(First posted September 30, 2002)
Disclaimer: Farscape belongs to Henson Co. and Sci-Fi. The latter doesn’t want to use the characters, so
they shouldn’t complain when I do. But I’m still not making a profit.
Time Frame/Spoilers: This takes place roughly after ‘John Quixote’ and contains some minor spoilers for that
portion of Season 4.
Note to the reader: There was a challenge to write a story containing the words “lost porkie” -- please don’t
ask me to tell you why or how it started because I really don’t remember. This was my effort.
* * * * *
He hurries through the golden tiers, knowing there’s more distillate in his quarters. He can feel the loss of
control, the pain, the love -- it’s there, waiting to work its way into his head and heart whenever the drug wears
off. He’d run out of it once before. He’d taken the last while they were in the middle of the mess with Gaashah
and the clans, and she’d moved back into his heart, taking over and making every moment that he was
touching her or standing beside her a torment of love and desire.
He walks a little faster, knowing that his heart is at risk. He’s got to find more lakka to save himself.
“Aeryn!” She’s standing in an intersection of two corridors, gazing off into a distance that doesn’t exist inside
the leviathan. She turns to look at him, eyes not quite focused, staring for several microts before her
expression says she remembers him. “Are you all right?”
She shakes her head, long hair swinging, drifting, touching her shoulders and bare arms, and he knows that
there’s no drug left in his system because he wants to push the hair aside and be the one to touch those
shoulders and arms. He swallows hard and tries to concentrate on the look of confusion on her face.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, concerned because she still looks disoriented.
“John … ”
Not Crichton. John. He’s John again. She told him that before, but this time he can feel it. His thoughts
shatter into meaningless fragments, bound only by the common theme of his love for her. He can’t do it. Not
again. It hurts too much when she leaves.
“Is something wrong?” he asks again, trying to concentrate.
“I’m lost,” she says in a whisper, taking a single step toward him.
“Lost? Por que?”
“Lost porkie? What’s a lost porkie?” She’s more focused now, concentrating on his brief slide into Spanish
instead of whatever was bothering her.
“No, Aeryn. Por que. It’s another way of saying ‘why’? Why are you lost?”
She seems to sag, her shoulders dropping in what might be relief as he steps toward her, allowing his concern
for her to swamp and drown the caution that says she’ll damage his heart irreparably this time.
“Will you listen, John? Will you come with me and listen to why I’m lost? It’ll take some time.”
He feels a little like a sheep or a hog being led to the slaughterhouse, but he knows that without the numbing
influence of the drug, he belongs to her. Their fates are still intertwined, that hasn’t changed. He wants to
bleat once before he answers, but she won’t understand.
“I’ve got time, Aeryn. I’ll listen. Why are you lost?” She takes his hand in hers, warm fingers burning against
his skin as she tugs gently, urging him to follow her to some place more private than this spot in the middle of
the tier. He looks down at her hand holding his and it looks like something designed by God. Something right.
Suns will go nova and burn out, galaxies will slowly grind to a halt and life cease on countless worlds, but his
hand is in Aeryn’s and the universe seems more in balance.
“I’m lost without you, John.”
Maybe she had it right. Maybe he’s the lost porkie being led off to his fate, but he doesn’t care right now. He’s
with Aeryn and they’re going to talk for a while, and maybe things will get better.
* ~ * ~ * ~* ~ *