Author: Sorlk Lewis
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't own 'em, etc.
Rating: PG-13
Recipient: Christina
Spoilers: Up through SG-1 season 7 & Farscape season 4.
Summary: Who knew the world could end, and he wouldn't have anything to do with it.
Notes: For angelsgracie, who wanted Sam Carter/John Crichton. Many, many thanks to Sab and 'Raste for putting the show on, and for putting up with me. My deepest gratitude also goes out to Bec and Katya for the last-minute beta, and to many others for putting up with my whinging while I was writing (& trying to write) this.
Twenty-three days after the world ended, Crichton sits on the curb outside of a gas station just north of Lubbock, Texas, eating a melted Snickers bar. Like almost everywhere else he's been in the past twenty-three days, it's deserted. Or, at least void of life. Norfolk was the exception. Norfolk is where he finally traded in the ancient pick-up truck he'd been driving for the battered military jeep that now sits next to the gas pump. Norfolk is where he met Sam.
Sam knew why the world had ended. She said she had been Air Force, and that they had to go to Colorado, that there might be survivors there. He said okay, and didn't ask questions. That was ten days ago.
As Crichton licks chocolate from his fingers, he thinks about his module hidden in a barn in Maine. One of the thrusters and all of the nav circuits had blown, and several of the organic modifications burned up in the wormhole that dumped him here just in time to watch most of humanity snuff it. It's funny how that worked out, really. The irony is not lost on him.
Sam dumps her pack, now loaded down with whatever packaged food and bottled water they could find inside, into the jeep. "Ready?" she asks, checking the extra gas cans to make sure they're secure.
He wipes his hands on his jeans and nods; "Yeah."
He asked her what had happened when they were driving through Louisiana. She mentioned wormholes and Stargates and the Goa'uld, and said someone had made a mistake, that Daniel and Jack and Teal'c are dead, and then the world ended.
He didn't ask who Daniel and Jack and Teal'c were, or about the Goa'uld, or what a Stargate was. And he never mentioned anything about wormholes. They kept driving, and that was enough for the both of them right then. Even now, it seems like enough.
It's only been twenty-three days.
They stop for the night just between Starkville and Trinidad. They've started to see more cars abandoned on the interstate, bodies on the side of the road. Till now, they'd stuck to podunk highways and backroads, avoiding the cities and interstates whenever possible. Even now, he doesn't complain about the smell. He's been familiar with the smell of death for a long time. He thinks Sam is familiar with it, too.
It's late July, but it's the desert, the mountains, so the temperature drops when the sun slips over the horizon. They don't start a fire. They eat Spam and crackers and apple sauce from the gas station north of Lubbock, because the MREs are precious, and Sam doesn't know how long they'll have to do this.
Crichton thinks about telling her who he is, and what he can do, but he remembers what Einstein told him. Everything's fucked up enough as is in this universe that he doesn't need to fuck it up even more. This isn't his world, his reality. When this is over, he'll go back to Maine, fix the module, and make a wormhole. He'll go back where he belongs.
Except Sam decides to talk, to explain everything to him. And he decides to listen.
Harvey points out that none of this matters. The possibilities are infinite. It's a dead world, and why should John Crichton care about it? Billions are dying in other realities, too. Parasitic false gods, enslavement, plagues... it's nothing new.
Harvey's right, but it's still Earth. It's a dead world, but to Crichton it could've been home.
The next day they start off early, hitting Colorado Springs sometime that afternoon. It'd be gorgeous – green and lush, fresh and clear, late summer storms breaking on the horizon, crowding the mountains – if it weren't for the fact that everyone was dead. A few probably survived like he and Sam, be it natural immunity or dumb luck, but they're busy clinging to their generators and canned food, clinging to their end-of-the-world guide books they bought at Barnes & Noble for $14.95 – minus the 10% member discount, plus tax – as if they had the last life jacket on the Titanic.
Thing is, they're probably not entirely wrong.
Sam tells him that Daniel and Jack and Teal'c didn't die of the plague, that they didn't even die on Earth. They died kneeling in blood stained mud, forced to kneel before a false god. Her eyes are red rimmed when she tells him this, but she doesn't cry in front of him. At night, in dark, when she thinks he's asleep – but never in front of him.
He can't help but think about the barn in Maine.
"It's locked down."
Crichton glances at her before turning back to watch the undeveloped land in Fountain pass by. "The mountain, you mean," he says quietly. It's not news to him. He knows military procedure. He still doesn't know why he agreed to come to Colorado, though. Maybe he just missed Earth that much.
He looks away from the scenery and moves his legs to keep them from cramping up. "So," he starts, "why Colorado?" There had to have been another reason. There's always a reason.
She hesitates. Stops the car and gets out to sit on the side of the interstate, facing away from the mountains. Crichton follows, sits in the damp grass next to her, and waits.
"It's home," she eventually says. "It was our home. Not really, but as close to it as we ever had. If that makes sense." Sam's eyes are red rimmed from exhaustion, and what she said not only makes sense, but he knows what it feels like.
He also knows he has to go back. To Maine, to the barn, to the wormholes and the wars. This was just a glitch. System error. And he wonders what harm it could do in telling Sam all of that.
"Y'know," he starts, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Once upon a time, there was this astronaut..."