TITLE: Recovery Time

AUTHOR: Atira Kei

PAIRING: John/Stark (with John/DK early in story)

RATING: NC-17

SUMMARY: Begins after "Hidden Memory". Now John needs some TLC.

NOTES: I began writing this story in January, and began with the first scene you will be reading (though it has been rewritten and edited since some of you may have seen it). I will not change the circumstance to fit what is now canon. I hope it will stand on its own as a slight AU (no Crichton sisters mentioned). I also have a tendency to "speculate" or to "fill in" scenes with information which may or may not turn out to be canon.

DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em; Don't have the money; Can't squeeze blood from a rock; Promise to return them after use (in what condition will depend on what stage of PMS I'm going through at that moment); Not done for profit or for the profit of others. These kids all belong to Henson, Sci-Fi Channel, and any other entity that signed on their own dotted line. No infringement intended. Copyright August, 2000 (Laura Mulqueen Campbell)

FEEDBACK: This is the first story I have finished in more than 3 years. So I don't mind criticism, good or bad, but just wanted to warn that parts might be rusty.

ARCHIVE: Sure. Xen. Toni. PEJA... WWOB I would be honored.

RECOVERY TIME

By Atira Kei

Cold...

He remembered the cold of his mother's hand, after she died.He was fourteen years old. The following week, he'd turn fifteen. His mother had given him his present early, popular running shoes... "sneakers" she called them. She knew then that she would not make it to his real birthday. So they had a private party, just his parents and himself. The medical center had set up a hospital bed in the living room, and other things she needed. "Hospice" they called it. She could be at home... die at home.

At first, John Crichton had protested. She needed to be in a hospital where she could be cured. But his father explained that there was nothing they could do. The disease had spread too far to operate or treat. She was dying. For days, John denied, never entering the living room, seeing his mother only when she came into other parts of the house. Both his parents never said a word, though his father never stopped speaking about her illness, her decline, and her approaching death when the subject arose.

But one day he was alone, and she cried for help. He helped her to the commode, alarmed by the weakness in her legs, discomforted by the lack of privacy his mother had. But she needed him, and he needed to help her. And when she was back in bed, he understood that their time together was short and he cried as his mother held him, telling him what a good boy he was, telling him that she loved him...

Death came as a whisper two weeks later. No screams. No protests. She had been bright and alert the day before, though she was no longer eating, no longer needing trips to the commode, no longer able to sit up on her own. Friends had been coming and going since she'd come home. This morning, there was only family. They all spoke quietly, laughing gently. His father and grandmother-his mother's mother-- recounted family tales, running through the history of how his parents had met, what happened at the wedding reception, the birth of himself. But John Crichton stood away, sensing the approaching death, seeing the absence of light in his mother's bright blue eyes. He didn't understand the smiles, or the laughter. His mother was dying--

"Always my serious child. John, come here."

Startled, John looked up. The rest of the family had shifted, making room near the head of the bed. His mother lifted her hand, gesturing him forward. He gazed at her, at his father, whose facial expression showed a calm patience, encouraging without pushing.

Frightened, but determined, John obeyed, going to his mother's side, taking her hand, hesitating a moment when her cold skin met his. This was it, he knew. This was the last moment he would have with her.

"I was telling your father about the time you built that commando camp out the old doors we had. You and DK worked so hard." She smiled. "Worked so hard you two shut yourselves inside, no way out."

John smiled. It was two summers ago. His father had been on a shuttle mission; something about fixing a satellite. He and DK had gotten this bright idea to build a bunker. Only they forgot to make a door. In trying to correct the oversight, the structure collapsed, trapping them. It took Fire Rescue and a couple of air force pilots from the neighborhood to lift the structure off of them. "Boy, you were mad." He was grounded for a whole, precious summer week.

His mother sighed pleasantly. "I was scared to death! You two could have been killed!" Her fingers laced with his. "You're a good boy, John. You're going to go far, I know this. Farther than you or anyone here will understand." She glanced at Jack Crichton who gave her a puzzled look. "Encourage him to discover his dreams, Jack. Promise?"

Jack took her other hand. "Of course, Mary. Of course."

And so it was. She fell asleep, her breathing coming in short bursts. Then nothing. All through that time, John held onto the flesh, ignoring how it cooled into ice, taking on a gray-blue cast. A hand fell on his shoulder. A gentle voice spoke in his ear. "Come away, John. It's time to rest."

Part 2

John blinked, his eyes stinging. Rest? His eyes fell on the body of a young woman. She lay before him, her eyes closed, her face turned towards him, seemingly in peaceful slumber. But there was that absence of life he felt, the empty shell. Gilina was dead. He stared hard at her, willing it otherwise, but nothing changed. The hand he held was cold. Her other hand rested across her abdomen, almost hiding the mortal wound, the hole burned through her body by Scorpius' weapon. Gilina had been in agony. Zhaan's medicine had only taken away a little of the torture. Stark, his mysterious new friend, had taken the rest, giving her a few minutes of comfort and clarity. It was a gift, the only gift anyone could offer the dying Peacekeeper tech for what she'd done.

Gilina died saving them. She had tried to fire a weapon she'd never been trained to use. She told John she loved him. And John tried to comfort her by having her believe her feelings were shared, at least in part. But it was a lie. He cared for her, as a friend, had been attracted to her in a moment of lust. But they could never have been lovers. He didn't feel. that way about her.

And now all he could feel was overwhelming guilt, the terrifying feeling that he should have done something. Grabbed the gun. Pushed the evil monster. But he was paralyzed by a fear that held him in place, and let this woman die. He was a selfish bastard.

"John."

Stark's presence reached Crichton more deeply than the mere touch of his friend's hand on his shoulder; a warm blanket on a cold day, offering refuge after a long battle. Every cell in his body seem to urge him to give in, to accept the feelings filtering into his exhausted mind and body. But there were things to do. Scorpius was not dead, he knew this. The base was not fully destroyed. And Crais' ship was lurking somewhere. They were all in danger, and he had to make sure everyone was safe before he could afford the luxury of rest. "I'm fine," he said, frowning when his own voice was a mere croak.

"You need rest, John." Zhaan knelt next to the opposite side of the bed to bring her face level with John's. "You've been injured too."

Crichton shook head. Didn't they understand. There was no time. "I'm okay... really." There, that was stronger, even if it was a mere whisper.

Delvian eyes turned bright. Briefly, John felt the gentle pull, the moment before he could feel her mind within his. It was like that... since the Unity. Like a thread that remained when they separated. "You need to be tended to, even if you don't think so." Her eyes rose to focus beyond Crichton, holding silent communication. Stark heavy body pressed closer, his free hand covered John's, the one that held Gilina's.

"Time to leave her," Stark told him quietly. "She is at peace."

A wave of lethargy flowed over John, making his eyes droop in spite of the adrenaline still racing through his body. His hand was firmly, but gently separated from Gilina's. Then he was lifted to his feet with a strength that surprised him. He glanced to his left, focusing on the exposed features on Stark's face, surprised to see the open concern. *I don't deserve this,* he protested silently.

A wrinkle played over Stark's brow. John swallowed, feeling somehow caught out without understanding why. Stark's features softened, his hands held Crichton up by his left arm and shoulder. But there were two other hands. Zhaan? No. the priest stood before him, her features focused. Crichton looked to his right and found himself face to face with D'Argo.

The Luxan returned his gaze, his expression full compassion and understanding. "D'Argo... thank you," he blurted, not knowing what else to say. They had nearly died saving him when they should have just left him behind.

"Do not thank me, John," D'Argo told him softly. "It is we who fail to thank you enough."

And with that he was encouraged to move. But after a few steps, Crichton stumbled, his legs refusing to hold him up.

"Here, let me take him." D'Argo offered. John closed his eyes as strong arms encircled him, as the universe tilted then turned as his feet left the floor.

"Hey!" he managed to yelp as his body settled into D'Argo's arms, barely able to struggle against the indignity. *Dammit! I can walk!* But it felt good to be held securely, his soul countered.

"Be still," Stark's voice touched him. Fingertips grazed his forehead. "You are injured in body and spirit. You think too much of others and not of the one they struggled so hard to save. You will sleep now... remember a better place... let others heal you."

There was no choice, not a moment to protest.

John caught a frisbee thrown by his father as they stood on the shore of a lake, near their cabin in Upstate New York. They'd come here every summer, or whenever the moment suited them, since he was four. This time, it was truly special. His father had ended his last shuttle mission, and John had just graduated college, a year early, at the top of his class. He was about to enter Air Force training, which would lead to the Space program. He had been accepted into a graduate program where he would earn not only his masters, but his doctorate as well. The roads ahead were smooth sailing. In five years he knew he would be piloting his first space shuttle, maybe even help build a space station, something beyond what his father had done in his career.

"Hey, Johnny! Over here!"

Crichton turned, flipping his wrist, sending the disk to another in their circle; a young man his own age, equal height, with long waves of brown hair and a constant bright gleam in his eyes... DK (Daniel Kevin... to those who dared to know) Wilson, rebel and future scientist. They had known each other since elementary school, moving together as their families moved within the military. Shortly after his mother died, a drunk-driver killed DK's parents. As a natural course of things, DK was taken in, becoming the brother John never had... and more.

Crichton watched stood back DK, entertaining his father with a variety of complex tricks, his movements swift, showing a gift of balance and grace. Brilliant white shorts hugged DK's lean torso, a contrast against his summer tanned skin. The site made John's mind wander, his mouth water, his cock twitch. As if in synch, DK stopped his show and glanced at him. This drew his father's attention. "Son?"

John shook himself, startled from his thoughts, cursing silently as his cheeks tingled. He only hoped his own tan would hide the blush he knew was there. "Yeah dad," he said, acting as if nothing were different. But the playful mood they had all shared was changed. The moment was over.

His father's eyes moved from DK to his son, then a small smile played on his lips. "I have to make several calls, then pick your sisters up from the airport. It's their vacation, too." He caught his son's eyes in a penetrating gaze. "Why don't you and DK take a hike to that general store? We could use some beer."

Beer. They had beer. Not a lot, but at least enough until tomorrow. John watched his father walk back to the cabin, feeling odd, more because it wasn't the first time it had happened over the past few months. *Does he know? Shit, can't ask him... damn!* He turned towards DK who walked towards him, his hazel eyes holding an evil gleam.

"You really should develop a poker face, " DK advised lightly.

Crichton's eyes narrowed. "What are you saying? He knows?"

DK smiled. "If he does, he doesn't care." He pressed closer, his body teasing John's own bare chest. "On the other hand, if he hasn't noticed, then he's not the great shuttle pilot we all know and love."

"Shit!" Crichton drew away from his friend.

"Hey, Johnny. Don't!" DK's hand slapped his back, a normal male-to-male gesture between friends. "Don't borrow trouble. Your father isn't asking and you're not telling. Let's go."

John stared at his lover of nearly a year, always amazed by his friend's insight and understanding. DK was gay, didn't even glance at a woman with anything other than friendship. There was never a doubt, never a moment when his tried to be anything else, though growing up in a military environment, he was an expert at being discreet, never giving anyone who didn't know him well any reason to question his sexuality.

But for John, things were a little different. Those entering the Space Program could forget even a passing nod at the "don't ask, don't tell" crap. Heterosexuality was demanded, through marriage if possible, but unwed relationships were tolerated. Which was all right with Crichton. He liked women as well as men, though he hesitated to label himself. He loved DK, but they had already agreed that their relationship was one of intimate friends rather than bonded souls. They understood that they would each find a partner who completed them at some point in their lives. But for now, they would take pleasure in each other when possible, when they could risk it. And this summer between one stage of their lives and the next would be one of those times.

They walked through the pine and oak, over a path they had memorized when they had come here as kids. It was like an adventure, taking them three miles into the forest before they would suddenly break onto the only major highway in the area, mere yards away from an old cabin that served as the local bar and convenience store for the whole town, whose total population was always less than a thousand, even during the tourist season. But where they walked, no one else did. It was their own place, a place of safety and isolation, full of the sounds of life in the summer, ghostly silence in the winter.

At the base of a rise, huge rocks came together to make a cave-like niche. As children, they could walk in. As adults, they could comfortably crawl in, and sit or lay inside, hidden from the world. Without a word, they entered, laying out the towels they had wrapped across their shoulders when they started the trip. Before John could finish, DK pushed him, forcing him onto his back.

"Hey! What--" John stopped as DK's mouth covered his in a passionate kiss, his tongue seeking Crichton's tonsils. "Mmmm... DK..."

"Shut up!" DK's words were a command, but his tone was playful.

John's mouth was plundered again. His shorts were opened and skilled fingers invaded to caress his aroused cock... just so. Crichton hissed, then groaned. DK laughed, his lips moving downward over John's throat, chest, and stomach. With familiar ease, John lifted his hips, helping his friend get his shorts off, leaving him nude. DK smiled impishly, then bowed his head, his warm tongue seeking deeper pleasures. John cried out openly, gripping his lover's thick, silken hair, thrusting towards release...

"This is your mate, John Crichton?"

The soft, firm voice startled him from the memory. John moaned. His mind buzzed with images, one after the other, interfacing, bringing with them the pain and joy of the first time he'd experienced them. His body hardened into painful knots as the energy used to power the Aurora Chair also tore through his own nerves, adding physical pain to his mental anguish. For a brief moment, the mental search paused, and an image was frozen on the screen before him. DK's face was displayed as his head rose above Crichton's thighs, his mouth swollen and moist, dripping with semen, his expression angelic in passion. A thread of grief touched Crichton's heart. "You're a bastard," he managed to spit.

"Bastard?" Scorpius came into view, his face looking more like someone who had been dead a day or so, held together by the head covering he wore, webbed to allow openings for eyes, nose and mouth. Torturer. Crichton shivered but forced himself to remain focused on his task. He had to stall the Peacekeepers to keep them from finding Moya and his friends, to give them time to save Aeryn and get away, to make sure they didn't know about Gilina, the Peacekeeper tech helping him. It was his sole mission. And, he suspected, his last one.

"You have an odd way of speaking I've never encountered before." Scorpius moved his face close, his cold breath brushing over Crichton's cheek. "Where do you come from? Is your world within these Uncharted Territories?"

Now that was an easy one. "I don't know. Believe me, if I did, you and I would *not* be having this conversation."

"I think you're holding back," Scorpius countered, his words a warning to Crichton that the torture was about to begin again. "You came here through a wormhole. Isn't that so?"

"It was an accident!" John cried out. They had had this conversation thousands of times. And it was the one secret he knew he could not share because he didn't know himself. "I told you! I am just a primitive Earth astronaut from a primitive world that doesn't even believe guys like you really exist! I was running an experiment, and instead of blowing up, I came he-- ahhh!"

It began again. The pain, the probing, the shattering of his soul...

Part 3

Zhaan sighed, carefully examining her stores of herbs and chemicals. John was warm... too warm, and distressed, groaning and shifting, his mental anguish obvious, his physical trauma there for all to see. Human. She had to remember he was Human, not Sabacean, not even close. Some of her medicines had already proven toxic to Crichton's system in the past, some had not been effective at all. But over time, she had found a good mixture of this and that, finding that John's own will was sometimes the strongest medicine of all.

"I've made an elixir for his fever," she said as she turned. It was an amazing sight to her. John lay, propped in a sitting position by cushions and other materials to keep him free of a disturbing cough. He had been stripped, cleaned, and dressed in loose fitting pants and a shirt. There were plenty of clothes on Moya. Crewmembers clothes. John fit into many made for elite guards, which both D'Argo and Zhaan found interesting.

On her patient's bed, sitting next to the Human was their newest "guest", a man called Stark. Zhaan didn't know what race he came from, only that he gave off an aura she found at once peaceful and disturbing. *Another John has found and brought to us... "stray kitten syndrome" he calls it. I don't understand the reference, but I am beginning to understand the meaning.*

Stark had also cleaned up, changing into a tech jumpsuit, his mask covering half his face, his attention all on John, his expression holding nothing to reveal his true feelings, though his inner being boiled with complex energies Zhaan could not isolate.

She drew close, focused on Crichton. "I'll need your help to give this to him."

Stark didn't seem to hear, but a moment later he nodded, drawing back. The effect was immediate. John blinked, opening his eyes, clearly alarmed. "No! I don't know!"

Stark cupped Crichton's cheek in his hand. "John, it's over. Gone. You're here, in your own bed."

John gazed at him, his expression quickly changing, clearing. Then his eyes found Zhaan. "Hi!" he greeted with a smile, a complete contrast to his terror only moments before.

Zhaan returned his smile, quietly accepting of Crichton's unique ability to change so completely in the course of seconds. To "put on a mask" as the Human once told her. *But this "mask" is thin. His spirit was nearly destroyed. To heal it will take more than I have.* "I've made something for you, to help with your fever."

Crichton frowned. "I'm assuming it's not aspirin."

Sarcasm. It was a unique "humanism" that did not translate through the microbes they all shared. Zhaan knew Crichton used it more often when he was stressed. It held truths cloaked in irrelevant words. It was comforting to him, and at times amusing to others, lightening a tense moment, allowing others to reorder their thoughts. *Still even then, thinking of others.* "No John, but it will help you all the same."

Crichton sighed, then shifted as a small cough escaped him, following by deeper, more congested spasms. Stark's arms surrounded him, an embrace supportive, and... Zhaan accepted what she saw, what she sensed. John's coughs quieted and she leaned forward, offering a small cup. "Drink this."

With a grunt, John took the cup, his hand shaking violently, Zhaan's medicine spilling over the rim. Stark's hand gripped his, then guided the medicine to John's lips. For a moment, Crichton hesitated, his eyes meeting Stark's. Then, carefully, he drank. Stark murmured a phrase to the human, drawing back the cup, handing it up to Zhaan and both men lay back. John's head fell on Stark's chest, his wheezing shortly settling into more comfortable breaths, in and out. The drug was also a sedative. Crichton huddled closer to Stark as sleep took him.

Zhaan passed a hand over John, feeling the medicine take effect, attacking the infection destroying Crichton's lungs. "He should be better when he wakes up again."

"Yes," Stark agreed simply.

Zhaan's gaze moved over him. "You need care as well," she suggested. There was a fatigue, a disharmony in the stranger they'd taken aboard. "I can have D'Argo or Chiana watch him while you rest."

"No. I will stay here," Stark answered in a flat tone.

Zhaan considered, curious about what she was witnessing, what she sensed between these two men. John always touched others, showing support and concern, even comfort. But he rarely allowed himself to be touched, to receive what he gave away.

Though there were always hints. Once, with Aeryn, though that bonding seemed doomed from the start. John sought an intimacy most Peacekeepers, particularly those born and raised within the ranks, shied away from in favor of brief encounters without obligation. obligation being a dangerous, rarely given gift for them. It seemed a hard lesson for John to learn, and seem to make him hesitant ask for the physical and emotional sharing he seem to crave. It was a concern Zhaan had thought to deal with, sooner or later, before John's capture. Now, perhaps things had changed.

"You are Delvian?"

Zhaan blinked, surprised to have lost her focus. She met Stark's uncovered eye, curious as to what lay hidden beneath the thick covering. "I am. You've heard of us?"

"Delvians are known to my people. Your people's existence has been passed to us through the Knowledge."

Knowledge? Race memory? It was a powerful ability, to remember one's own past and pass it to your offspring without interpretation. It was also rare, seemingly to develop in some, and not at all in others. "Who are your people?" she asked curiously.

Stark's posture changed, showing a brief pain, a lingering fear. "I am Banik."

Banik. Zhaan drew in a breath. Banik. Slave race. She had heard of them, in stories told to her. They had once been a highly advanced, peaceful people, living in balance with their environment. Then they were invaded, the population taken by Peacekeepers. The Banik had an ability of the mind, a deep sharing among their kind. Their race was evolving, their physical bodies holding a visible energy, a source of their power. Zhaan now understood what lay beneath the heavy mask Stark wore. *A part of their enslavement. it is a commodity and a curse.*

Zhaan gazed at the two men and understood something else. Banik did not travel as individuals. It was nearly impossible. They were a bonding of three or more, male and female. To be separated was to die a slow death. Yet Stark was alone.

And there was John Crichton, the Human who looked Sabacean. He was primitive, innocent, and irritatingly irreverent. Yet, even when he was forced into anger, he retained the ability stop, to reason. In a single breath, he pushed away, yet held out a hand, ready to help. Wise and naïve. It was a combination Zhaan had never seen before this Human came to them.

Her eyes scanned the men, confirming what her senses suggested. Bonding? Was it possible? Is Crichton aware? "Take care with John Crichton," she told Stark, careful to keep her tone friendly and warm, yet firm, feeling every bit her role as priest. "He has become special to us, more than we realized before this incident. He will sacrifice himself without thought, but will not allow others to sacrifice for him." She stepped closer, her hand resting on John's head, her fingers brushing strands of hair. Not Sabacean hair, she noted as she indulged in a form of contact the human would avoid if he were awake. "He needs someone to touch him after all he has touched."

Stark seem to absorb the words, expression changing as he gazed at the man he held. "He is. different."

Zhaan smiled and inclined her head, relieved she had been understood. She gathered her herbs. "There is more medicine here, and water. I'll send a DRD with food cubes." She took off her comms and handed it to Stark. "Call me if you require any assistance."

"Yes."

"Where are they?"

John took a deep breath, then another. He had tried to stem the stream of images, slow the probing. He needed rest, and time. Still, he sensed he was losing, that his attempts to avoid revealing what he knew was futile. *Don't think of the red dog. and that's all you can think of. shit.*

*May I shouldn't think of anything at all.*

Nothing. Like a revelation, John's mind slowed. He floated, feeling nothing, thinking nothing. No presence. No purpose. Only blackness.

"Stop!"

A sharp pain broke his perfect balance. John gasped, then heaved. Someone had punched him in the stomach, again.

"You amaze me, John Crichton."

Scorpius. John's thoughts became active again. His torturer's face was only inches from his, his expression and eyes showing an emotion he hadn't seen before, but John couldn't say what it was.

"I've never had anyone able to..." Scorpius turned back to the Peacekeeper woman, Niem, standing behind the console. "Completely blank?"

"Yes," she answered. "I've reset the controls. It should override it the next time."

Scorpius turned back. "You have a talent, John Crichton. Very good."

Talent? John frowned. "What--- ahhhh!!!"

"John."

*No!* John felt a soothing touch, heard a gentle voice. But he couldn't be sure, couldn't trust. It was a trick like all of Scorpius' tricks! His body tensed, his mind sought to escape into itself once more...

"Look at me, my friend."

Crichton resisted. "Get away from me!" he screamed, struggling to move, unwilling to open his eyes.

"John, it's a memory. It's over. You're safe."

Safe? No, he wasn't safe. It was a trick! The first time it had worked, but never again. John tensed against the restraint on his arm, shocked when he could move it freely. At the same moment he realized he was sitting against soft materials, his legs sliding within the warmth of a blanket covering him. He was free.

*Yes... free, John Crichton. Open your eyes and look at me.*

Gentle sensations calmed his nerves. Reason reclaimed his mind. "Stark?"

"Yes."

John shivered, still touched by the nightmare, by the vivid memories. Light drew his eyes, even through closed lids. Blinking, Crichton turned his head. Stark lay next to him, his arms cradled Crichton, lending physical warmth to the steady presence filtering through his mind. Stark's mask was gone, his face illuminated by a brightness that seem to spill from an opening in his brain. But as John watched, the light dimmed slightly, revealing a soft shell covering a shimmering mass that pulsed and glowed. Transfixed, John reached out, curious to feel---

Stark carefully gripped his wrist, stopping him. "No, my friend. The time isn't right."

Part 4

John thought to resist, to ask why. But some inner voice told him to simply accept the moment. He pulled back, but did not break contact. "Damn! I feel like shit." A cough rose from his chest, and John braced himself for the painful fit that was sure to follow. But to his surprise, his throat cleared quickly. "Boy, that medicine Zhaan gave me worked like a charm."

"You're feeling better?"

"Yeah." John smiled. "And I gotta go," he hinted, his bladder suddenly sending urgent signals.

"Do you need help?"

Crichton shook his head. He pulled away, ignoring the protest that lightly coursed along his nerves. *Now what's that about?* He swung his legs down, standing...

...And sitting back down, his equilibrium faltering. "Shit!"

"Let me help you." Stark got up, coming around to Crichton's side, holding out a hand to him.

"I can do this!" John snapped, irritated. A shadow crossed Stark's face. Hurt feelings. Crichton took a moment to consider. *He's grateful I got him away from Scorpius. And I was glad to do it. But he doesn't have to be my nurse.*

"Stark. Look, I'm sorry. I'm not trying to hurt your feelings or anything." It was all so weird one part of his mind judged. Apologizing for doing nothing. But Crichton had learned that unsaid thoughts and hidden emotions were as open as a football field for some aliens. Stark, he knew, was very sensitive, and he had to remember that. "I just want to do things for myself," he smiled ruefully. "Or try to."

Stark also smiled, still holding out his hand. "At least let's see if you can get on your feet."

Crichton nodded, but when he moved he did not reach for Stark's hand. "Let me try it on my own again first. Okay?"

Stark dropped his hand and stepped aside, saying nothing.

John felt a closing off between them, but ignored it. He was going to take care of his personal needs himself. With care, he stubbornly forced his body to obey, standing gingerly, then with more confidence. "I'll be right back."

Baths aboard a Sabacean prison vessel were small and efficient, and oriented towards Sabacean needs, for which Crichton was grateful. In spite of his exhaustion, he did his business quickly, then cleaned up, taking time to look at himself in the reflective surface that served as a mirror. The sight surprised and deeply unnerved him. His face was bruised and battered. His eyes were bloodshot. *Damn, I don't think I looked this bad after my bike accident!* His fingers gingerly touched his face, pressing carefully, feeling tight muscles around his sore jaw. Everything had been strained to the limit when he held his mouth open, screaming endless screams. His only way to overcome the agony...

"Shit!" Crichton turned away, disgusted. He stumbled, suddenly light-headed. At the same moment, his stomach growled. Food. He hadn't eaten in-two days? Three? John refocused his thoughts. He had to eat or he'd faint.

His room was a converted cell aboard a prison ship. To the best of his ability, over the course of time and several visits to many commerce planets, he picked up this and that along the way. He had managed to cover the open bars, making "walls", giving himself privacy. He cushioned his bed, adding small comforts. No one seem to fully understand, except perhaps D'Argo. But they respected his space, except perhaps Rygel, who quickly learned that it was *not* in his best interest to "snurch" any of his possessions.

As John re-entered his private haven, he found Stark sitting on the edge of his bed, eating food wafers, his mask back in place. Without looking up, he gestured Crichton to sit next to him. It was not a command, yet John felt a gentle pull, an unfamiliar need. Nervously, he walked to the bed and sat down accepting the proffered wafer. For Crichton, the taste of food cubes held the eternal flavor of plain shredded wheat. In fact, they were a highly concentrated source of nutrients that filled him up quickly. Usually three or four wafers satisfied him, but this time it took ten, washed down with cups of reconstituted water, before his body called it quits.

The whole time, nothing was said. It seemed nothing needed to be said. They had lived through hell together. *Scratch that,*John corrected. **I* lived through hell.* He glanced at Stark. **He* lived through eternal damnation. can't compare there.*

"How are you feeling?" Stark asked suddenly in the silence.

John assessed himself. "Better," he confirmed. He was clean and fed. His chest was clear, even if his throat was still irritated. And he was far, far away from Scorpius' Aurora chair. Nothing could be better. Well, except for getting home.

"John."

Crichton jerked as Stark's hand rested on his shoulder, drawing his attention.

Stark's lips were a firm line as his hand moved from John's shoulder to rest on his cheek. "I cannot stay here," he told him.

Crichton moved before he could think, pulling away from his friend as the words burned his soul. "Why!" *He's leaving me. Wait a minute. Why should I care?*

"Come back to me, John," Stark commanded, his voice taking on an authority Crichton had heard only twice before. "You and I need to talk. I want you to understand."

*Understand what!* John glared at him, unable to reason out why he was suddenly so angry. He and Stark were comrades in arms with shared experiences. They weren't even friends.

not really.

*No. more than friends.*

John froze as his mind spoke to him. He focused on Stark who returned his gaze with a soft, patient expression. Yes. More. But what?

"Don't be afraid," Stark commanded, his voice still compelling. "Come sit with me."

Moving without thought, Crichton obeyed, his body hyper-aware as his thigh touched Stark's. *Oh shit.* His face heated, his cheeks tingled.

"John, I need to tell you something about me and my people." Stark eye searched him. "We are a very old race who have lived on many worlds after our homeworld was destroyed by solar flares. We learned not to war, but to bond. That is how we live, by our Knowledge."

"Knowledge?" John relaxed, curiosity taking control of his self-awareness.

"We remember our past. It is passed to us by our caregivers, our bondmates, then passed to our children." He touched John's cheek. "I've seen something of your people. Your people are young, much as we were. before we learned what was most important."

Crichton drew back slightly, unnerved. "You know my people?"

Stark's expression firmed, but remained patient. "What I shared with you, in that cell. you shared with me. Your people have Knowledge, but have not yet learned to use it."

*Oh.* John remembered the moment, an oasis in the pain and chaos. He remembered the burst of energy, a hint of being elsewhere, of others surrounding him, lifting him, welcoming him. "What did you see?"

Stark smiled. "Your father. your family. your bondmate."

Bondmate? Crichton's felt his face twist. "I'm not married."

"Yet you were bonded." Stark's fingers again brushed and settled on John's face. "He knew your soul as you knew his."

*His?* John opened his mouth, ready to protest. Then stopped. *DK?* Crichton blinked, feeling a sudden surge of emotion, of sadness. His vision began to blur, tears burned his eyes. *Oh fuck! This is not happening! Not now, not in front of him!* Ashamed, John pulled back, ready to stand, to put distance between them until he could reign his emotions.

Stark's hand moved, gripping John's chin firmly. His other hand enclosed Crichton's wrist. "It's painful to lose a mate," he told him. "Why do you hide?"

Crichton winced, as much with physical pain as Stark's fingers dug into bruised skin as the emotional challenge the other man threw at him. Tears rolled down his face, dripping onto his neck. "He wasn't. I mean--- It's different!" Confused, John glared at the alien holding him.

"What the hell are you doing to me? When the fuck did my mind become Grand Central Station!"

Stark stroked John's face, a calm against the anxiety. "I am doing nothing to you that you don't want done. Push me from your thoughts and I will be gone. Our bonding will end."

*Bonding?* Panic rippled at the edge of his mind, enticing him to act without thought. But reason held on. John took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut, searching his thoughts, finding other thoughts and feelings not his own held away, waiting. "What bonding?" he asked as he opened his eyes, forcing himself to face the reality of the situation.

Stark released the Human then reached up, deftly removing his mask. His head glowed as brightly as John first saw it at the Gammak Base prison. "Touch me," he offered.

John knew what he meant. Trusting, but hesitant, he lifted his hand to reach into the glow, his fingertips grazing the soft, warm skin that covered Stark's head, feeling energy pulse like a heartbeat into himself---

Soft sunlight touched his eyes, cool warmth. John sighed pleasantly. It smelled of pine... grass... and even spearmint. The plants grew wild in this area surrounding the lake. In late July the scent could be overwhelming as the plants were crushed under one's shoes. Crichton breathed deeply, then again.

*Here, John Crichton.*

Stark's voice echoed in his head. John blinked. One moment the sight of familiar trees and sky filled his vision. In the next moment everything changed. The sky deepened to a deep blue, sunlight seemingly less bright as it speckled through unfamiliar trees. Exotic flowers gave off alien scents that wafted through his nostrils. No. Not unfamiliar. He'd been here before, briefly. For a few moments, it had been a sanctuary, separation from the pain and madness.

*I'm able to give a few thoughts...*

*What's happening? Where is this place?*

*Welcome, John Crichton.*

The voice was in his head was different this time... a woman's voice, peaceful and quiet. Wary, John scanned the vegetation. *What the hell--*

Soft laughter interrupted his thoughts. Crichton tensed. His nerves tingled uncomfortably. His head began to pound. Instantly, he stood within a group of people. They were commonly attractive by Human standards, but they were not human. They were like Stark, their heads gently pulsing, glowing with that odd light.

Then they were gone, except for a single being, a woman with a comely face, and bright eyes. Her head showed only hints of the familiar glow of Stark's people. She smiled, her presence radiating compassion and contentment. Crichton shivered as her hand touched his, her lips turned in a smile.

*You are part of the Knowledge and welcomed among us.*

John blinked. The woman's face and body seem to shimmer, growing apart, then together. Stark now held his hand, his expression as calm as the woman's had been. *Is this a dream?*

*No.* Stark, holding John's hand, drew closer.

>

No? John took a deep breath, his senses filled with the fragrant air, with the smell of the man who touched him. His stomach fluttered as familiar, yet unfamiliar, sensations flooded him. *Stark?*

*You are welcomed here,* Stark said, repeating what the woman had said. *You will be safe here.*

Part 5

Safe? His mind relaxed, realizing the truth of the statement. Ever since his capture, he could sense Scorpius, feel the evil presence probing. waiting. Now there was nothing but the trees. the flowers. the sky. Stark.

*What I know deep inside, Peacekeepers will never see.*

In wonder, John suddenly understood.

*The memory of a place I saw as a boy.*

What Stark had kept hidden from Scorpius. The knowledge came like a stream. This was a part of Stark's home world, a place of stability, love, and peace, long gone but never forgotten.

*I give this to you, my friend.*

Strong emotions filled the Human. This was a haven, a place locked away from all probes. An escape. John stared at his friend, letting other feelings he had held back come through, wondering what Stark would-

*Yes. I share your thoughts.*

John blinked, finding himself back in his converted cell, his hand held against Stark's head. Stark's own hand rested gently against Crichton's temple. Inwardly, John felt a change within himself, a box within a box in his mind. "Who was she?" he asked softly.

"Syana. the First," Stark replied, equally quiet. "She is The Keeper. No one passes into the Knowledge without her presence." His expression was deeply reverent. "She awakened us to the Knowledge many thousands of cycles ago."

"She's dead?"

Stark cocked his head, bemused. "We die, in body. Some live in spirit. She stands at the threshold, guarding our secret. She accepted you as part of me." His hand moved from John's head to his jaw. "She sees you as one of my bondmates."

Bondmates? One of many? John thought to question, then hesitated, suddenly aware of the answer. *They live by bonding. with each other.*

*It is all we have. all anyone ever has. each other.*

John's eyes scanned the Banik Slave, his mind turning towards oddly curious thoughts. *Do they make love like us? Does he glow inside those clothes?*

Stark laughed out loud, his hands on Crichton's shoulder, pulling him in for a hug. "We are not too different, my friend. Feel me."

And John did, cautiously returning the embrace, feeling a firm, thick body against him, even-

John yelped as cool lips pressed against his bare neck, enticing. "Stark?" He drew back, uncertain, confused yet anticipatory. Stark smiled, his fingers smoothing strands of hair on John's head. "I-uh." His cock began to awaken, clear in its needs.

"Be one with me, John Crichton," Stark offered quietly, his lips nearly touching John's, the brilliance of his aura brushing Crichton like a cool breeze. John moaned, giving in, his lips completing the connection, plunging into the unknown. Stark's lips parted instantly. John shivered as his tongue encountered Stark's within the warm cavern of their open mouths. *Oh man..* His hands rested against Stark's shoulder, feeling the steel-hard frame, imagining the strength they held.

Then, just as suddenly, it was over. Shocked, John's eyes snapped open, startled to find that he'd closed them. Stark stood beside the bed, his expression reassuring as he drew down the fastenings of his jumpsuit, undressing. John's eyes swept over Stark's thick, study body, taking in the soft, dark hair that covered his broad chest; then wandered lower, taking inventory. Stark's cock stood out from his body, obviously aroused, slightly larger and thicker, its head covered by a thin skin. Behind, a single sack hung, also swollen. John licked his lips nervously. His own cock twitched in approval, thickening against the crotch of his pants.

"I think it works better if you undress, too."

*Huh?* John's cheeks burned. "Oh." He stood, pulling his shirt up over his head-- "Ah!" Pain radiated through his shoulders and down his spine. Strained muscles protested. Bruises cried out. "Dren!"

"Shhhh." Firm hands stopped him, carefully guided John's arms out of each sleeve, and then pulled his shirt off. John growled, frustrated and uncomfortable, wondering if he would be able to be what Stark needed when the time came. Low laughter emerged from the Banik Slave, alien eyes focused as his hands continued to undress the Human, finally untying the string that held up John's pants, letting the garment drop without ceremony.

John waited, wondering what his lover thought. Stark smiled, his hand rubbed over Crichton's chest. "I helped D'Argo change your clothes while you slept." He gently urged John to sit on the bed, then sat next to him, cupping the Human's chin in his hand. "You taste sweet," he commented, then lean forward.

Crichton met him halfway, opening to his lover, their tongues warring as their hands explored. John sighed, then grunted and groaned as he tried to mirror Stark's moves, ruthlessly ignoring the pain the movements caused.

"Here." Stark took John's hands, stopping him, gazing deeply into Crichton's eyes. "This time, I show you the pleasure of Banik bonding. the next time, you teach me yours."

"But-" John wanted to share, to give what had been denied to this man, take away the pain Stark had suffered.

*You have already done this, my friend,* Stark's voice echoed in his mind. *You're unique presence. you life has done this. Relax. accept my thoughts.*

*But--* Crichton groaned as he felt the merging, all his senses turning inward. It was a familiar sensation, like when he and Zhaan had shared Unity. Only different. different energies..

*You are a unique being to have shared Unity with a Delvian.* Amusement mixed with surprise. *Share with me now, John. Share your need! Share your spirit!*

Crichton cried out as Stark's presence surrounded him. He had once told Zhaan that their merging with like ten orgasms rolled into one. But this was nothing like his merging with the Delvian priest. This was Stark. The Banik's aura seem to spread to every cell of his body, gently flowing, urging without forcing. In the void, there was no sight. no sound. only sensation... only he and Stark.

Love. John felt the unalterable need. Pleasure. John's own mind rose up, finally understanding as he strove to meet Stark's spirit with his own. Bond. John lost his identity, then regained it along with a thread of another. of The Knowledge. Distantly, John heard himself cry out, felt his body release itself, his mind flowing downward, safely embraced in Stark's arms.

"Holy shit, Batman," John mumbled as he opened his eyes, oddly unsurprised to find himself laying in Stark's arms. His body felt like gelatin without a mold, comfortable for the first time in days. He turned his head to find Stark staring at him with a neutral expression. "Stark?"

"It's all right, John," Stark assured, his fingers grazing over Crichton's chest. "You have much to share. I look forward to the next time," he said, smiling.

Next time. The two words should have brought reassurance, but their tone was out of sync. Suddenly, John felt something shift within his soul. "Stark, what's wrong? Did you-"

Stark sighed then took John's hand, guiding it downward. Crichton felt warm, thick moisture between the alien's legs. "I have had my pleasure, my friend." His face lost expression once more. "But I have to leave. now."

Leave? Fear gripped Crichton as he remembered the beginning of their conversation. "Leave... why?"

"Because I am a danger to you. to the others on this ship. to Moya herself." Stark continued to run his hand over John's body, a soothing rather than stimulating gesture. "Scorpius will find me. There is a. probe within my body. I can be tracked and found."

*Oh shit.* John raised his head. "Maybe Zhaan can take it out."

Stark shook his head. "It is an organic probe. It is bound to my DNA. All Baniks have one inserted at birth, or before we are first traded. No one here can help me. However, my people know the secret. I have to go to them."

"I thought you were all. slaves." John's mouth worked to say the word, his stomach twisted around the meaning.

Stark shook his head. "Some of us are free. We have escaped, found a place to hide ourselves, work to help every one else. I was captured when Thea and I tried to escape. She was---" Pain of loss moved over Crichton's nerves. "She didn't make it."

"I'm sorry." John hugged his lover, ignoring his own discomfort as a great sadness filled him. *I'm going to be alone again.*

*No.* Stark drew the Human against him. "You have never been alone, John. Everyone on Moya loves you."

*No.* John didn't believe that. Sure, he was tolerated. But loved? No one here loved him, especially not *that* way.

*You are loved, John Crichton. even *that* way.* Amusement filtered into John's soul. *Only you have yet to see it.* Stark drew back slightly, his hand skimming over Crichton's face. *A lesson, my dear friend. Love is shared, not possessed. The bond we share will not survive unless you give to another, and allow others to give to you.*

The words echoed into John's mind, beating back the self-doubts and fears. Crichton stared at his lover, sensing this would be a last moment. "Stark-"

"Shhh. I have to go." Stark kissed Crichton on the forehead. *When you wake, I will be gone,* he told the Human. *But I will return. I know this.* His hand brushed over Crichton's head. *Share our love with those you love, so we may be within a larger circle, strengthened by our numbers.*

John nodded, not fully understanding, but promising to try. Then he felt it, a silent command. His senses grew dull as his mind seem to wander, his consciousness fading. *Don't go.* his last thought pleaded.

*I must,* Stark told him. *Rest, John Crichton. Be at peace.*

Stark brought a thin sheet up to cover himself and his new mate. For an arn, he could stay here. But no more. Already he sensed the search, the touch on his mind and body. *Scorpius is searching. I need a transport. I need to leave here.*

A sound caught his attention as a presence touch him. He looked up, his body tensing, ready to defend the sleeping Human. But there was no threat. The Luxan, D'Argo, stood in the doorway of the converted cell, his tall body tense, his dark eyes focused on himself and John Crichton.

D'Argo. Yes. Stark smiled as he felt the faint connection through his bondmate. Already, he knew Crichton would be kept safe if this warrior had anything to say about it. "He's sleeping now. He won't wake."

D'Argo grunted, still watching, seemingly caught by the light that flashed faintly across the side of Stark's head. "Zhaan tells me you are a Banik Slave. I met one. once."

That caught Stark's interest. He carefully eased himself away from John, first picking up his mask, feeling the need to shield himself from the tensions building for reasons he couldn't quite understand. "As a buyer?" he said, not harshly, but with a hint of sarcasm. Luxan elite did buy

Baniks, with currency. But they didn't understand. Peacekeepers didn't understand. Scarran understood least of all. You could not buy the mind. the soul.

"No." D'Argo stepped forward. "I helped her escape."

"Ah." Stark fastened his mask, feeling relief as the full force of thoughts and emotions faded. *The Luxan loves the Human. I didn't notice this before. I would have had him share with us.*

"John. is he well?" D'Argo's tone was awkward.

Stark reached for his clothes, feeling an increased urgency. "He has been hurt by Scorpy's chair. In here." He pointed to his head. "He is not the John Crichton he was before, but he is not lost to you."

Part 6

D'Argo opened his mouth, then closed it, his eyes gazing upon Crichton with undisguised tenderness. "He is. different." His nostrils flared as he scented the Human, the first move towards Luxan bonding, and mating.

Stark chuckled as he put on his boots. "Yes, he is," he affirmed to the Luxan. "And like any rare object, he needs to be valued."

"He is." D'Argo moved to Crichton's side, his hand petted John's head, a finger glided over his jaw as if learning its shape and texture. "He- he's afraid of me."

"Only because he doesn't understand. He is a Sagein marsh fish caught out of his slime pool. His people are young, but talented. and destined." Stark moved towards the doorway. "I must leave."

"Leave? Crais and his ship are searching."

"I know, and they will find us unless I leave."

D'Argo's posture stiffened. He drew away from John, his body suddenly between Stark's and Crichton's. "What are you saying?"

Stark ignored the threat. There wasn't time. "If you have known one of us, then you know the reason. I am Tagged."

D'Argo's brows drew together in confusion, then realization. "She told me some were. she was not." His eyes moved to John, then back to Stark. "Pilot!"

"D'Argo?"

"We need a transport pod!"

"But Crais' ship-"

"We need it now," D'Argo insisted. "Stark has to leave."

"But what about-"

"I'll explain later, Pilot," D'Argo cut him off impatiently, his tone urgent.

"Right away," Pilot replied.

"And Pilot?" D'Argo called again.

"Yes?" Pilot answered.

"Have Chiana or Zhaan come down to Crichton's cell. I don't want him alone."

"Done," Pilot responded immediately. "In fact, Moya has already sent DRDs to monitor." Pause. "Commander Crichton will not be left alone."

Within a half an arn, Stark shot out of Moya, piloting the small transport further into the asteroid field, his senses filled with the sensation of Peacekeeper probes. But there was something else that touched the edges of his awareness, familiar and well loved. To his amazement, Stark could sense his people's call from the distance, growing stronger by the microt. He didn't think, after so long, that he had the strength to Hear much less Answer.

But something had changed. Stark laughed as he understood. *This Human has hidden strengths. and he has shared them with me. with all who are a part of the Knowledge.*

*Welcome. You are welcomed.*

Overjoyed, Stark shifted his thought, joining with the minds that called him, feeling the moment of hesitation. Then his transport glittered for a single moment, and vanished.

THE END