✩ Farscape: Detente (The Gray, Gold and Green Remix)
✩ [ Stark, Chiana (pre-relationship) | G | 500 words ]
Stykera understood death; they didn’t understand life afterward.
Original story: Something in Common by lady_smith, 120 words.
Remix author: eve11
Detente (The Gray, Gold and Green Remix)
Day 1:
The guest room door jerked open to the strains of a violent crash, admitting one gangly alien retreating into the corridor in an undignified flutter of limbs that belied his newly discovered center of calm.
“Leave me the frell alone!” came the muffled yell, half-drowned by the door slamming, followed by the clatter-thump of a serving platter connecting with thousand-year-old Hynerian greltwood.
Stark sagged against the door, taking his hands off the knob to wipe at the mess on his tunic.
“I warned you,” Rygel said smugly, still ensconced behind a decorative column. “She’s hurling krawlda at anyone in sight.”
*
Day 3:
“Maybe we should call Crichton,” Stark said miserably.
“Idiot!” Rygel’s scepter thwacked down on his hand.
He rubbed his knuckle, despondent. D’Argo was dead, he knew. But Chiana was still alive- a cyclone of pain and fury. Stykera understood death; they didn’t understand life afterward.
“Maybe Crichton could help her-”
“Help her? Crichton has Moya, and Aeryn, and a son named for her dead lover!”
“And what can I do?” he shouted, angry and fearfully sad. “I can’t make it stop hurting!”
Rygel softened. “Of course you can’t, you one-eyed lunatic. She needs someone who wouldn’t think to try.”
*
Day 6:
He started collecting plates, cups and trinkets as they piled up by the door, and soon she ran out of things to throw. She ignored him utterly when he finally slipped into the room. He tried to talk but hated to hear himself stutter into silence. So he sat, cross-legged on the floor, and waited.
She refused to eat anything he offered, or to move from her cushions in the corner. She spent seven arns staring at one spot on the wall. He finally headed for the door, the movement loud in the room.
“Fine,” she spat. “Go!”
He stayed.
*
Day 8:
“What- what happened to your face?”
He touched the scar tissue gingerly. “It healed.”
Chiana chirruped, smiling meanly. “Doesn’t look like it.”
“Best it could do.”
“Well, it’s ugly,” she snapped. Her whole body was trembling. “If that’s what healing looks like-”
“Chiana-” he started, but she was already fighting.
“No! It’s ugly and wrong, and it’ll never be right! No matter what you do!”
He weathered her punches, caught her hands when her knees buckled, and let her sob against his chest until she slept, exhausted.
“It still hurts, too,” he whispered in the dark. “Most days.”
*
Day 12:
Sunset gleamed across the lake; Chiana looked cold.
“Aeryn came back, and Crichton. But D’Argo, Zhaan . . . they won’t, will they?”
“No.”
“It’s not fair.”
He frowned. “Maybe Crichton and Aeryn were meant for bigger things. Maybe there’s only so much life to go around.”
“Maybe it’s our turn for bigger things. Joining the Nebari resistance. Freeing the Baniks.” She sniffed. “What’cha think about that?”
“I’ve been thinking about it. For a long time.”
“Would it- make things hurt less?”
“I don’t know. But . . .”
“What, glow-boy?” Chiana leaned back, elbows and arches.
Stark blinked, sunlight warming his face. “It’s worth doing.”
Stykera understood death; they didn’t understand life afterward.
Original story: Something in Common by lady_smith, 120 words.
Remix author: eve11
Detente (The Gray, Gold and Green Remix)
Day 1:
The guest room door jerked open to the strains of a violent crash, admitting one gangly alien retreating into the corridor in an undignified flutter of limbs that belied his newly discovered center of calm.
“Leave me the frell alone!” came the muffled yell, half-drowned by the door slamming, followed by the clatter-thump of a serving platter connecting with thousand-year-old Hynerian greltwood.
Stark sagged against the door, taking his hands off the knob to wipe at the mess on his tunic.
“I warned you,” Rygel said smugly, still ensconced behind a decorative column. “She’s hurling krawlda at anyone in sight.”
*
Day 3:
“Maybe we should call Crichton,” Stark said miserably.
“Idiot!” Rygel’s scepter thwacked down on his hand.
He rubbed his knuckle, despondent. D’Argo was dead, he knew. But Chiana was still alive- a cyclone of pain and fury. Stykera understood death; they didn’t understand life afterward.
“Maybe Crichton could help her-”
“Help her? Crichton has Moya, and Aeryn, and a son named for her dead lover!”
“And what can I do?” he shouted, angry and fearfully sad. “I can’t make it stop hurting!”
Rygel softened. “Of course you can’t, you one-eyed lunatic. She needs someone who wouldn’t think to try.”
*
Day 6:
He started collecting plates, cups and trinkets as they piled up by the door, and soon she ran out of things to throw. She ignored him utterly when he finally slipped into the room. He tried to talk but hated to hear himself stutter into silence. So he sat, cross-legged on the floor, and waited.
She refused to eat anything he offered, or to move from her cushions in the corner. She spent seven arns staring at one spot on the wall. He finally headed for the door, the movement loud in the room.
“Fine,” she spat. “Go!”
He stayed.
*
Day 8:
“What- what happened to your face?”
He touched the scar tissue gingerly. “It healed.”
Chiana chirruped, smiling meanly. “Doesn’t look like it.”
“Best it could do.”
“Well, it’s ugly,” she snapped. Her whole body was trembling. “If that’s what healing looks like-”
“Chiana-” he started, but she was already fighting.
“No! It’s ugly and wrong, and it’ll never be right! No matter what you do!”
He weathered her punches, caught her hands when her knees buckled, and let her sob against his chest until she slept, exhausted.
“It still hurts, too,” he whispered in the dark. “Most days.”
*
Day 12:
Sunset gleamed across the lake; Chiana looked cold.
“Aeryn came back, and Crichton. But D’Argo, Zhaan . . . they won’t, will they?”
“No.”
“It’s not fair.”
He frowned. “Maybe Crichton and Aeryn were meant for bigger things. Maybe there’s only so much life to go around.”
“Maybe it’s our turn for bigger things. Joining the Nebari resistance. Freeing the Baniks.” She sniffed. “What’cha think about that?”
“I’ve been thinking about it. For a long time.”
“Would it- make things hurt less?”
“I don’t know. But . . .”
“What, glow-boy?” Chiana leaned back, elbows and arches.
Stark blinked, sunlight warming his face. “It’s worth doing.”