TITLE: "PARADOX"

AUTHOR: Alison M. DOBELL

FANDOM: "Farscape"

PAIRING: JOHN/STARK

RATING: NC-17

STATUS: New.

ARCHIVE: Yes. Just let me know where.

FEEDBACK: Welcomed

EMAIL: AlisonMDobell@aol.com

SERIES/SEQUEL: SEQUEL to "CROWN OF THORNS"

WEBSITE: http://www.carlajane.50megs.com/Ali00.html

SUMMARY: "The darkest hour is the one just before Dawn. But can John Crichton hang on that long?"

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


"PARADOX"
A "Farscape" story
Written by Alison M. DOBELL

"Yet each man kills the thing he loves,
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word.
The coward does it with a kiss
The brave man with a sword!"
- Oscar Wilde, from 'The Ballad of Reading Gaol'

The Farscape 1 module sat on the apron in the landing bay of the Command Carrier. It looked small and insignificant. After Crichton landed it had aroused some vague curiosity as if it were something that should be in a museum of ancient artefacts. A couple of arns later it was ignored. An obscure piece of space dren that Scorpius would jettison once he had finished with the human. It would make a good coffin for the foolhardy astronaut. No one aboard the Carrier thought that Crichton would leave the ship alive. The bay was in darkness now. All work and activity having ended for the sleep cycle. Inside the module something slowly stirred. Something that had hidden unobtrusively in the back. Two little lights came out, wavered and guided the little biomechanoid droid to the front of the cockpit. A small plate swung open in the front of it's carapace and a little metal arm extended. The droid rolled into position and began to remove a decking plate. As the decking plate was slid back half a dozen more droids were activated and made a careful exit. The first droid waited until they were all out then replaced the decking plate and screwed it back down. Muted electronic bursts passed for conversation. Everything was subdued, all exchanges brief as if prearranged. The six droids rolled up the sides of the module and got into position, carefully locating the release catch to pop the canopy.

The slight hiss of air equalising froze the droids in place, lights extinguished as they waited to see if there were any reaction. Nothing stirred. After a while the droids exited the module leaving the first droid in the cockpit as they went about their preassigned duties. The first droid was slightly larger than the others. He used his extending arm to check the module over and made a few modifications. Four of the droids went on a scouting mission to locate a suitable fuel source. Then began the laborious and stealthy task of stealing sufficient fuel to fill the diminutive craft. The other two had a different task. They left the landing bay and began their careful meticulous scan of the ship interior. It was time to locate John Crichton.

* * * * *

Lt Braca had been sleeping fitfully but now he was troubled by dreams that demanded he wake. The persistent imagery prodded him into consciousness. The interior of the mask warmed his face and excited his skin with little tremors of energy. He opened his eye and just lay there for a couple of microts. Light thrummed through him softly. He felt as if he were glowing. A strange air of expectancy made his heart beat faster. He tried to reach out to the light with his thoughts. <What's happening?>

He felt the light soothe him. Reassuring waves calming down his eratic heartbeat while somehow tinkering with his adrenal gland. He could feel himself readying for action, but what? Fear lapped at his consciousness like a still stagnant pool. He wanted to be brave, to be a man of independent thought and action, but he had wed his cause to Scorpius for too long. He might hate him, fear and loathe him but could he betray him? The light stirred deeper into his consciousness and in a rush seeped into every part of him flooding him with strange desires. His needs shifted. Changed. His perspective became a broad horizon filled with hope and shining aspirations. His heart hungered to be more. To shake off the Peace Keeper restraints if just this once. To give the mask what it needed. Emotion touched him deep and met resistance. <What do you want from me?>

No reply. Nothing but urges, impulses driving him to his feet. The light filling him with a purpose that drew him like a magnet from the medical facility and out into the corridor. He could feel his resistence whittling away as he embraced the light. Its' song filling every cell of his being. Even as he obeyed he was cognizant enough to be careful, wary of being seen. Fortunately this was deep into the sleep cycle. The Peace Keepers did not guard their own. He progressed down corridor after corridor, descending tier by tier until he was on the maximum security level. He wanted to turn around, go back, hide. Anything but be here. The light cradled his fear and soothed his growing anxiety. He was perspiring heavily now but unable to resist the beautiful compulsion. His eyes pricked with unshed tears. The song carried him on. He felt overwhelmed with love touching his heart and showing him things he had never had, emotions closed off to him because of what he was and what he had done. The light did not judge him. He felt accepted and in that acceptance found his strength. He stopped resisting though his muscles trembled. He knew now not only where he was but where he was going. As he mentally accepted the calling of the mask, more of its' desire was revealed to him. It was looking for Crichton. Drawn to the human for some reason that Lt Braca could not fathom. A wash of jealousy almost undid him but the light was there. With him. Stronger than he was. Adjusting the sensations flowing through him until that rivalry too was diminished in its' song.

He wondered if anything half so wonderful would come to his aid if he lay tortured and dying? The thought was swamped with gentle pulses lapping at his mind, easing the mental pain of imagined sorrows. He was given a glimpse of another future, one filled with light not darkness and his soul wept with the beauty of it. He would do it. Whatever the mask wanted he would do. And count himself blessed.

* * * * *

Scorpius did not sleep and when he did not sleep neither did John Crichton. The human sat strapped into the Aurora Chair. A pitiful sight. Eyes bloodshot, drenched in perspiration. Pathetic heart pumping in a slow disjointed rhythm that perversely was still strong. The agony muted between activations of the chair. His spittle running down his chin unheeded. Barely awake. Hanging to fragments of consciousness. Scorpius considered him and smiled, his death's head mocking the human with false concern. "Why do you resist me, John?"

Somehow Crichton managed to speak. Scorpius detected the heavy sarcasm of the human's humour in his words. Such a pathetic defence yet he was compelled to listen to him. Even when the human made no sense he fascinated him. "You know what really frightens me, Scorpy? We have people on my planet who actually make you look normal." He laughed but the laugh gave way to a ragged fit of coughing. He struggled to focus. Scorpius found it curious that he should bother. The effort so obviously telling on him. Why did he keep talking? He should conserve his strength. Live long enough to give up his secrets to the dubious mercies of the chair. "Does that scare you, Scorpy? Because it sure scares the hell out of me."

He giggled, the reaction becoming uncontrollable. Hysteria.

Crichton mumbled something totally unintelligible. Closed his eyes against the agony sizzling through his brain. The torture of his mind unravelling any posibility of cohesive thought. It idly occurred to the half-breed to wonder if he was dying. Once the thought would have terrified him. Now, he saw the death of the human as just another tiny tragedy in a life filled with them. It was symetry after all. The human's eyes remained closed this time. He was drifting into a pain-filled sleep. Overcome by exhaustion. Scorpius watched him, slid the control on the chair up just a fraction, watching how the power hummed through the suppine form making the tortured muscles tremble in extremis. Small incursions of mounting pain that fed the half-Scarren's dark desires. Delicious. He wanted to rouse him from slumber not kill him. Yet the line could be so fine. The thought amused him. He wondered how far he could hang him out to dry before the thread that held his life in thrall snapped. The control slid higher in increments. Crichton was jerking weakly in the restraints now, eyelids flapping open, eyes glazed and bloodshot unable to focus. The screen a medly of bleeding colours not images. What did Scorpius want now? Why couldn't he let him frelling well sleep? Scorpius smiled and leered at him, bringing his hideous face close to the human's. Crichton would have recognised him even on his deathbed by the stench alone.

"I know you have the key to the wormhole technology, John."

"M...pn...nah...m'na..." He mumbled.

His earlier coherence lost in a sea of pain. He was a broken doll in the hands of a madman. His life on the point of extinction and he didn't care. All he wanted was relief from the pain. Escape from the agony. If he died it would all end. So be it. The knowledge he carried in his brain would be lost. Just as he was lost. Only more permanent. The constant fear of a life on the run in the Uncharted Territories. The anxiety of whether he would ever make it home. The wonders he had seen. Agonies he had witnessed. Shared. Even afflicted. All of it would be gone. But best of all. There would be no Scorpy. No neural clone. No twisted maniacs chasing him morning, noon and night. His friends would be safe and so would Earth. But even at the thought of escape through death John Robert Crichton Jnr was no quitter. His father's voice spoke in his ear, urged him to fight, to resist, to just hang on. <God, Dad, you don't want much do ya?> Then there was DK promising him any damn thing he wanted if he would just give them a chance. A chance? For what? To gather up the wreck of his body before it was jettisoned into an exploding nutron star? What? Not big enough? Not *hot* enough? Not DESTRUCTIVE enough for you, bro?

*Daily bedight a gallant knight in sunshine and in shadow
Ride, boley, ride - in search of El Dorado...*

His mom swam in his mind's eye. A loving tender smile gracing lips that gently spoke his name. The love in her musical voice made him cry. He missed her. He loved her. <Why did you leave me, mom? Why did you have to die?> He felt her phantom hands touch his face, her perfume lifted his senses momentarily out of the pain and the torment. Was this what it felt like to die? She was shaking her head softly. <No mom, don't go! Please don't leave me!> The face morphed into Alex's and he was begging her to stay. Not to go to Stanford. Why did everyone he loved have to leave him?

Scorpius slid the control higher and finally the thread snapped. Crichton jerked one last time then was still. Unnoticed by either of them at the microt of serverance something had opened up to catch him. A faint glimmer of light gently enfolded him in its' grace. Then the light and John Crichton were gone. Scorpius looked down at the broken figure. No movement now. He turned the chair off and just stared at him. Not sad, not even angry. He had wondered how he would feel when the end came. It was a disappointment to realise he felt nothing at all. He leaned over the body and drew a gloved finger down the side of his face. Nothing. Not even a flicker of movement. He turned the head, it flopped to one side, sagging. Nothing holding it upright not even beligerence. A slow vague sadness wormed its' way into the mind of the abomination. Truly. It was over. He was on his own now. Anger washed the weakness of his thoughts away. He pushed himself back from the chair and called the guards.

"Put him back in his cell!"

They did not question him even when they took up the limp form and considered it a corpse.

"Then clean up this mess." He added with barely contained anger, indicating the chair.

He watched them carry Crichton out then turned and walked briskly to his private quarters. His anger was building. Even though most of his crew were asleep he did not want any of them to witness his loss of control. It had only happened a few times in the past. Times from his hideous childhood. How typical that it should be Crichton's last gift to him. To hezmana with the human. To hezmana with them all!

* * * * *

Zhaan opened her eyes and came out of her deep meditation. "John?"

The whispered word fell flat. No echo. No answer. She considered what that meant. The sigh in her heart hurt but the silence hurt more. She was trying to be patient but it was hard. Quietly she rose and put her clothes on. Padding softly through the quiet corridors of Moya she went to the statis pod where Stark lay. She lay a hand over the see through lid. He looked so calm, so peaceful. Lifeless. Tears tracked slowly down her cheeks. Sorrow deeper than any chasm filled her with a dark despair. "Stark, what am I to do? Tell me what I should do."

Something in her heart shifted. Her hands on the statis lid she closed her eyes and opened up to it. A tiny perfect light brightened within. A piece of Stark. Her beloved Stark. A sad smile graced her lips with love. Her head inclined in a graceful arc as she waited, watched, listened. Then she felt the piece of Crichton that she had carried since Unity stir within her. Why was that? Zhaan regulated her breathing and plunged back into a deep meditative state. Stark's light touched the fragment of Crichton she bore within and the two merged, joining forces almost. Zhaan was so moved her legs felt weak. She braced herself on Stark's statis chamber and delved deeper. Wanting to understand what it was that Stark was doing. What her love was showing her. "What is it Stark? Tell me what is happening."

* * * * *

Lt Braca heard the approaching steps in plenty of time to hide. Odd but even in complete darkness he needed no light. The mask guided him and seemed to offer him a strange protection. He did not dwell on it but froze in the shadows, listening. He heard the cell door being opened and the sounds of something heavy being dragged inside. Then the door clanged shut and the guards started to walk away. One guard hung back, hesitant.

"Shouldn't one of us stay?"

"Why?" Said another, his voice rough and disinterested.

"One of us should stand guard."

The other guard laughed, a whipcrack of a laugh that was devoid of any humour. More like the creak of the gallows on a wintry day. "If you want to, you do it. Not me. Scorpius said nothing about guarding a frelling corpse."

The guard seemed to consider his words then began to walk after him. "You're right. Who would want a frelling corpse anyway?"

Their laughter echoed down the corridor. Lt Braca felt his heart miss a beat. Corpse? Had Scorpius killed Crichton? The light gave him no time to dwell on such thoughts. As soon as the coast was clear he stepped back into the corridor and hurried to the cell where Crichton lay. He looked blankly at the door. He had no key. Just then his attention was distracted by something moving at his feet. He looked down, surprised to see two DRDs. Where in hezmana had they come from? Before he could react he noticed one of them had opened the front of his carapace and an extending metal arm emerged. The other droid bumped the back of the first one who then climbed up the cell door. Amazed, Lt Braca just watched as the little droid continued all the way up to the lock. He suddenly realised what the droids were doing and had to resist the overwhelming urge to laugh. They were going to rescue Crichton. A sadness touched him. They were too late. If what the guards had intimated was true they had come for a body, a shell, nothing more.

It took microts only before a loud click told Lt Braca that the droid had succeeded. He swung the heavy door open and went inside. John Crichton was lying on his side, legs and arms akimbo. No sign of life in him. The two droids rolled passed the Peace Keeper. He felt strangely moved by their concern. How could they know such things as emotion? They were only droids. Maintenance bots. Nuts, bolts and programming. But they were biomechanoid. Leviathan technology not Peace Keeper. The light behind the mask impelled him into action, as if time was of the essence. Deciding not to argue he hurried over to Crichton and gently rolled him on to his back. He clumsily felt for a pulse. Nothing. He lifted first one eyelid then the other. No reaction. He did not know what to do but the light within him did. An irresistable urge came over him to remove the mask. Without thinking Lt Braca raised his hands to the mask and to his utter astonishment it slid off without any need for pressure or force. There was no pain, no ripping of flesh, just a smooth detachment as if the mask had released itself from him. He knew what he had to do now. Kneeling beside Crichton's inert form, he gently settled the mask over the right side of his face. The light behind the mask flashed brightly and sealed itself to the human. Hands shaking slightly, Lt Braca did the strap up and sat back on his heels.

The residue of light still in him soothed the trauma of his loss. He watched Crichton anxiously, the droids hovering round him, one rolling in close to the side of his neck, the little metal arm extending to touch his skin. Such a gentle but precise movement, as if the droid was taking his temperature or looking for a pulse.

* * * * *

Rygel was in command. The others were all in their quarters trying to rest in what was left of the sleep cycle. The Dominar was glum. Even Moya sensed his darkening despair. Pilot's image on the clamshell watched the Hynerian. "Are you alright, Rygel? Moya senses you are.... distressed."

The Hynerian did not bother to hide his feelings. "No, Pilot, I am *not* alright. None of us are." He paused. "I have the strangest feeling that I will never see John Crichton again."

Pilot did not know what to say. His eyes widened a little. Both he and Moya shared Rygel's anxiety but unlike him they had not yet given up hope. Pilot could not have said why. Just then Zhaan joined them. She ignored the look of surprise on Rygel's face and addressed Pilot. "Pilot, have the landing bay ready and ask Moya to notify the others to prepare for Star Burst."

Alarm washed over the Dominar's face. "Are you completely fahrbot, Zhaan? We are less than a thousand metras from Scorpius's Command Carrier. Crichton is in the clutches of that....that monstrosity...and you want Moya to Star Burst?"

He was amazed at how calm she was. Pilot sympathised with Rygel's reaction but something about Zhaan made him comply without comment. Both he and Moya listened intently to the conversation that passed between the two members of the leviathan's crew.

"Rygel, I have a sense that something is about to happen. We must be ready."

"Something *is* happening. You are completely tinked! What the yotz has gotten into you?"

Zhaan did not get angry. She turned her head gracefully to look at him, seeing through his crusty exterior to the worry eating away at him inside. "Dear Rygel, you know I shared Unity with John?"

He made a face as if he had eaten a bad mahrjol. "Yes. Disgusting."

She smiled serenely. "Since then I have carried a piece of John inside me."

He raised his eyebrow ridge. Interest gleaming in his saddened eye. A stir of excitement held in check. "And? What does it tell you?"

"It tells me that we should be ready for anything."

Rygel just looked at her for a microt. Waiting. His voice sounded harsh with disappointment. "Is that all?"

"It is more than enough, your emminence."

He snorted. "More than enough? It tells me nothing."

She leaned closer to him. "Except to hope. We have that."

"It'll take more than a *feeling* to rescue John from the clutches of Scorpius."

Zhaan smiled at him. "Have faith, dear Rygel."

Aeryn burst into Command, D'Argo and Chiana right behind her. Aeryn and D'Argo were armed. They looked on edge. "What the frell's going on, Zhaan?" Demanded Aeryn. "Why is Moya preparing to Star Burst?"

* * * * *

It was good to be with Stark again even if he had no idea where that was. For the microt he was happy. "How did you find me?"

Stark smiled. Such a beautiful sight to his starved soul. "I never left you, John."

"I couldn't feel you, sense you, buddy. I thought you'd gone."

The voice cracked, breaking under the weight of his emotions. Stark soothed him with his voice, reached for him with gentle hands. "We are connected John, you and I. Did you doubt that?"

He thought about that. Luxuriating in his proximity to Stark. The way he felt more alive than he had done in years. Cycles even. The comparison made him smile. He touched the left side of Stark's face. He was not wearing his mask but his light was a muted yellow glow which bathed them both and allowed Crichton to see the face of his friend. His heart leapt in his breast, love unfettered flowed between them. A conscious, breathing, living thing. He was exhilerated by it. "Tell me what happened."

"Not yet, you should rest."

"Rest?" He laughed and outlined Stark's face with his hands. Mapping him out with his fingertips as wonder stole through him. He had no idea how his friend had managed it but he was grateful he had. Was in awe of this quiet gentle man who held his very soul in his hands. "How can I rest? I want you, need you."

He felt as much as saw Stark's gentle smile. "You have me."

The words made Crichton chuckle with connotations he was sure his friend had not intended. He drew a finger gently along Stark's lips. "I want to love you."

Stark's lips parted. His words flowing gently through the walls of Crichton's heart. "Sleep, John. You are safe in me."

"I know," He murmured, his lips brushing Stark's. His hands gently framing his face. The light joining them even before their bodies could meet. He felt Stark sigh lightly and kissed him deeply, hands cradling the Banik's body gently against his own. So very precious to him. As if the two had been formed in moulds intended to fit together like two halves. Odd that he should carry that image in his head. Why could he only express his love through sex?

"You are human." Laughed Stark gently in answer to his thoughts.

"So?"

"You act out your thoughts rather than merge them."

Crichton lost himself in the kiss, his tongue exploring, his hands caressing. All so beautiful. A taste of the devine. He pulled away slightly and rubbed his thumb softly back and forth across Stark's lower lip. Drinking him in with his eyes. "What does that mean?"

"You know, my friend."

Crichton slowly blended his kisses over Stark's face. The Banik leaned in to his touch, his movements subtle, acquiessent, a passive expression of joy. Crichton loved him so much. What was barely sensed in waking was felt and expressed so explicitly in his mind. His mind. The thought stopped him. Stunned him. "I'm dreaming this?"

"No, not a dream."

"Then what?"

Stark ran a gentle hand down Crichton's chest. He shivered at the touch. Had not realised until then that they were both naked. So where were they? What was this place? "You initiated a merging with me."

That surprised him even more. "I did?"

Stark ran a slow hand over his chest, enjoying the feel of his chest hairs as his fingers explored him, outlining his muscles and calming Crichton's thoughts with his gentle touch. Oddly enough it grounded him. Kept his thoughts on track. "Yes."

"I didn't know I could do that." He murmured, turning his head slightly to nuzzle Stark's neck.

"Later, if you want, we can share Unity."

Crichton drew back and looked at him with surprise. "I thought merging was the same thing?"

Stark smiled gently. The smile lit up the whole of Crichton's heart until he ached with love for him.

"Merging is a way to share your feelings with each other. No boundaries."

"I know, I kinda gathered that Stark. I'm slow not stupid."

"Unity," Explained Stark as his hand slid further down Crichton's body lighting little trails of electricity under his skin and firing him with lust. "Is much more. Deeper." All Crichton could concentrate on was Stark's hand. The fingers setting off a trembling need that he only managed
to contain with effort. He tried to concentrate on what his friend was saying. "More intimate." Said Stark slowly. "Exotic. Invasive." A pause. "Erotic."

Crichton opened his mouth as the hand touched him, his senses reeling, his own hands exploring Stark in kind. He could not stand waiting. The agony of anticipation as his body grew hotter, his need overtaking every other function. He chuckled softly to difuse his rapidly diminishing control. "And you want me to *sleep*?" He said huskily.

The light around them brightened. Every touch heightened a hundredfold. Crichton groaned and rolled the Banik onto his back pausing only to shudder as Stark kissed his chest, his tongue washing back and forth across his nipples while his teeth gently nipped him between the flats of his teeth. He was not passive this time but that was more than alright with Crichton. Frell Unity. He just wanted to make love to him. Drill his body with a passion that would dim the light of his mask so that it looked like a poor imitation of the fire he wanted to consume them. Oh yeah. Who the hezmana wanted to sleep when they could have this?

* * * * *
END