TITLE: "THE LIGHT FANTASTIC"

AUTHOR: Alison M. DOBELL

FANDOM: "Farscape"

PAIRING: JOHN/STARK

RATING: NC-17. M/M. *SLASH*

STATUS: New.

ARCHIVE: Yes. Just let me know where.

FEEDBACK: Welcomed

SERIES/SEQUEL: SEQUEL to "DANCING WITH THE DEVIL"

The usual disclaimers apply. No infringement of copyright is intended.

"THE LIGHT FANTASTIC"
A "Farscape" slash story
Written by Alison M. DOBELL
* * * * *

Bialar Crais did not panic but it was the closest he had come to that emotion in a long time. The Scarrans were pouring out of their transport pod and Talyn was beside himself with fear. His emotional turmoil was causing Crais considerable pain and distress. Only an iron will kept him in
any kind of control.

"Talyn, listen to me!"

The leviathan trembled through the neural interface. He had the gunship's attention.

"I know you're frightened, Talyn, and so am I but we have to think clearly. And quickly. You are armed, you are not defenceless. The Scarrans know about your external weaponry but they do not know about the rest."

He could hear heavy feet pounding. Any microt they would appear.

"Talyn. When I say the words, *the bridge is yours*, you are to open fire with everything you have got then you must lower the temperature as much and as quickly as you can."

There was a tremor of query. Anxiety.

"Don't worry about me. This is about survival."

Just then the door slid open and a troop of Scarrans poured in. Their leader stopped in front of Crais and pointed his weapon at him. "You will hand over the gunship. Now!"

Crais made his voice sound submissive, his pose compliant. "Of course."

He stepped to one side, choosing his movements with care to bring him within distance of the door. "The bridge is yours!"

At that precise microt several things happened at once. The Scarran nearest the door noticed Crais edging towards it and fired, Talyn's interior guns dropped down from the ceiling and sprayed the Scarrans with gunfire, Crais rolled forward just missing the shots aimed at his head. As he
half tumbled out of the door he ordered Talyn to lock and seal it and felt the temperature plunge rapidly. He was shivering hard by the time he got to his EVA suit. He struggled with numb fingers to get into it and snap on the helmet, quickly setting the controls to increase the heat and turn on the oxygen. It was the only way to get warm again and regulate his body temperature. The Scarrans loved the heat but had little tolerance to the cold. As a Sebacean he was not able to tolerate the heat but neither could his physiology survive sudden drops in temperature for long.

With a sigh of relief he began to feel comfortable again. "Now, Talyn." He said calmly into the built in coms. "I want you to remove all the air and tell me when the Scarran lifesigns no longer register on your monitors..."

* * * * *

He was dead, he had to be. The heavenly choir was singing, everywhere was misty and he could feel himself drifting. There was no pain. That was the first thing he noticed. And no Scorpy. He laughed, or did the corpse equivalent of showing relief and euphoria. He had no idea whether he
made any sound. For the moment he did not care. For the first time in recent memory he knew peace, real peace. No physical manifestation of Scorpius, no Harvey the Neural Clone, no bits and pieces of his favourite tormentor piggy-backing on what was left of his brain. If this was what it was to be dead, so far so good. It felt like he was floating and he wondered what kind of control if any he had over his condition. The song seemed to be getting incrementally louder though it was still faint, a beautiful harmony that soothed and comforted him. Now why in hezmana did he think that?

Something brushed him and he paused. The floating sensation stuck, no more movement as he tried to work out what had touched him. It happened again, this time spreading a little warmth in its' passing. Warmth? <Woah, hold on, don't hang up. Warmth?> How the hell could he detect
warmth if he was dead? He was dead, right? This was the place for lost souls wasn't it? Or was he in left luggage waiting to be claimed? Some kind of slip up at the depot? He did not know, was only vaguely interested. Nothing held his attention for more than a couple of microts any more. What did it matter anyway?

He could feel himself drifting again, this time when something brushed him he did not react. Not until the gossamer like touch brushed all over him, and sighed through where his physical body would have been if he still had one. He did the mental equivalent of shuddering as it rippled
through him and stopped moving again. <Okay, whoever or whatever you are, you have my attention. Now either tell me what you want or get the hell out of my hell, or heaven, or wherever it is I am>

Something just on the edge of his perception responded. So faint. So fragile. He wished he could hear it and as if his thought was the engine driving this dilemna the impression gradually increased until he could feel a definite touch. Gentle, questing, loving. The sigh of amazement affected him deeply. He knew that touch. Loved that consciousness, opened what he had left of himself to absorb as much of it as he could before both he and it were no more. Instead of dissipating he grew a little stronger, the impressions more definite, the love more encompassing. <Oh God Stark, is that you? Tell me that's you, buddy, 'cause I don't think I could stand any more disappointments>

He felt warmth radiate like laughter, lifting his falling spirits and burning him with a sudden need for contact. As he thought so it was. Joy shot through him and emotion almost overwhelmed him. Stark. It *was* Stark. <Dad, you'll never believe what's just happened...>

<John! John, can you hear me?>

He fancied there were tears in his eyes for what passed for vision in this place had suddenly become nothing but an emotional blur. <Yeah, Stark, I hear you man. Want to hold you, to touch you. To be sure you are real and it's not me just going plain old bonkers here>

He felt the smile, the laughter and rejoiced. The joy was so deep it hurt him but in the most precious, glorious of ways. He sighed and felt breath return slowly to him. <Where are you, Stark? Come to that, where am I?>

<Shhh, John, don't be distressed. Listen, hear me, let me guide you back>

<Back?>

<Yes>

<I've been away?>

<Yes, John, we almost lost you>

Laughter. He could feel it bubble up inside him but God it was so painful. Oh yeah, he had a body again. Nothing else could feel this painful. <I thought I was dead>

Love. Pure, unadultered love flooded his senses. Countless hands of light touched him, healed him of his sorrow, the singing now shining through him. He could *feel* Stark now and his happiness was boundless. <I can't believe this is happening>

<Believe, John. Did you think we would not come for you?>

<Yeah, but with everything else that's turned to rat shit this had to be next>

Stark did not understand what he said but knew the sentiment. Wanted to hush him. <Save your strength>

He grinned, his curving lips impressing themselves on Stark's heart. He felt the Banik react, surprised he could do that when he was still so weak. He laughed lightly and drew ghost light fingers through his soul, listening to how his music changed like notes played on a harp.

<You will tire yourself> Said Stark softly. Anxious for him.

He did not care. <I want to tire *you*>

<John...>

<Mmmm?>

<Others are waiting>

<Let them wait>

He reached with his mind and drew his thoughts through his lover's mind, slowly, deliciously, enticing his response. Craving his mental touch to show him he still lived. That he could still feel and share this emotional merging of senses. He felt Stark sigh with a joy so fierce it burnt him.
Then he felt Bork, the strength of the being touching him briefly to let him know he was there and to give of his strength. Such a polite gesture in a mad universe. He wanted to laugh but he was concentrating too much, not wanting to lose his connection to Stark by not paying attention.

<I won't let that happen> Stark thought back gently.

Crichton chuckled and drew him into his soul, pleasure springing from the union that put everything he had endured in the shade. He felt Stark's touch, so soothing, so quiet and gentle in his passion that it made his soul weep for desire of him. Stark rocked his soul, spirits touching,
merging, souls kissing. Then it was as if strong arms held him and loved him and he felt suddenly and irrevocably safe. The damn burst. It was true. They had come for him. Found him. Rescued him and were bringing him home. <I love you, Stark>

<I love you too, John> A pause. Then more softly, <We all do>

* * * * *

Jena was not impressed. The fifteeen Captains were not crisp enough in their delivery for her liking so she tongue lashed them, her ascerbic wit as cutting as her threats. The Captains sprang to her commands, no one tardy or having second thoughts now. Jena smiled grimly and watched the lead Captain, Urgon Torvik. She had chosen his vessel because he was the most experienced.
"Are the microdroids ready?"

"Yes, and primed."

She nodded, watching the screen as they approached the Scarran dreadnought like plankton about to attack a whale. Jena knew what every intelligence officer knew that it was not size that counted but what you did with it. Information was her weapon of choice, everything else came secondary. But at times like this it was infinitiely satisfying to be able to back it up with something more substantial. Once the little ships had formed a ring around the Scarran vessel she began the countdown then ordered the release. Thousands upon thousands of tiny biomechanoid probes seeded the space between her ships and the huge Dreadnought. Too tiny to register on the vessel's instruments, by the time they realised there was a threat it would be too late.

Captain Torvik glanced at her. "What about the human?"

"He is no longer aboard."

That surprised the Captain. "Then why are we attacking the Scarran vessel?"

Her grin was ferel and he suddenly remembered that he was not immortal. "Your pardon."

She did not acknowledge him for a microt, her eyes watching the actions of the two leviathans on the far side of the Scarran vessel. Neither appeared to have seen her small flotilla. It was time to go before any of them were detected. She could tell the Captain was disappointed. He wanted
to see the microdroids do their work. Jena gave him a level look.

"Withdraw the fleet!"

He nodded, entered the subvocal command and every ship retreated, joining in the wake of the lead vessel to return back to the Royal Planet. Back to another kind of battle. One which the Captain would rather avoid. Jena dropped off a tiny monitor droid and then they all went to starburst.

* * * * *

Aeryn was getting impatient. Stark and the other Baniks had hardly moved in almost an arn. The only good thing she could see was that Crichton seemed to have regained some colour and was clearly breathing if too shallowly for her liking. They had carried him carefully into the apothecary, the Baniks not leaving him but keeping up their odd vigil, all of them bathed in a beautiful golden light that seemed to be more than simple light, as if the very molecules of air it occupied were all individually conscious. She wanted to ask questions, to query what they were doing but Zhaan arrived and gently led her and D'Argo away. In the corridor outside Aeryn expressed her frustration. "What is going on? Is John going to live?"

Zhaan inclined her head. "Stark believes so."

"Believes?"

A smile settled on her lips. "Yes."

D'Argo frowned. "Why can't we stay?"

"Because Chiana is calling for you."

Immediately all thought of Crichton fled from D'Argo's thoughts. Both he and Aeryn had the same thought and broke into a run. Concerned that something had happened to the baby. Zhaan did not correct them, they would not have listened anyway. She watched them go then glanced towards the apothecary. Content to give Crichton what time he needed with Stark before letting the others back in.

* * * * *

The Empress Novia was not best pleased. When the Scarran vessel arrived in orbit around the Royal Planet she had been optimistic, happily humming in her anticipated contentment. Expecting any moment to see Renik carry in the severed head of John Crichton. She turned at the sound of the approaching visitor and froze. Scorpius smiled slowly, enjoying the look of shock on her face. They were in the courtyard. A fitting place for this conversation to take place he thought. If only because she would not enjoy it.

His breath hissed as he started to speak. "Surely you did not think you could kill Crichton so easily?"

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Don't fence with me, Novia, you do not have sufficient skill to survive the encounter."

She flushed with rage. "How dare you!"

"No," He said mildly. "How dare *you*!" The last word was spoken in the full gutteral echo of a Scarran enraged.

She stepped back. Suddenly unsure of herself and wondered where her guards were. He watched the panic in her face, now masked though too poorly to fool him.

"John Crichton is *mine*. I will not tolerate your interference again!"

The Empress regained a semblance of control. Trying to think of some way to retain hold on her power. "He is on the Scarran Dreadnought, so you see, we have no need to fight."

Scorpius stepped slowly closer. His lips drew back showing his blackened but sharp teeth, something dark glittering in his eyes that made her blood run cold. She stiffened her back and stood firm. Whatever happened now it was too late to turn and run. "You fool! You think that blundering bartantic khan has the slightest chance of succeeding where you so eloquently have
failed?"

Before she could speak he spoke again. "You betrayed me, I will not forget that."

She watched stunned as he turned and started to walk out of the courtyard. Curiosity overcame her fear of him. "Where are you going?"

He paused to look back over his shoulder at her. "To find Crichton."

Stunned she fell silent and watched him disappear. As if the only thing holding her upright had been his presence, she sank down and sat on the little stone wall. All her bravado extinquished. Once again the human had escaped her. Could she have underestimated him? She longed to
pursue him and drag him back where she could personally see to his execution but Scorpius was too closely involved with the human. Had already said he would tolerate no further interference from her and Novia was nothing if not a survivor. She would let Crichton go for now, trust Scorpius to catch up with him. But she would be wary and watchful herself. Ready to step in and pick up the pieces if the half-Scarran abomination slipped up. Scorpius was patient but so was she. With all the brooding malice of a mother avenging her first born.

* * * * *

It was so beautiful. Ribbons of light dancing through his soul. He felt so happy but he wanted more. Much more. <Stark?>

<Yes, John>

<Um, can I ask you something?>

<Anything>

<Who's with you?>

<With me?>

<Yeah. I know you're not alone, 'cause I can feel Bork...>

Stark smiled gently and Crichton felt the smile. Absorbed it into his mind and tried to do the same with his body. The effect was not as satisfying as he wished.

<Besides Bork, John, both Heronn and Alphia are here>

<Hi guys>

He felt their muted gentle responses as if they were spectators not participants. Crichton loved being connected to Stark but he was not into spectator sports. At least, not that kind. <Stark>

<Yes?>

<Stark, would you mind um kissing me?>

He was not sure he heard him right. <Kiss you?>

<Yeah, your lips on my lips, that kind of thing. Is that allowed?>

<Yes, it is allowed...> His thoughts trailed off in surprise. <You are with Aeryn>

<Yeah>

<I am with Zhaan>

<Right again. Is this like, breaking some taboo here?>

He was not sure what to think. He certainly was no prude but he did not want to take advantage of the human in his vulnerable state. Especially after what Ka D'Argo had done to him. Cricthon realised what he was concerned about, his thoughts touching the Banik's gently. <Hey, it's no big
deal Stark. If you don't want to that's fine it's just that we've merged a few times, you know? And I would like to feel your breath in my lungs. Not the rumour of your breath, not the *thought* of your breath, but the honest-to-God physical sensation. I want to feel your physical touch but I don't want you to do something you don't want to do>

Stark was so moved he could not respond for a microt. Gently he touched the still face before him, knowing that Crichton could see, hear and feel him in the mental realm but was limited in how much he could sense in the physical one. He was still drifting back to them but at least the
danger of death was now passed. Every microt the human was getting stronger. Within the arn he should be strong enough to wake. Crichton felt his thought.

<No Stark, I don't want to do this when I wake. Other things'll happen then and we may not get this chance again. Don't worry, I'm not weird or anything. Don't have any necrophiliac tendancies or kinks that I know of, I just want you. I need you, Stark. You are the wind beneath my wings>

Whether it was that last phrase or just the repetition of his need that convinced Stark, Crichton did not know. He was about to say something else when Stark leaned down and gently kissed him, his lips softly touching the human's cold ones, warming him with his living breath, touching him with a love so deep that it carried all the hopes and wishes of an entire race. Crichton could not yet physically respond to him but his mental senses were thrown wide open to take him in, a celebration of the breath they now shared as Stark emptied the air in his lungs into Crichton, both of them lost in the sensation of that air circulating slowly in the human lungs and flowing back to the Banik slave who used his light to re-energise and invigorate the air back into Crichton's lungs. His kiss deepened, playing with the air while his lips sealed Crichton's mouth. The others did not speak or interrupt. Soft gentle pulses of loving energy flowed from them to Stark and Crichton,
the joining of light conferring its' blessing as the two brought their merging to another level.

Crichton did not want the kiss to end. Could not bear the isolation of being parted from the Banik for a microt. It moved him so deeply, healed him in ways that went so far beyond the physical that it re-wrote everything he had ever learnt. The kiss continued, Stark now brushing a hand down Crichton's cheek.

<Oh yeah, Stark, that is so damn beautiful>

<Sssh, you're interrupting the air flow>

<Sorry...>

At last he eased the air from their lungs into every cell, feeling the blood respond and brighten with oxygenation. The muscles in the human's body twitching slightly as if a current had been switched on. He was starting to wake, his body now responding more and more to Stark's touch. Not able to get enough of him. Stark began to straighten to let him go but Crichton cried out for him, reached out with his mind to keep him close, to savour every microt he could of their connection. Bork blazed his light through them almost blinding Crichton's senses. He was about to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing when he felt Bork mirror in his mind what Stark
and he were doing physically. He relaxed and opened his mind further, accepting the presence and using the energy to deepen his contact with Stark. To love him more completely.

Heronn and Alphia watched in silence. They could have drawn back from the link now but they did not. Fascinated and curious they watched with childlike wonder and occasionally added their touch, their questing thoughts as the union became stronger, the emotions exchanged almost fierce. Crichton sighed with his mind and thanked Stark. So weary now. So sated with joy.
Overcome with the love he had shared with him. Stark drew his lips away, touched him with a wondering hand, his light bathing the human in a tender glow. The voices of his people resounding through Crichton's mind as he began to drift into a deep sleep.

<Rest, my love> Said Stark gently. His hand softly caressing his friend's cheek as if to guide him into the realm of peaceful dreams.

When he looked up his cheeks were wet. He had never known another like Crichton. So different from any other species he had ever known yet capable of so much love. Almost as gentle as those of his own race. Touching Crichton was an endless revelation to him. He understood more deeply what Zhaan had told him about the Unity she had shared with him. He looked at the quietly sleeping man before him, Heronn and Alphia quietly replacing their masks until Stark was the only one whose light still shone. He brushed Crichton's damp hair from his eyes and kissed him lightly. <Sleep well, my friend>

Then he fastened his mask and nodded to the others. Time to tell Zhaan that the danger was passed.

* * * * *
end