Title: Truce

Author: Alison M Dobell

Fandom: Farscape

Pairing: Crais/Crichton

SUMMARY: "Crais keeps his promise to aid Crichton but they both end up with more than they bargained for.

" Rated: 'R'.

SEQUEL to "THE LION'S DEN".

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

Comments to: AlisonMDobell@aol.com

"AFTERMATH 6: TRUCE"
A "Farscape" story
Written by Alison M. DOBELL

* * * * *

He awoke on an operating table. The bright light hurt his eyes but he was not allowed to close them. they needed him conscious. Aware. So they could judge his reaction. Crichton felt oddly calm. It was a strange sensation, detached. Yet he could see, feel, taste, hear everything around him. Crais stood silent and watchful on the periphery of his vision. The medical technicians worked slowly, carefully. Time stretched, bended and folded around him as if it was of no significance to him. He found himself watching the expression on Crais's face, using him as a barometer of how well or badly the surgery was going. He was surprised to feel no pain. None at all. Surprised to feel no weariness from blood loss. Nothing. He was content and that felt odd too but he did not question it. He did not question anything. Then the chief surgeon's voice drifted through his senses
to him. He wondered idly if the sound had completely by-passed his ears and just entered via the pores.

"Now we will need to check his reaction to stimuli."

For some reason they turned to Crais. He nodded stiffly and stepped closer. Some words were exchanged but Crichton was so far out of it that he could have been in another solar system watching it all on his dad's television screen. He watched how tight the mask that was Crais's expression became. He was afraid though he hid it well. What did he have to be afraid of? Part of him felt detached as if it was all happening to someone else. Another part of him was as bright and shiny as a button, catching everything, aware of it all. Crais was now on the right side of the table, eyes glued to Crichton. Close enough to touch if Crichton had been able to move. He could not see the chief surgeon. He had moved with another medtech behind his head. Something weird stirred in his brain, stroking and sucking inside. He felt a sharp pain burrow inside his head and opened his mouth to scream but nothing came out. Crais reached out a hand and touched the tears on his face. As soon as his hand touched him, Crichton felt what Crais felt. It activated the thing that Talyn had inserted in his neck. It calmed him but damn, the pain hurt. It hurt him so much.

<I know but it will pass>

He blinked back more tears as the med techs carefully removed the black strands sticking to his brain like an organic rubbery web, their malicious tendrils invasive and destructive. The bright laser blades of their instruments probed selectively, causing reactions he could not control. His body trembled as they slowly isolated each function, using Crais to tell them what he was feeling, what he was sensing. Crichton realised that Crais must be feeling this just as keenly because his observations were too accurate for guesswork. When the images flashed in his mind, it was Crais who described them. Gently stroking the side of Crichton's face in a soothing motion as he did so. His eyes great liquid pools of understanding. Comradship. It was strange how connected he felt to the former Peace Keeper Captain. How much trust he now placed in those once cruel hands. Would they hurt him again or had his hunger for retribution been sated? He felt Crais chide him gently. His thoughts oddly cariing. <That was another Crais>

<Oh yeah? Then who are you pal? Good twin or bad twin?>

He did not get the reference but it did not matter anyway. Pain swamped him, as deep and debilitating as anything he had ever felt or endured. He closed his eyes and felt it quake through his numbed body, waking parts of him that had been left in isolated agony. Now the pain from limbs and extremeties he had been blissfully divorced from, flooded him and almost shut him down. He was vaguely aware of Crais. His presence. A kind of benevolent protector moving among the sharp edges of pain and blunting their effect. He could not take it away but he could at least help him to bear it. To endure. Gradually his heart started to calm down, the pain now blurry around the edges. He could hear muffled voices that made no sense, could feel vague memories of touch and taste. Why did the air taste metallic? He opened his eyes slowly, images swimming before his eyes. It took him forever to realise he was trying to focus through tears. Crais wiped his eyes with his hand, concern etched onto his austere features. A loving father, a faithful friend. That was a joke. Only he was not laughing. Wondered if he would ever laugh again.

Crais cradled his cheek and looked at him. Warning him silently that the worst was still to come. <Worse? You mean these guys are just getting warm?>

He nodded and put his free hand on Crichton's shoulder. Before he could wonder why he felt a pain so excruciating that he thought they were slicing the top of his head off. As the pain was refined it triggered images, memories so real, so bright, so solid he could almost touch them. Oh God, he was in the chair again. He shuddered deep, closed his eyes and lost all connection to Crais. All that existed was the chair. Scorpius's leering face taunting him as he increased the pain level. His body spasmed and his mind screamed in agony, trying to block the pain but only able to offer the merest token of resistence.

*You will tell me what I want to know*

<Yeah. Pity I don't know anything>

The pain sliced deeper, pieces of his life cut out and passing before his mind's eye in a painful blur that made him feel sick and dizzy. Tears poured down a face numb of everything but the pain. He would have passed out but the med techs used Crais to help keep him conscious. The thing Talyn had inserted into him preventing the intensity of sensations from overloading his system completely as the individual sections of his own private hell were assembled for him to relive. He felt raw as if every nerve in his body had been fried and liquified in a bright seering stream of fire. Then the intensity changed, subsiding. The images moved on. Images of his father. DK. The lift off of Farscape 1. A dozen different aliens plucked from his memory seemingly at random. The Ancients telling him he was being given the wormhole technology that would get him home but telling him he was not yet ready for it. Images of Aeryn Sun. His heart fibrilated with fresh pain, emotions torn without anaesthetic straight from his heart. <Aeryn> Fresh tears fell from eyes that could no longer see. His ship coming down wheel first to pierce the canopy of her prowler. Compromising the integrity of her ship, driving her down towards the water as she lost power and control. The chip in his head betraying him, betraying his friends, bringing him back to Scorpius.

* * * * *

Aeryn was furious. "What do you mean we've lost them? How can Moya lose them?"

"Moya is as distressed as you are, Aeryn."

"What about the last co-ordinates?"

Pilot shook his head. Everyone had gathered in the command room to see what was happening. "The last co-ordinates only tell us where Talyn was when he starbursted. It does not tell us the destination."

"But Moya can project possible trajectories can't she?"

"There are too many variables..."

She turned from him, anxiety beating an irregular tattoo in her heart. "Frell!"

Zhaan looked sad but thoughtful. A centre of calm in a volatile sea. "It seems we will have to trust Crais."

Aeryn looked at her. "I don't like this, Zhaan."

The priestess nodded and no one spoke. Each thinking how fragile was the passing of a single life. No one willing to voice the possibility that they might never see their friend again.

* * * * *

Crichton was unconscious. Crais stood next to the medical bed watching him. The Chief Peace Keeper Surgeon came to see him. He looked at him for a moment before breaking his silence. "You have not left him since you got here, Captain. You should rest."

He nodded. "I will rest when this is over."

"You can trust us to look after him."

Crais looked up. "I do but I also know this. If he dies Scorpius will kill me. He will also kill the medical crew of this ship for allowing it to happen."

The surgeon raised his eyebrows. "You said he already has what he wants."

Crais nodded and looked at Crichton. "The wormhole technology. Yes. But he doesn't have everything in this human's brain. The instructions that came with the technology have been hidden elsewhere in his brain. Not kept together where it could be easily retrieved. That is why I am here. Why his life has been spared. For now." He paused. "Even as we speak Scorpius is
attempting to build a wormhole." He looked at the surgeon. "He will fail which is why we must not. Nothing matters more to Scorpius than this technology. With it he can conquer more than worlds. He can conquer other systems. Galaxies without number. You cannot begin to comprehend the power that is at stake. So I must watch over him. Ensure his survival to guarantee my own."

The surgeon swallowed carefully. "Forgive me, Captain, but Scorpius has a fugitive alert out for you..."

"Yes, and it should still be active."

"I don't understand. If you are working for him, with him..."

Something blazed with a dark fire in his eyes. "*If*?"

"I mean no disrespect..."

"The fugitive alert is a warning to me that should I deviate in the slightest from the path that he has set before me, my fate will be sealed. Does that answer your question?"

The Chief Surgeon nodded nervously. "Of course, Captain."

"Which is why this meeting between us never took place. If this is successful, Scorpius will have what he wants, I will have my command returned to me and be promoted out of the Uncharted Territories to a post more worthy of my abilities. And you, you will be given the kind of funding you can only dream of."

* * * * *

Crichton woke with the strangest feeling. As if his body was not his own. His mind trying to operate through a fog that would not let him see clearly. Thoughts fragmented, disjointed. Nothing piecing together to make sense. He drifted into full consciousness slowly. A cork bobbing to the surface of a turbulent sea. Sounds warped against fragile eardrums slowly coalescing into words. Words? What the hell. Where was he? What was this? He could not tell if he was standing, sitting, lying or dreaming. There was no up, no down, nothing but confusion. His vision did not so much come into focus as stop yawing, the motion becoming increasingly steady as the voice that he had thought of as distant thunder rumbled softly into a semblance of
meaningful sounds.

"How do you feel?"

He squinted. At least, he thought he squinted. A face stretched and bulged then solidified before him. Crais. He might have known. He tried to speak. A pressure on his chest told him Crais had touched him. Why did he do that? Why didn't he want him to speak?

"Not now, relax. Rest. You've been through so much."

<Yeah, right. Like you would not believe>

"Oh I believe, John. I know. I was there."

<There? How the hell could you be there?>

Crais leaned over and touched his forehead gently with his middle finger. "Remember now?" He whispered.

The stir of his words against Crichton's face helped him to hang on to consciousness. Like a liferaft he clung to the sound of his voice, wanting him to keep speaking so he could find his way. Back. Back from where though?

"It's alright, I'm not going anywhere."

<You can hear my thoughts, Crais?>

He chuckled. The dark velvet sound tasted like chocolate to his ears. Weird thoughts. Man was he ever losing it.

<You know I can> He thought back.

Realisation was like a gentle wave rocking him. It made him sleepy, intoxicating him with a warm safe feeling like returning to the crib. He felt Crais move back and fear stabbed him, injuring him where wounds would never show. <Don't go. Please don't leave me>

The presence returned. He felt concern and an emotion he could not qualify. He was starting to drift again. So frightened. So alone. Sore and raw from his ordeal. Too fragile to go through this on his own. The only thing he recognised in this whole sick drama was Crais. It should feel odd but it did not and he had no idea why that should be or why he should get such comfort from it. His ears reacted to his blindness. Even the blur of light lost to him now. <Where are you?>

Crais sensed his distress and touched him, a hand gently tracing the planes of his face. Crichton sighed against the hand that moved him, a bartered peace settling over him as if he knew he could not keep it. Would have to hand it back one day. <Not today> He pleaded.

Bialar Crais, former Peace Keeper Captain, felt tears stain his cheeks. He looked at the man whose life lay in his hands. Whose pain and suffering he now shared, measure for measure. In a way it was fitting. No more and no less than he deserved. Why did he feel drawn to him? Protective of him, concerned for his welfare? John Crichton was no friend of his. Not even an ally. But this strange cessation of hostilities between them had allowed an island of understanding to form beneath their feet. Had given him a second chance and he did not want to squander it. He did not tell Crichton this. Would do nothing to shatter the fragile truce that had become so precious to him. Crichton was looking up eyes not seeing anything, blank and staring, dreaming they were closed. Gently he drew his palm over Crichton's eyes to coax them closed so he could at least rest them. Crichton was trying to understand. Crais prayed he would not realise what had happened until he was stronger. Until he had figured out a way to put things right. Soon he would be able to speak again but the cost. He shook his head gently as he gazed down at the man he cradled so gently in his arms while he quietly cried. The cost had been too high.

* * * * *

The Peace Keeper command carrier was making good speed but Scorpius did not want speed right now. He wanted answers. He looked darkly at the image on his screen. The Med Tech Officer trying not to fidget in front of his commander.

"When did this happen?"

"Two Solar Days ago, sir."

"What took you so long to notify me?"

"With respect, sir, your efforts to avoid being disturbed were most successful."

Scorpius nodded. "What did he want?"

"To restore the human's brain functions. His power of speech."

"What did you do?"

"We followed your instructions, sir. To the letter."

A slow cruel smile oiled its' dispassionate way across the Scarran half-breed's face. "He is incapacitated, you are sure?"

"Yes, sir. He is completely blind."

"Can he speak?"

"No, but that will return when he has finished healing."

"How long?"

"One, two weekens."

Scorpius nodded. "It will have to be enough."

A pause. "What do you want me to do, sir?"

Scorpius punched in a special code from First Command. "Follow the directive I am giving you. You will receive the full bounty and a research station facility of your own for your loyalty."

The Med Tech bowed.

"But," Said Scorpius, making him pause before disconnecting. "First I want you to pass on the good news to your Chief Surgeon. Tell him," He paused, luxuriating in the fashion of his next words. "Tell him Scorpius rewards those who serve him."

Then Scorpius himself broke the connection. He leaned back slowly in his chair and smiled. After a moment he raised a hand and clicked his fingers. The Captain hurried to see what he wanted. "Captain. Your indulgence. I have a small detour I wish you to make..."

END AFTERMATH 6