((Okay, I'll try to keep up with the thread, just poke me with a PM if I go quiet for a few days, my notifs keep getting way off))

Another day and more repairs. Well, it was always another day and more repairs as far as Crichton was concerned. But it was nice. No people bothering him, no crazy hauntings, no murders...just him, the station, and his tools.

And then he hears it.

At first, he discounts it as auditory hallucinations. The brain leeches. The weird visions. Whatever's left in the swiss-cheese he calls a brain. But...the voice continues even after he does his usual "shut it out" breathing exercises.

But he can ignore it no longer. He throws down the wiring tool and stands up, brushes his hands on his pants, and walks off towards the noise muttering under his breath.

"I don't care who the frel it is, that voice, that voice is off lim--"

He sees the hallway mostly empty and frowns. He even slumps a bit. "No, John, you're losing your frelling mind. It wasn't her, you were just reacting to whatever...thing has you seeing The Hulk and goddesses and weird...butler guys."

And then he slumps further, down to the floor.

"One good day here. That's all I want."