Hey, Kids! It's Farscape Fic!
So, OK, waaaay back in March, I was dithering about whether or not to offer up some fic for the help_japan auction, and more or less coming to the conclusion that I really didn't want to commit to writing something to order that quickly. Whereupon mtgat piped up and said, hey, she'd donate $20 right then for the promise of a Stark/Zhaan story sometime before December. And I said, OK, sure! That I can do!
Well, here it is November, and, lo, I have fic! Considering how long it took me to get it written and the fact that mtgat offered up her hard-earned dollars to charity for it, it really seems like it should be much longer and more substantial than this. But, well, in the end, what you get is what I got. Turns out I'm a bit rusty on Stark/Zhaan, but it was nevertheless nice to go back and pay them a visit again, however angsty it inevitably got. So I hope it suits!
Title: Love and the Places Between
Fandom: Farscape
Summary: Stark and Zhaan's relationship, in a series of missing scenes.
Rating/Warnings: Rated PG for some canonical angstiness and very mild allusions to sex. Contains spoilers through the second-to-last episode of season 2.
Length: ~1,800 words
Author's note: This really is a series of missing scenes, often from the middle of episodes, so a good knowledge of the show is probably necessary to understand it fully. I've only taken it up through the end of S2 (or, more accurately, somewhere in the middle of "Liars, Guns, and Money") mainly because going on any further would involve a lot of rehashing of territory I've covered in other fics. But I like to think that it feels right to end it where I did, anyway.
Love and the Places Between
1. The Shared Memory
The first time she sees him, she nearly shoots him. He emerges from the Gammak base, one arm flung up to shield himself from what she will later learn is his first glimpse of sunlight in two cycles, and for a microt all that registers in her mind is that he is neither Crichton nor Aeryn. Her finger is already tightening on the trigger when she realizes that he is also not a Peacekeeper.
A moment later he lowers his hand, and she sees that she has almost killed a Banik holy man. As if she did not yet have enough to trouble her soul.
He flinches back at the sight of her gun, of D'Argo's qualta blade, and for an instant there is fear in his eye, a panicky, hunted-animal look. But he quickly blinks it away, and only says, "Are you friends of Crichton's?"
In quiet, halting words, he explains who he is, what's happened to John and Aeryn. They will come, he says. They'll find a way to open the door again, and they'll make their way to the surface soon.
Such loyalty Crichton inspires on such short acquaintance, Zhaan thinks. Or perhaps this is simply a man who understands the habit of hope.
"You're Stykera," she says, looking at him with curiosity. She knows of Stykera, has heard profound and remarkable things, but she has never met one before.
His fingers trace the outline of the mask he wears. "Yes," he says. He looks pleased that she's noticed.
"Enough talk," says D'Argo. "We need to keep an eye out for Peacekeepers." Realizing the infelicity of his phrasing, he winces, then shakes his head. "Uh, you know what I mean!"
Zhaan cannot help but laugh. The Stykera's single eye meets hers, and he smiles shyly.
They don't talk again until they're back on Moya.
**
"That was very kind of you," the Delvian tells him as they leave the dying Peacekeeper tech's side. She touches his hand. Her fingers are soft and strong, and cool as water on his skin.
He doesn't know what to say to that. So, "I am Stykera," he says. And then, "She helped us." He doesn't say that he's been holding that memory too long, that he's been desperate to give it to someone who will cherish it, will take it to the other side and set it free. Although, looking into her eyes, he wonders whether she might understand if he did.
Her hand is still on his when he feels the Peacekeeper girl -- Gilina, her name is Gilina -- pass through the world and out of it. He closes his eye, silently mouthing the words of a chant, then opens it again in surprise when he hears Zhaan's voice murmuring something soft and sacred-sounding in her own tongue.
For a moment, they look at each other in silence. Then, "You must be tired," she says. "Shall I show you to a room?"
He is tired, the tiredness of fading adrenalin, of too many changes too fast. He nods. "Please."
"I'm afraid it's another cell," she says as she guides him in. "But it's one whose door will open whenever you wish it." She smiles at him. He hasn't seen a smile like that in a very long time. "In my experience, that makes a great deal of difference."
"Thank you," he says. Somehow, it seems inadequate.
He sleeps, off and on, restless in the strange softness of the bed. In the morning, she brings him food, and for an arn or two they talk, of births and deaths and the things they dare to hope for in their futures.
This, too, is a memory he puts away to keep.
**
When he departs with the transport pod, Zhaan does not expect to see him again. It's not that she disbelieves the sincerity of his promise to return the vehicle. But she has long since learned the fallibility of mortal creatures' plans. And when the Goddess guides us, she thinks, she takes us where we need to be, not where we think we wish to go.
She has almost become used to this life, to people and places coming and going as quickly as Starburst. But watching him leave, she cannot help but feel a sudden, sharp longing for Delvia and home.
She has no time to indulge in melancholy, or to stand around worrying what might become of the latest stranger with whom their lives have intersected. She has others who need her now. Still, she takes a moment to murmur a prayer, as the bright speck that is Stark vanishes into the night.
2. An Image You Carry With You
Only when she has succeeded in calming D'Argo, as much as is possible for a Luxan frantically worried about his son, does she finally realize how weary she feels. The events of the last solar day -- or perhaps the last two hundred cycles or the last no time at all -- have worn away at the tranquility bestowed by her time with the Goddess, and she can once again feel all the ragged edges of her soul. She leaves the command chamber in search of... She isn't sure what. Not solitude. Not meditation. Some manner of peace, perhaps
Stark walks beside her, unasked. She feels a flicker of irritation at the intrusion, but by the time they reach the door to her quarters, it's gone, swallowed up in his quietness and the strange familiarity of his presence. She has fused her spirit with this man's, twice, but when she looks at him, his smile is hesitant and awkward, as if he is unsure how much to presume on that intimacy.
She can still feel the echoes of their Unity inside her, but most of what she remembers is the painful rush, the sense of being nearly overwhelmed by something bright and dark and powerful, and lonely. She regrets that their joining happened under such circumstances, wonders suddenly whether it might be possible for them to touch each other more gently.
"Would you like to come in?" she says.
Stark licks his lips and swallows. "I would like that very much."
They don't leave her room again until it's time to board Tayln to meet the Plocavians.
3. The Beautiful Truth
He is formless, fragmented, lost in the void. Even without a body, he still feels pain, aching with the effort of holding the shattered pieces of himself together. Crossing over would be easier -- he's already most of the way there. But death is too familiar a place to him. He would rather stay here, in this universe that has only just begun again to surprise him.
He searches through the darkness for the last piece of himself, the piece he left behind. It is old energy, leached from him over cycles, but it is his. He touches it, and through it finds the solidity of his mask. He'd nearly forgotten what solidity was.
He traces the familiar contours, and remembers what it is like to have a face. To have his face. The shape, the feel...
It's good. It's good, it's useful, but it isn't enough. He reaches out, through the mask, and... there. There. Smooth, cool fingers brush against metal, soft and uncertain. He remembers the shape of his body under those hands. Remembers the shape of the soul that fits inside it and the way the two connect.
Slowly, slowly, Stark begins to remember himself home.
4. Falsehoods, Treasure, and the Barrel of a Gun
His return was not what she imagined, those moments when she allowed herself to indulge in unreasonable hopes. She imagined a hand waking her with a touch, or a voice whispering softly in her mind, or simply to turn one day and find him there, as solid as if he had never been otherwise. She imagined a joyful reunion, quiet moments of reconnection, spiritual wisdom brought back from beyond the realm of mortality and shared in the intimacy of Unity.
Gentle fantasies. Reality is always so much harsher.
When she returns from playing her role in the first part of his plan, as soon as she has tended to D'Argo's wounds, she seeks him out. He's hunched over the computer console, hitting the controls with too much force, muttering to himself. She stands there for a microt, still dressed in her criminal's clothes, as one-eyed at the moment as he, and watches him. The air is sharp with the scent of his agitation: animal sweat and ozone. She remembers a brief fantasy she had, when his mask first spoke to her, of embracing a body of newly formed flesh, of giving it pleasure before it relearned pain. She is too late for that, of course. She should not feel surprised.
She goes to him, puts a hand on his shoulder. He shrugs it off with an impatient snarl, then turns to her a microt later, stricken.
"Zhaan I..." He seems not to know quite what to say, but the helpless look in his eye is explanation enough. "It's the plan..."
"I know," she says. She touches his arm, and this time he is still and quiet under her touch. "It's all right, Stark. We'll do what we must do, for your people, for Jothee. And when it's finished, there will be time."
He places a hand over hers. "Yes," he says. Gratitude shines from his face like the light of his soul.
Zhaan smiles, and touches his cheek, and tries hard to believe that she's told him the truth. Surely, this desperate life of theirs must end soon. She, for one, is ready for some peace.
**
After the mercenaries have come aboard, he finds her alone in her quarters. The room where they once made love is black and burnt, enclosed in walls of dying tissue. The memory of ten thousand deaths still vibrates in his mind, tearing his soul with grief and guilt. He knows she suffers that, too: grief, and guilt, and an innocent creature's pain. There is nothing to be done to lift that burden from either of them, but he thinks, perhaps, it might be one that they can share.
Silently, he puts his arms around her and rests his forehead on hers. She says nothing, but takes his hand, leans into his embrace, and weeps.
He holds her close, her tears warm and wet against his skin. And it comes to him suddenly, here among the heartache and the ash, that he might at last have found something he cannot bear to lose.
But now... "I have to go," he says softly, stroking her cheek as she releases him. "I have to make another plan."
His people, the ones he came here to save, are dead, and he cannot help them. But he has something else worth fighting for now. And he intends to fight until the end.
Well, here it is November, and, lo, I have fic! Considering how long it took me to get it written and the fact that mtgat offered up her hard-earned dollars to charity for it, it really seems like it should be much longer and more substantial than this. But, well, in the end, what you get is what I got. Turns out I'm a bit rusty on Stark/Zhaan, but it was nevertheless nice to go back and pay them a visit again, however angsty it inevitably got. So I hope it suits!
Title: Love and the Places Between
Fandom: Farscape
Summary: Stark and Zhaan's relationship, in a series of missing scenes.
Rating/Warnings: Rated PG for some canonical angstiness and very mild allusions to sex. Contains spoilers through the second-to-last episode of season 2.
Length: ~1,800 words
Author's note: This really is a series of missing scenes, often from the middle of episodes, so a good knowledge of the show is probably necessary to understand it fully. I've only taken it up through the end of S2 (or, more accurately, somewhere in the middle of "Liars, Guns, and Money") mainly because going on any further would involve a lot of rehashing of territory I've covered in other fics. But I like to think that it feels right to end it where I did, anyway.
Love and the Places Between
1. The Shared Memory
The first time she sees him, she nearly shoots him. He emerges from the Gammak base, one arm flung up to shield himself from what she will later learn is his first glimpse of sunlight in two cycles, and for a microt all that registers in her mind is that he is neither Crichton nor Aeryn. Her finger is already tightening on the trigger when she realizes that he is also not a Peacekeeper.
A moment later he lowers his hand, and she sees that she has almost killed a Banik holy man. As if she did not yet have enough to trouble her soul.
He flinches back at the sight of her gun, of D'Argo's qualta blade, and for an instant there is fear in his eye, a panicky, hunted-animal look. But he quickly blinks it away, and only says, "Are you friends of Crichton's?"
In quiet, halting words, he explains who he is, what's happened to John and Aeryn. They will come, he says. They'll find a way to open the door again, and they'll make their way to the surface soon.
Such loyalty Crichton inspires on such short acquaintance, Zhaan thinks. Or perhaps this is simply a man who understands the habit of hope.
"You're Stykera," she says, looking at him with curiosity. She knows of Stykera, has heard profound and remarkable things, but she has never met one before.
His fingers trace the outline of the mask he wears. "Yes," he says. He looks pleased that she's noticed.
"Enough talk," says D'Argo. "We need to keep an eye out for Peacekeepers." Realizing the infelicity of his phrasing, he winces, then shakes his head. "Uh, you know what I mean!"
Zhaan cannot help but laugh. The Stykera's single eye meets hers, and he smiles shyly.
They don't talk again until they're back on Moya.
**
"That was very kind of you," the Delvian tells him as they leave the dying Peacekeeper tech's side. She touches his hand. Her fingers are soft and strong, and cool as water on his skin.
He doesn't know what to say to that. So, "I am Stykera," he says. And then, "She helped us." He doesn't say that he's been holding that memory too long, that he's been desperate to give it to someone who will cherish it, will take it to the other side and set it free. Although, looking into her eyes, he wonders whether she might understand if he did.
Her hand is still on his when he feels the Peacekeeper girl -- Gilina, her name is Gilina -- pass through the world and out of it. He closes his eye, silently mouthing the words of a chant, then opens it again in surprise when he hears Zhaan's voice murmuring something soft and sacred-sounding in her own tongue.
For a moment, they look at each other in silence. Then, "You must be tired," she says. "Shall I show you to a room?"
He is tired, the tiredness of fading adrenalin, of too many changes too fast. He nods. "Please."
"I'm afraid it's another cell," she says as she guides him in. "But it's one whose door will open whenever you wish it." She smiles at him. He hasn't seen a smile like that in a very long time. "In my experience, that makes a great deal of difference."
"Thank you," he says. Somehow, it seems inadequate.
He sleeps, off and on, restless in the strange softness of the bed. In the morning, she brings him food, and for an arn or two they talk, of births and deaths and the things they dare to hope for in their futures.
This, too, is a memory he puts away to keep.
**
When he departs with the transport pod, Zhaan does not expect to see him again. It's not that she disbelieves the sincerity of his promise to return the vehicle. But she has long since learned the fallibility of mortal creatures' plans. And when the Goddess guides us, she thinks, she takes us where we need to be, not where we think we wish to go.
She has almost become used to this life, to people and places coming and going as quickly as Starburst. But watching him leave, she cannot help but feel a sudden, sharp longing for Delvia and home.
She has no time to indulge in melancholy, or to stand around worrying what might become of the latest stranger with whom their lives have intersected. She has others who need her now. Still, she takes a moment to murmur a prayer, as the bright speck that is Stark vanishes into the night.
2. An Image You Carry With You
Only when she has succeeded in calming D'Argo, as much as is possible for a Luxan frantically worried about his son, does she finally realize how weary she feels. The events of the last solar day -- or perhaps the last two hundred cycles or the last no time at all -- have worn away at the tranquility bestowed by her time with the Goddess, and she can once again feel all the ragged edges of her soul. She leaves the command chamber in search of... She isn't sure what. Not solitude. Not meditation. Some manner of peace, perhaps
Stark walks beside her, unasked. She feels a flicker of irritation at the intrusion, but by the time they reach the door to her quarters, it's gone, swallowed up in his quietness and the strange familiarity of his presence. She has fused her spirit with this man's, twice, but when she looks at him, his smile is hesitant and awkward, as if he is unsure how much to presume on that intimacy.
She can still feel the echoes of their Unity inside her, but most of what she remembers is the painful rush, the sense of being nearly overwhelmed by something bright and dark and powerful, and lonely. She regrets that their joining happened under such circumstances, wonders suddenly whether it might be possible for them to touch each other more gently.
"Would you like to come in?" she says.
Stark licks his lips and swallows. "I would like that very much."
They don't leave her room again until it's time to board Tayln to meet the Plocavians.
3. The Beautiful Truth
He is formless, fragmented, lost in the void. Even without a body, he still feels pain, aching with the effort of holding the shattered pieces of himself together. Crossing over would be easier -- he's already most of the way there. But death is too familiar a place to him. He would rather stay here, in this universe that has only just begun again to surprise him.
He searches through the darkness for the last piece of himself, the piece he left behind. It is old energy, leached from him over cycles, but it is his. He touches it, and through it finds the solidity of his mask. He'd nearly forgotten what solidity was.
He traces the familiar contours, and remembers what it is like to have a face. To have his face. The shape, the feel...
It's good. It's good, it's useful, but it isn't enough. He reaches out, through the mask, and... there. There. Smooth, cool fingers brush against metal, soft and uncertain. He remembers the shape of his body under those hands. Remembers the shape of the soul that fits inside it and the way the two connect.
Slowly, slowly, Stark begins to remember himself home.
4. Falsehoods, Treasure, and the Barrel of a Gun
His return was not what she imagined, those moments when she allowed herself to indulge in unreasonable hopes. She imagined a hand waking her with a touch, or a voice whispering softly in her mind, or simply to turn one day and find him there, as solid as if he had never been otherwise. She imagined a joyful reunion, quiet moments of reconnection, spiritual wisdom brought back from beyond the realm of mortality and shared in the intimacy of Unity.
Gentle fantasies. Reality is always so much harsher.
When she returns from playing her role in the first part of his plan, as soon as she has tended to D'Argo's wounds, she seeks him out. He's hunched over the computer console, hitting the controls with too much force, muttering to himself. She stands there for a microt, still dressed in her criminal's clothes, as one-eyed at the moment as he, and watches him. The air is sharp with the scent of his agitation: animal sweat and ozone. She remembers a brief fantasy she had, when his mask first spoke to her, of embracing a body of newly formed flesh, of giving it pleasure before it relearned pain. She is too late for that, of course. She should not feel surprised.
She goes to him, puts a hand on his shoulder. He shrugs it off with an impatient snarl, then turns to her a microt later, stricken.
"Zhaan I..." He seems not to know quite what to say, but the helpless look in his eye is explanation enough. "It's the plan..."
"I know," she says. She touches his arm, and this time he is still and quiet under her touch. "It's all right, Stark. We'll do what we must do, for your people, for Jothee. And when it's finished, there will be time."
He places a hand over hers. "Yes," he says. Gratitude shines from his face like the light of his soul.
Zhaan smiles, and touches his cheek, and tries hard to believe that she's told him the truth. Surely, this desperate life of theirs must end soon. She, for one, is ready for some peace.
**
After the mercenaries have come aboard, he finds her alone in her quarters. The room where they once made love is black and burnt, enclosed in walls of dying tissue. The memory of ten thousand deaths still vibrates in his mind, tearing his soul with grief and guilt. He knows she suffers that, too: grief, and guilt, and an innocent creature's pain. There is nothing to be done to lift that burden from either of them, but he thinks, perhaps, it might be one that they can share.
Silently, he puts his arms around her and rests his forehead on hers. She says nothing, but takes his hand, leans into his embrace, and weeps.
He holds her close, her tears warm and wet against his skin. And it comes to him suddenly, here among the heartache and the ash, that he might at last have found something he cannot bear to lose.
But now... "I have to go," he says softly, stroking her cheek as she releases him. "I have to make another plan."
His people, the ones he came here to save, are dead, and he cannot help them. But he has something else worth fighting for now. And he intends to fight until the end.