Farscape: Beautiful Fucked-Up Man [The Humpty Dumpty Remix]
For Remix/Redux IV: I Know What You Did Last Remix remixredux
Title: Beautiful Fucked-Up Man [The Humpty Dumpty Remix]
Author: pdxscaper
Summary: John Crichton would give anything to go back to before.
Rating: Hetch 4 for language
Words: 850
Fandom: Farscape
Spoilers: For The Peacekeeper Wars
Title, Author and URL of original story: Galactic Peace Never Solved Anything, astrogirl2, Go here for the story.
Disclaimer: Am not, never have been, affiliated with Henson, Hallmark Entertainment, Farscape, etc. The characters are not mine, I'm just glad the brilliant folks who created them don't mind us playing in their sandbox.
And I can't post this with out a most sincere thank you to simplystars for the beta. As she has done before, [and I'm sure will do again], she prodded me in the right direction and helped tremendously with her insight. Plus the kickass title was all her!!
+++||+++
Beautiful Fucked-Up Man [The Humpty Dumpty Remix]
When I was a kid my mother used to read me fairy tales where the prince and princess got married and lived happily ever after. She told me once, when I asked what happened next, that some things were better left unanswered. At the time, I was pissed-now I'd give anything to go back to before…before my boy died and my heart split and Aeryn broke and not even all the king's horses and every king's man could put us back together.
Happily. Ever. Frelling. After.
Not so much.
It's not like Aeryn and I didn't try, or weren't on the same page at one point. There were four shining monens when we were all in, the happily-ever-after firing on all cylinders. Everyone left us alone-the Peacekeepers, the Scarrans, Scorpius, Grayza-out of fear, loathing maybe, didn't matter to me. I wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Life was good and the living was…well, as easy as it ever gets in our universe. Having little D gave us a reason to celebrate instead of mourn; a reason to focus on what we had, instead of what we lost. At least that's what I told myself so I wouldn't miss the big guy so much, or Chi, when she finally decided to go.
But then the baby began to have problems, and the world we knew turned belly up…again. For two monens, with Pilot's and Moya's indefatigable assistance, we sought out diagnosan after diagnosan without luck. The best way they found to explain it was by equating it to a geometric pregnancy-for whatever reason D'Argo's body was growing faster than his organs. Because of that, his heart, lungs, liver, and kidneys were overstressed, unable to clear the toxins out of his system quickly enough to keep him healthy. Not one of the diagnosans was able to come up with any viable solutions for slowing down the growth or repairing the damage already done.
At the end, we huddled in our quarters on Moya, little D's last days passing in a blur. Aeryn couldn't put him down, didn't sleep and wouldn't talk. Because there was no one else, I was the one who had to pry our son from her arms, take his body away, and then watch as she turned inside herself, emotions clicking off, one by one.
Move over Crazy, Insane just rode into Dodge and upped the ante.
So now, when despair doesn't have me dead drunk and wallowing in self pity, I rage at myself-for not being able to fix my boy, for not being able to stop it all from happening, for not honoring the commitment I made. And when I'm tired of beating myself up, I start in on Aeryn…and the other guy…for putting it all in motion to begin with. At the same time, she's busy blaming herself for letting her guard down, letting me in. For believing what I promised-that everything would be okay.
More than once she's said that it would have been better if she'd never…. And she leaves the sentence hanging there, tears of sorrow, regret and fury sparking in her dark eyes, the words unspoken, yet deafening in the silence. Doesn't matter, I can finish them for her. Have finished them-to her face, behind her back, screaming, whispering-because I know them by heart.
If she'd never…loved me.
Every microt that I'm conscious and coherent (which I'll admit isn't often these days) I expect her to climb into the Prowler and fly away like she did before when she couldn't bear the pain of what she'd lost. More than once I've said that maybe we'd both have been better off if she'd never…. And then it's me who leaves the sentence hanging, bitterness and grief the anchors that weigh me down with cruelty. She knows me just as well, can finish any thought I have. And she does; her voice lifeless as she lays the words in the space between us.
If she'd never…came back.
It's the careful dance we do instead of forgiving each other, or ourselves.
So, I stay drunk, she stays busy, and we stay away from each other. I don't know where she goes when she takes the Prowler off Moya. I don't ask and she never tells. The distance grows between us each time she leaves and doesn't bring a part of herself back. It's as much my fault as it is hers, I accept that, but I don't know how to change it. If D'Argo were here, he'd call me on my shit, and then sit next to me while we puzzled out the next step to take. But he's gone and I'm way too weary to care what happens next.
When Pilot says there's a ship approaching, I assume it's trouble. I'm surprised to find a Luxan standing tall and straight at my door, bearing a dirty, battered Qualta blade that I recognize immediately.
Goddammit, Jothee. There wasn't supposed to be any more dying.
Guess I was wrong…again.
Galactic peace never solved anything.
End
Title: Beautiful Fucked-Up Man [The Humpty Dumpty Remix]
Author: pdxscaper
Summary: John Crichton would give anything to go back to before.
Rating: Hetch 4 for language
Words: 850
Fandom: Farscape
Spoilers: For The Peacekeeper Wars
Title, Author and URL of original story: Galactic Peace Never Solved Anything, astrogirl2, Go here for the story.
Disclaimer: Am not, never have been, affiliated with Henson, Hallmark Entertainment, Farscape, etc. The characters are not mine, I'm just glad the brilliant folks who created them don't mind us playing in their sandbox.
And I can't post this with out a most sincere thank you to simplystars for the beta. As she has done before, [and I'm sure will do again], she prodded me in the right direction and helped tremendously with her insight. Plus the kickass title was all her!!
+++||+++
Beautiful Fucked-Up Man [The Humpty Dumpty Remix]
When I was a kid my mother used to read me fairy tales where the prince and princess got married and lived happily ever after. She told me once, when I asked what happened next, that some things were better left unanswered. At the time, I was pissed-now I'd give anything to go back to before…before my boy died and my heart split and Aeryn broke and not even all the king's horses and every king's man could put us back together.
Happily. Ever. Frelling. After.
Not so much.
It's not like Aeryn and I didn't try, or weren't on the same page at one point. There were four shining monens when we were all in, the happily-ever-after firing on all cylinders. Everyone left us alone-the Peacekeepers, the Scarrans, Scorpius, Grayza-out of fear, loathing maybe, didn't matter to me. I wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Life was good and the living was…well, as easy as it ever gets in our universe. Having little D gave us a reason to celebrate instead of mourn; a reason to focus on what we had, instead of what we lost. At least that's what I told myself so I wouldn't miss the big guy so much, or Chi, when she finally decided to go.
But then the baby began to have problems, and the world we knew turned belly up…again. For two monens, with Pilot's and Moya's indefatigable assistance, we sought out diagnosan after diagnosan without luck. The best way they found to explain it was by equating it to a geometric pregnancy-for whatever reason D'Argo's body was growing faster than his organs. Because of that, his heart, lungs, liver, and kidneys were overstressed, unable to clear the toxins out of his system quickly enough to keep him healthy. Not one of the diagnosans was able to come up with any viable solutions for slowing down the growth or repairing the damage already done.
At the end, we huddled in our quarters on Moya, little D's last days passing in a blur. Aeryn couldn't put him down, didn't sleep and wouldn't talk. Because there was no one else, I was the one who had to pry our son from her arms, take his body away, and then watch as she turned inside herself, emotions clicking off, one by one.
Move over Crazy, Insane just rode into Dodge and upped the ante.
So now, when despair doesn't have me dead drunk and wallowing in self pity, I rage at myself-for not being able to fix my boy, for not being able to stop it all from happening, for not honoring the commitment I made. And when I'm tired of beating myself up, I start in on Aeryn…and the other guy…for putting it all in motion to begin with. At the same time, she's busy blaming herself for letting her guard down, letting me in. For believing what I promised-that everything would be okay.
More than once she's said that it would have been better if she'd never…. And she leaves the sentence hanging there, tears of sorrow, regret and fury sparking in her dark eyes, the words unspoken, yet deafening in the silence. Doesn't matter, I can finish them for her. Have finished them-to her face, behind her back, screaming, whispering-because I know them by heart.
If she'd never…loved me.
Every microt that I'm conscious and coherent (which I'll admit isn't often these days) I expect her to climb into the Prowler and fly away like she did before when she couldn't bear the pain of what she'd lost. More than once I've said that maybe we'd both have been better off if she'd never…. And then it's me who leaves the sentence hanging, bitterness and grief the anchors that weigh me down with cruelty. She knows me just as well, can finish any thought I have. And she does; her voice lifeless as she lays the words in the space between us.
If she'd never…came back.
It's the careful dance we do instead of forgiving each other, or ourselves.
So, I stay drunk, she stays busy, and we stay away from each other. I don't know where she goes when she takes the Prowler off Moya. I don't ask and she never tells. The distance grows between us each time she leaves and doesn't bring a part of herself back. It's as much my fault as it is hers, I accept that, but I don't know how to change it. If D'Argo were here, he'd call me on my shit, and then sit next to me while we puzzled out the next step to take. But he's gone and I'm way too weary to care what happens next.
When Pilot says there's a ship approaching, I assume it's trouble. I'm surprised to find a Luxan standing tall and straight at my door, bearing a dirty, battered Qualta blade that I recognize immediately.
Goddammit, Jothee. There wasn't supposed to be any more dying.
Guess I was wrong…again.
Galactic peace never solved anything.
End