, until even the effort to exist ceased. John Crichton lost himself in his insanity.*

Merryc stood rigid at his post, his mind whirling in confusion. The human had stopped screaming days ago, but his eyes betrayed his pain. Red rimmed and vacant, they called Merryc a coward and a fool. What was worse was that he believed them. He could no longer stand here and let this man be ripped apart until nothing was left of his mind. He had to do something.

Just yesterday, Merryc had confronted the tech, Tagan. While she was at first defiantly opposed to revealing her plans to him, he won her over with his sincerity. No longer could he stay a PeaceKeeper under Scorpius' reign. His pride and dignity wouldn't allow it, and his conscience wouldn't let him sleep. Tagan had revealed several things, all news to Merryc. First off, the blood she had collected had helped create a false Ident chip for the human. Wordlessly admiring her ingenuity, he had nearly missed her next statement.

The pod that the bounty hunters had used to bring the human to Scorpius had long ago ceased to function, as was the nature of Leviathan pods separated from their mother ship. But Tagan had employed her intellect to do some research on that particular pod, and found an energy signature that would allow them to not only search out the Leviathan Moya, but to hopefully attract her to them.

Merryc was impressed. Not only had she found a way to sneak the human past the security checks, she had discovered a way to reunite him with his friends.

When Merryc asked her for her own motivations in the matter, she shrugged diffidently. She chaffed under PeaceKeeper rule, she claimed, afraid to let her intelligence blossom for fear of being kept a near captive until she died, simply to create and perform for her superiors. But the human? Merryc asked. Why did she feel she had to save him? Here she looked him straight in the eye and said with very real feeling, 'He's the first man with real mivonks I have ever seen. He deserves to go home.'

As for Merryc's reasons, many days past, he had been appalled when he saw one of the human's memories played before his very eyes. Aeryn Sun, PeaceKeeper traitor and anathnema, was his lover. At first repelled by the notion, Merryc soon saw what Scorpius and others never would, that the bond between the two was stronger than any other bond known to the PeaceKeeper realm. The obvious strength of their feelings astounded and humiliated Merryc, who had until recently prided himself on being the quintessential PK officer. Now, he was just more aware of how empty his life truly was. It shamed him. Now, along with Tagan, he had a plan, of sorts.

For the first time in his career as a PeaceKeeper, Merryc felt fear. Their plan, such as it was, would earn them the living death if they were caught. The human would be walked back to his cell like always, and Merryc would be on guard for another four arns, till his relief came. At that time, Merryc, decorated veteran and hero of many battles, would defy his heritage and his sworn oath. He would eliminate his replacement, a steadfast, if somewhat dim fellow named Groth, and put him in the human's cell. Then he would change the human's clothing with that of Groth's, including the encompassing helmet. Completely hidden from prying eyes, the human would be simply walked to one of the launch bays and taken away on an awaiting ship, also procured by the resourceful tech. Tagan would see to a blind spot in the sensors, to ensure their getaway, and the fake Ident chip would get the human past the security checks. It would be easy, once they set it in motion.

But Merryc was in fear for the first time in his life, and what was worse, he *knew* that Scorpius could smell it like the stink of dren. He stood there, motionless, watching the human watching him, knowing that as soon as Scorpius entered they would all die. And then it hit him, that this human, supposedly a lesser species, had borne everything that Scorpius had thrown at him with the greatest dignity that he, Merryc, had ever witnessed. The shame of his own dread was overwhelming. The human hadn't shown fear, even though Merryc felt sure it had been his constant companion for weekens. Remembering the defiance in those now horribly vacant eyes, Merryc bolstered his own courage, feeling a confidence he had never previously known before course through his veins.

When Scorpius returned, he didn't give Merryc a second look. Waving his hand dismissively, he ordered the human returned to his cell. Merryc obeyed gratefully, careful to let nothing he felt inside show in his actions. Tonight then, they would go tonight.

Merryc's replacement arrived on time, as usual. Groth was a hulking, unimaginative drone, completely incapable of an original thought. Merryc chewed him out for an imagined sloppy uniform and turned to leave. As he did, he swung his left hand out in a sweeping arc, tapping Groth in the neck with a neural stun. He dropped like a stone. Working swiftly and in complete silence, Merryc dragged the unconscious man into the human's cell.

The human lay in a heap along the back wall, his face turned from the door. Merryc worked quickly, stripping Groth of his outer uniform and helmet and then gagging and restraining him. Until the next shift change, no one would notice his absence. He moved to the human then, hoping the stimulant Tagan had "acquired" for him would work as well as she thought it would. Merryc rolled him over, and stopped dead.

Ice blue eyes were locked on his, chilling his bones. Although Merryc knew his face was hidden by the helmet, he couldn't help but think that with those eyes, the human could see right through him. He shuddered inwardly, and spoke.

"I have stimulant that will help you walk. You need to get into this uniform and come with me. We have a ship waiting," he said quietly. Tagan had also disabled the security camera, programming it to show an image of the human sleeping, but speaking quietly seemed to be a good idea.

The human's response surprised him. "Why?" he asked simply.

"To get you out of here," Merryc said in return.

"Why? Why...are you doing this?" he rasped, those blue eyes delving deeper.

Merryc thought for a moment, then responded in the only way he could. "Because I feel a great shame when I see what they do to you, and to others. Because I can no longer call myself a PeaceKeeper and hold my head up. Because...because I have long admired your courage."

The human thought about that for a moment, then nodded. "Then let's not waste anymore time," he said quietly.

The stimulant worked, albeit badly. The human was able to walk in a semi coordinated manner, but his equilibrium left much to be desired. Merryc decided to support him and claim illness for his subordinate, should the need arise. They left as swiftly as they could.

The walk to the launch bays was frightening in its ordinariness. At each intersection, at every security checkpoint, at any moment, Merryc expected to be discovered. But the fake Ident chip, the flimsy 'he's got a touch of nendarian flu' excuse, even their direction of travel, went unremarked upon. As they entered the empty launch bay, Merryc hissed frantically at Tagan to help him with the staggering human.

"We must hurry, the stimulant is losing its affect," he said savagely as he hustled the human to the ship they had selected. It was an older model Marauder, still more than serviceable but sitting here, in the repair bay, awaiting repairs that Tagan had already done herself.

"Strap him in then," Tagan said curtly. "We're ready to go as it is."

Once the human was strapped into a seat, Merryc nearly ran to the controls. All systems were in pre-launch mode, waiting only for his command. Suddenly, a new voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Tagan, the sensors are ready, we can launch anytime and they'll never see us," came a male voice. Without even thinking about it, Merryc spun around, his pulse pistol held at the ready. Another tech stood in the hatchway, tall and slim with dark hair slicked back. He held his hands up to show Merryc he was unarmed, and cast his eyes to Tagan.

"It's all right, Merryc, he's with us," she said quickly.

"I didn't authorize anyone else," Merryc growled, his pulse never wavering.

"Dekk is a friend, he's going with us," she insisted. "He's one of us."

Merryc glared at Tagan, his confidence in the situation working diminishing with every microt. Amazingly enough, it was the human who settled it for them.

"If you want to have a pissing match later, fine by me, but I'd like to get the fuck out of here, if you don't mind," he said in a quiet voice. There was an edge of apprehension there that Merryc hadn't noticed before. He glanced at the human, and was appalled at his condition. The stimulant had taken more out of him than they had realized. His skin was gray, his eyes sunken. They had to move, *now*.

Merryc decided in less than a moment, holstering his gun and turning back to the controls. Speaking to both Tagan and the still wary Dekk, he resumed the takeoff sequence. "Sit down and shut up, we're leaving," he said gruffly. And then the stars welcomed them, and the blackness of space enveloped them in it's embrace.

Aeryn stood silent and brooding in command, her eyes dark and dangerous. In the weekens since they lost John, she had learned far more about herself than she ever wanted to know. For starters, she found that she missed him far more than she could have ever imagined. Some part of her, the sad remainder of her PeaceKeeper past, told her he was just a comrade, and she had lost many such comrades in her life without going all to pieces. But that small part of her was drowned out by the new and improved Aeryn (as John would have put it, she thought with a twinge). That new and improved Aeryn raged and pounded her fists in pain, she wept in anguish and demanded release, even as Aeryn demanded revenge. But neither release nor revenge seemed to be forthcoming these days. She placed her hand on her stomach, as if to stop the churning and nausea that threatened her all too often these days. Aeryn Sun, ex-PeaceKeeper and escaped felon, defender of the purity of the Sebacean species (she snorted in contempt at that little thought), was pregnant.

Not long after rescuing Zhaan and dealing with her recovery, Aeryn had noticed that the nausea and vomiting hadn't abated. Miserable with grief and unable to either sleep or eat, she had finally asked a newly healed Zhaan for help. The results of the med scan had amazed them both. She was already six weekens pregnant by the time she was scanned, and the thought of dealing with this for monens without end dismayed her. But the thought of terminating the pregnancy had barely flitted through her mind. Raising a child while running from Scorpius and Crais and every bounty hunter in the Uncharteds wasn't what she would call the best plan, but this was *John's* child. It was all she had of him, and she was determined to do the best she could. Already, this child had two godfathers and two godmothers. Well, three and three if you counted Pilot and Moya as well. Those thoughts made her smile slightly with the memory. Pilot and Moya had been overjoyed at the news, and DRDs seemed to follow her everywhere, keeping tabs on her health, her movements, and her overall well being. Weekens ago she would have found it annoying. Now, she just found it touching.

And that was another thing. All these emotions that kept surging through her were impossible to deal with. She would be angry at, well, *something* one moment, and tearful the next. It was a load of dren, she thought. She hated it, but there wasn't a thing she could do about it.

She sighed and glanced at the controls once more. All was well, no sign of trouble. It was early morning on Moya, she had relieved Chiana on duty simply because she wasn't sleeping. Sleep brought dreams, mostly ones she could live without. Sometimes, John visited her in her dreams. He would stand there, smiling at her, holding his hands out in a welcoming embrace. But try as she might, she could never reach him. She ran like one did in dreams, as if through thick mud, and never seemed to gain any ground. Always she woke from this dream with her face slick with tears and her body shaking with sobs.

A slight sound from the entrance made her turn. D'Argo approached cautiously, as if afraid of spoiling her mood. She realized she was still smiling, thinking about the baby and the reaction of her friends. She nodded briefly to D'Argo.

"Good morning," she said softly.

"Good morning, Aeryn," he replied, cocking his head to one side. "You are feeling well today?"

"So far," she said grimly. "At least I haven't thrown up yet."

D'Argo grinned and shook his head. "When Lo' laan was pregnant, she was sick for weekens. It will pass, Aeryn."

"That's easy for *you* to say," Aeryn groused, casting her dark eyes down before D'Argo could see her quick grin.

"Go, Aeryn, get some rest. You look tired," D'Argo said gently. She sighed softly.

"I don't seem to be doing well when it comes to sleep," she replied.

"You are dreaming," D'Argo said. It was a statement, not a question. She only nodded in response. "I dreamed often as well. Some days, it was all that kept me from insanity," D'Argo laid his hand gently on Aeryn's shoulder. "I understand your pain, Aeryn. Losing Lo'laan was the hardest thing I have ever had to deal with. But you will get past it, I know you will."

Aeryn whirled to face him. "But Lo'laan was dead, you saw her die. She was not taken to be tortured, you had...had..." she cast about for a word that would fit, and not finding one, she covered her face with her hands and wept.

"Closure?" D'Argo said softly, pulling her, unresisting, into his arms. He felt her nod, briefly. "Yes, I had closure, I knew her fate. You don't have that luxury, Aeryn, we don't know if he is alive or dead, how much he suffered, or even where he is. That is a burden we all carry, but you carry the most of it. If it were in my power, I would take that burden from you."

All the pain and anguish and suffering, all the pent up emotions that Aeryn had held inside came out then, and she let herself weep and rage against his massive chest. And he held her, gently, feeling no little pain himself. John Crichton had touched them all in ways they never knew, never realized, until he was gone. He wondered if they would ever learn to deal with it. He wondered if John had died bravely, and knew the answer before the thought had even made itself known. There was no other way for John Crichton to die, other than with honor. And so he held John's woman, helped ease her pain, and thought of all the lessons in revenge he could teach John's son.

The human was getting worse. Merryc couldn't understand it, he was no longer being tortured in the chair, they had been traveling for nearly two weekens and their rations were still good. Why was he slipping away from them?

It started a few days after leaving the command carrier. At first, they had been amazed at the ease of their escape, but after rationalizing things they decided that while the PeaceKeepers security guarded itself well from those without, they weren't prepared for any of their loyal officers to try to leave. That was unthinkable. Well, from now on they supposed security would change.

The human stopped talking four days after their escape, and stopped making eye contact not long after. He had had to be told when to eat and sleep, and after some eight solar days he had to be fed. Other, more private concerns he seemed to still be in control of, but his overall health was declining. Just three days ago, he began having seizures. Now he was confined to a bed, and Tagan looked after him.

The signature of the Leviathan was getting stronger. They had decided not to broadcast out to them, for fear they would engage starburst. They would be within range of contact in less than ten arns, and they had yet to come up with a strategy that would let them get close to the Leviathan without making them run. It was certain that a lone marauder would send them packing. The debate over how to approach was lengthy, and they all wished the human had been able to speak for them. His friends would stay long enough to ascertain it was him, if he contacted them.

Merryc rubbed his tired eyes with his hands, sighing deeply. Life had been so simple, before. Now, he would in all probability die a traitor. Somehow, he really didn't care anymore. Something indefinable drove him on, the same something that apparently drove Tagan and Dekk. Merryc had come to grudgingly accept Dekk as a part of their little venture, even though he was still put out that Tagan hadn't confided his presence to him sooner.

But now they needed to come up with a plan, or all would be for nothing. Merryc glanced over his shoulder as Tagan walked in the room.

"How's the human?" he asked quietly.

"His name is Crichton, and he's the same," Tagan said testily. She seemed offended at his refusal to call the man by name. What did it matter, thought Merryc, when the human stared at the world with vacant eyes?

"I'm thinking we should make our message short and simple. We need to let them know we have the hu....Crichton," he began, frowning at her smug smile. "And we need to let them know we aren't after them, that we too, are fugitives. I'm not much for words, and you seem..." he paused, then plunged on. "...abrupt. How is Dekk with a turn of phrase?"

To his astonishment, Tagan wasn't the least offended by his assessment of her skills. She frowned in thought and nodded briskly. "He'll be good at it, I'm sure. I'd say we should work on what we want to say and pretty quick. We'll catch up to them within nine arns or so."

"Agreed," Merryc said. "Where is he?"

"He's with Crichton. I'll stay here and take my shift, if that's all right with you. I need a break," she nodded in the direction of the makeshift infirmary, and Merryc understood. Watching someone deteriorate before your eyes wasn't something he enjoyed, and he had barely had contact with the human since coming aboard. Tagan had seen to most of his needs, and she needed a break. He nodded in confirmation and left command.

Tagan stared at the stars and sighed. All their work would be for nothing. The human was gone, nothing but an empty shell remained. She remembered the piece of his memory she had glimpsed of the dark-haired Aeryn Sun, and him reaching out to touch her face, and felt a fleeting touch of envy. No man had ever looked at her in that way, had ever touched her with such reverence. If for nothing else, she had wanted to return him to the woman who so obviously loved him. But she knew, deep in her heart, that they were too late.

John Crichton was insane.

"I don't know *who* they are, Officer Sun, but they claim to have Commander Crichton with them!" Pilot's image was almost frantic with worry. "Moya is afraid. Their signature is that of a PeaceKeeper Marauder, but they haven't powered up any weapons and they are insisting that they are peaceful. Moya is worried that they will simply get in close enough and then start shooting!"

"Understood Pilot. Put them on a visual screen, let me talk to them," Aeryn said brusquely.

"As you wish," Pilot said.

The clam shell screen shimmered and then coalesced into the image of a PeaceKeeper officer. He was an older, hard bitten man, scarred and rough with close cropped graying hair. He nodded briefly at Aeryn and began speaking.

"We don't expect you to trust us, but we do have your...friend, Crichton. We will keep our weapons off-line and dock, if you'll let us," he said simply.

"Let me speak to him," Aeryn ordered.

"I...can't. He's...not well, I'm afraid," he shook his head morosely. "He was fine when we left...well, not exactly fine, but functioning. The last weeken has been the worst. He no longer speaks, he doesn't seem aware of us, we have to feed him, and several days ago he began having seizures..."

Far from distressing the others, this simply recitation of John's symptoms, so similar to what he had already gone through, was the only proof the rest of Moya's crew needed to verify that the approaching marauder did indeed have him. The PeaceKeeper officer was startled when Aeryn gave him permission to dock immediately and cut the transmission.

"Zhaan, take Chiana and get whatever you need ready in the med lab. D'Argo and I will take a stretcher down to the docking bay and wait for them. Chiana, as soon as you can, come down and back us up. Bring a pulse gun," Aeryn spat out rapid fire orders that none dared to contradict.

"What about *me*?" Rygel complained.

"Help Zhaan," Aeryn almost shouted as she sped from command, D'Argo close on her heels.

Merryc, Tagan and Dekk found themselves silent bystanders to all that happened next. They stood in the corner of the medlab, shunted aside and nearly forgotten, as the others worked to help Crichton. Tenderness and anguish were hard enough to understand coming from a seasoned PeaceKeeper like Sun, but seemed downright perverted coming from the others. What sort of bond would a Delvian or a Luxan have with this human? Or the Hynerian? The Nebari was new to them, but she too seemed as concerned as if the human were her own mate.

He was still unresponsive, his eyes blank. Aeryn had seemed on the verge of tears one moment and rage the next. She held his hand, spoke to him, gently stroked his forehead, and admonished her crew mates if they didn't seem to be moving fast enough to suit her. But no one seemed to mind. In fact, they all seemed bent on helping in whatever way possible. Such loyalty to a stricken comrade was unheard of among the PeaceKeepers. The Delvian seemed to be their medic, of sorts.

"Zhaan, what are you finding? Is it like the last time? Can we help him?" Aeryn said desperately.

Zhaan frowned as she ran the scanner over John's prostrate form, watching the readouts with increasing apprehension. "I don't know yet, Aeryn. It's the same, but there seems to be...more damage. I am not certain that he'll respond like he did last time."

"But we'll try, right? It *did* work before..." Aeryn said, blinking back tears of anguish. It had to work, it had to.

"Yes, we will try. He needs to be stabilized first, fluids and some food, rest..." she wrinkled her nose. "And a bath." She looked over her shoulder at Chiana and nodded to the large tub in the corner of the room. "Fill the tub with bath water, Chiana." Chiana worked quickly, with Rygel actually helping in his own small way.

Zhaan looked up at the newcomers, and smiled sadly. "He has done this before, after his first experience with the Aurora Chair. We were able to coax him out of it, and we will attempt to do so again."

Merryc nodded, a slight frown on his face. "Why...why is he so important to you?" he asked. "We can understand why he is important to Officer Sun, we...Tagan and I, both saw some of his memories. But the rest of you are...alien. What loyalty do you have to him that you would go to any extremes to heal him?"

It was D'Argo who spoke for all, in a much softer tone than Zhaan expected from the huge warrior.

"Because John Crichton has proved to be a loyal friend to us all more times than we could count. He would think nothing of giving his life so that the rest of us could live. Indeed, he nearly *has* given his life for us, on several occasions." He stood up straighter and let his eyes bore into Merryc's. "I call him a friend and a brother, and I would fight to the death for him, and him for me."

"And you, Officer Sun? Do you feel the same?" Tagan asked pointedly. "Was he worth losing your career, your status, maybe even your life?"

Aeryn tilted her chin defiantly in her direction. "Yes," was all she said.

Tagan smiled then. "Then I am glad we tried, and I hope we were not too late."

When D'Argo moved to scoop Crichton up to take him to his bath, Merryc found himself helping. Not because D'Argo needed help, but because he felt compelled to show his solidarity with Moya's crew. Even if they were not allowed to stay here, even if they chose to leave, he wanted to prove to the others, and to himself, that he could be something other than a drone. What was it he had seen in the human's memories? 'you can be more', he had told Officer Sun. And he, Jardis Merryc, could be more. He knew it.

They let Aeryn and Zhaan pull Crichton's ragged clothing from his body and then lowered him into the warm water. Zhaan swore in an unpriestess-like manner when she saw the deeply grooved cuts on his arms where the binders had cut him. Gently, they scrubbed him clean. Aeryn stayed at his head, whispering words of love and encouragement, carefully massaging soap into his ragged hair, shaving the stubble from his face, just to be touching him.

Rest, as Zhaan said, would be the best healer. They left him, with Aeryn staying at his side and a constant flow of readings being fed to Moya, to rest. The newcomers found cells to call their own; food was eaten, careful words of optimism were spread, and each wandered into sleep.

Aeryn curled up on the bed with John's body cradled into her own, his head nestled in the curve of her shoulder and her hand resting on his heart. Now, for better or worse, her child would have a father. She could find reasons to carry on, now, reasons to exist.

John was home.

D.K. threw his hands up in frustration. "Great, you've managed to prove to me that he *is* crazy, thank you very much. Did you think that charming story would *comfort* me? That I would break down and cry and beg his forgiveness? Come on! It's still a big leap from nut case to psychotic killer!" He stood up suddenly, his eyes hard. "That shuttle had better be ready when I get down there, or I'll just take one."

"It's far more complicated than that, D.K., so much more happened..." Zhaan began. D.K. cut her off.

"I'm not interested, Ok? I quit, I'm leaving, good bye," he said abruptly, making a cutting gesture with his hand through the air in front of Zhaan's face. He turned to Jack. "You coming Colonel?"

"No, D.K., I'm not," Jack said softly, stunned. "And I don't think you should, either."

D.K. watched Jack's face for a moment, then nodded. "Fine, have it your way, but I'm still going. Have a nice life, Colonel." He turned and stalked out of the room. Jack hung his head, grief etched in every line of his face and every bowed curve of his body.

"He must come to terms with this his own way, Jack," Zhaan said softly, laying her hand on his shoulder. "He will, someday."

Jack sighed, and looked up at her. "Thank you, Zhaan, I guess I know that but it helps to hear it."

"I do have more that you need to know, but maybe it would be better for you to talk to John. I know he's probably very worried that you'll be on that shuttle with D.K."

Jack looked shocked. "How could he think that I would leave him, after all this time?"

Zhaan shook her head sadly. "Being shunned by his own people has been something that has haunted John for cycles. He has feared that more than anything else. He is well aware of how different he is now, compared to when he left home. But he is still a compassionate man, a strong man. And above all, he is still your son."

Jack stood. "Where is he? Would you take me there? I have to see him, now. Maybe later you can finish telling me what I need to know."

Zhaan took Jack's arm in hers and led him from the room. "There is much you need to know, Jack, and not all of it is terrible. But it is both the bad and the good that shapes us, the bad far more than we wish it."

"Take me to my son, and we'll talk later," Jack Crichton said softly, and they left the room.

Jack approached the terrace with trepidation. John stood, framed by familiar stars, his shoulders slumped dejectedly. It was as if all the life had gone out of him that day. He was cast back to that day when John's mother had died, and how violently his son had grieved. He had been afraid for him then, afraid the grief might take over his life, but he had gotten through it. They had done it together, and that, Jack Crichton thought, was what John needed. He needed his father to help him through a tough time.

"I don't think I could ever tire of that view," Jack said quietly, sincerely.

John stirred softly; obviously he hadn't heard his father walk in. "Yeah, me too." He didn't turn, but his posture indicated a desire to talk. "DK gone?"

"Yes, he left a few minutes ago," Jack replied as he moved to John's side.

There was no reply, but John seemed to be thinking hard. His brow furrowed and he turned his head to face his father.

"Zhaan tried to talk to him?" he asked.

"Yes, she told us quite a bit about...what has happened to you," Jack began. "She said there was more she needed to tell, but DK wasn't in the mood to listen. You know how he can get, pretty single minded when he wants to be."

"Hmm, yeah, he can be that," John said distractedly. He seemed to be wanting to say something, obviously something that frightened him. "And you, Dad? You're not going to bail on your psycho son?" he finally spit out.

"No, John. Never," was Jack's immediate reply. "I can't say I fully understand or comprehend all that you've done or that's been done to you, but I accept that it's changed you, for better or worse. And I accept you, always, forever." He moved even closer and placed his hand on his son's shoulder, turning him to face him fully. "You're my *son*, no matter what. We got through your mother's death by standing together, by being there for each other whenever we could. I know I was gone a lot on missions, but still, we helped each other the best that we knew how, and we can do that again. I am here, son, for you. I'm not leaving. In fact," he smiled slightly. "I'd like to stay here, on Moya, permanently. Could that be arranged?"

John felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, no problem. See, I'm like this..." he crossed his fingers, "...with the captain of this boat. I'll pull a few strings, call in a few favors..." he stopped, and looked his father in the eye.

"You're sure? You want to stay here, with us?"

"Are you kidding? You were my life, John. You were taken from me, but now you're back, with a wife and three grandchildren for me to spoil. I want to be here, with you and all of them, forever," he smiled again. "Just try to keep me away."

And John laughed lightly, his fears eased. They still had so much to talk about; his father had to understand all that had happened to him to understand his life now. But they would have plenty of time for that later. Right now, for this moment, John wanted nothing more than to be with his father, to share his children with their grandfather, to be a family.

He threw his arm companionably around his fathers shoulders and they swung out of the terrace. "Let's go see those grandkids of yours," he said. "It's about time they got to know grandpa a little better."

They left the terrace talking of children and their growth, comparing notes from John's childhood, getting reaquainted. It was a great beginning.

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