TITLE: "FRAGMENTS OF LIGHT"

AUTHOR: Alison M. DOBELL

FANDOM: "Farscape"

PAIRING: JOHN/AERYN

RATING: NC-17

STATUS: New.

ARCHIVE: Yes. Just let me know where.

FEEDBACK: Welcomed

SERIES/SEQUEL: SEQUEL to "NIGHTMARES"

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

"FRAGMENTS OF LIGHT"
A "Farscape" story
Written by Alison M. DOBELL


The smooth velvet dark of space would have been a monotonous ocean to travel but for the stars. Chiana rarely took time to gaze out at them. They were a commonplace. Part of the furniture of her life. But they were important to Crichton. Fascinated him in a way which made her look on them with new eyes. How many other things had he taught her to see anew? Now he was falling to pieces all over again and she did not know what to do. D'Argo told her not to worry. He had Aeryn and for once the Sebacean was not keeping the human at arm's length. Maybe it would work this time. She thought about that. Tilted her head at the bright array of stars from her viewpoint on the Terrace and thought of him. She hoped D'Argo was right and that Aeryn would not hurt him again. If she did, Chiana did not think she would have it in her heart to forgive her.

* * * * *

He began to stir. Thought tired him. He rested. Drifting in visions darker than night. Too fleeting to grasp on waking, too ephemeral to banish completely. Like subtle wisps they inveigled their way deep into his subconscious and took root in his mind. Fine diaphanous tendrils winding and snaking round and round tying his thoughts in knots that he could not see. Only vague glimpses haunting the shadows of his mind. Harvey. He missed Harvey. The silence when he closed his eyes was like that of the grave. His thoughts cold as the tomb. His breath became painful. A weight crushing down on his chest, his diaphram deflating of air. Painful to draw breath but not impossible. Pain radiated throughout his body in a dull ache that gripped him in its' unremitting mercies. He knew about pain. Had majored in it one way or another ever since coming to the Uncharted Territories. He was not yet afraid. He who had seen so many horrors did not recognise this one. So he slept a little longer unaware of the nightmare hands that caressed his sleep and wove new nightmares to carry with him on waking.

Aeryn woke, turned and smiled at Crichton. He was murmuring in his sleep. She touched his face, drew a finger down his cheek and was about to kiss him when she froze. Remembered what had happened last time and sighed. She did not want to do that to him again. His reaction had shaken her. Filled her with fear. No. She would not put him through that kind of torment just for the pleasure of touching him as he slept. It was not simply unfair to him but unforgivable. She lay on her side facing him, her head propped up on her elbow, watching the rise and fall of his chest. She inhaled his scent and thought about the journey her hands would make when he rose from sleep. Wicked little thoughts made her lips twitch with humour, her eyes glitter with mischief as they darkened with desire. She wanted him. Hoped he would wake soon. She had a thought. She could not touch him but she could look. Smiling she eased the covers off him and let her eyes drink in the beauty of his suppine form. Naked and vulnerable to her scrutiny. Closing her eyes she trapped a groan so that it would not escape her lips and betray her. Mistake. Seeing him naked was not helping her self control. She could feel moisture pooling hot between her legs, her body aching for him. She opened her eyes, was tempted to wake him but the shadows still lined his sleeping face. He needed this rest. She told herself it would be worth the waitinig when he woke. She followed an imaginary line from his face, down his throat, through the light dusting of hair on his chest, her hand mapping the same route down her own body as she watched him sleep. Bringing her breathing into sync with his own. She imagined her hands on his chest as she stroked one of her breasts, pinched the nipple and let the other hand drift down to enter her forest to the moist depths hidden within.

She bit her lip, let her fingers dip in and explore the bundle of nerves that made her shiver as she imagined his tongue working its' magic, his lips on her sex, his hands on her body. Excitement built within her, the fingers moving with more intent, touching her in ways that increased the moisture and had her panting softly. She could not take her eyes off him, longed to reach out and touch, to end the agony of doing this alone. But she was so needy and he was too near. Her scent flowered as she came against the speeding
motion of her hand. Her teeth drew blood this time, just a little trickle from her bottom lip. He stirred beside her. She froze and watched him wake, fascinated as the eyes fluttered open and came to rest on her warm glistening face. He inhaled her scent and smiled gently at her. Love shone in his eyes, a teasing humour took everything in at a glance. He reached out and brushed the hair from her eyes. "I see you started without me." He murmured softly. Not a complaint just an observation.

She almost came again at the sound of his voice. When had she become such a tralk? She slid a leg over his and guided a hand to cup her breast then urged his other hand to pick up where she had left off, her mouth
devouring his in a need as old as time itself. A need he was only too happy to fulfill. She sucked his tongue and plundered his mouth not caring that her passion was off the scale, that he had just woken. Her need for him was everything. If he wanted time to wake up properly he could do that once his duty to her was done. No way in hezmana would she release him until then. He did not need any more prompting. Was already aroused. Aeryn was his soul, his inspiration. His whole reason for living.

* * * * *

In the vast ocean of space a small craft listed in the darkness. The pilot not concerned about the niceties of space flight. All it had to do was get him there. His face was lit with an inner light, his eye staring, anxious and fearful. Longing and sorrow playing tug of war with his soul. Stark let the tears fall from his eye, the mask hiding the tears of the other as the light consumed them. He missed Zhaan. Frantically searched for her in every new star, every bright flare of interstellar dust. He had even been to Delvia but no one had been able to help him. They had been kind but distant. Sympathetic but wary. They wanted him gone but had not said so. If Zhaan was not there he would not have stayed anyway. So he left. Pain and grief scaling new heights as he widened his search.

* * * * *

Chiana's eyes widened as Crichton breezed into the mess hall. A step behind him came Aeryn, a little smile on her lips that told the Nebari everything she needed to know. D'Argo gave her a look as if to say *I told
you so*. She had to admit the Luxan was right this time. She tilted her head at Crichton, he smiled back. "Hey, old man! How ya doing?"

He grinned and snagged a food cube off her plate. "Never felt better, Pip!"

"Then perhaps you will help me with some repairs for Moya." Growled D'Argo.

"Don't tell me. We'll be up to our waists in muck and the air will be foul?"

D'Argo made a face but did not correct him. He was feeling too happy to let such thoughts ruin his day. He popped the cube in his mouth and mumbled round it as he chewed. "Sure thing, Big Guy."

The Luxan nodded then smiled at Aeryn. He had rarely seen the Sebacean looking so happy. Good. Now he could relax. Just then Jool breezed in with Rygel. The Dominar's eyes widened slightly at the sight of a happy Crichton. He looked at Chiana, she grinned back at him. That assurance was all he needed to relax and smile back. Jool did not notice, she was busy complaining. Her voice starting to rise and setting Chiana's teeth on edge. She leaned close and hissed at D'Argo. "I swear one day I am going to wring that girl's neck. Today may be the day."

"Don't do anything foolish, Chiana."

She tilted her head at him, glared at Jool but kept her seat. For now. Aeryn quickly dismissed Jool from her thoughts. She smirked slightly at Crichton. His mouth hung open in a silent laugh. "What?"

Her eyes teased his. "You look better. Rested."

"I feel much better." He lowered his voice. "Thanks to you, sunshine."

Crichton looked up as a hand clasped his shoulder, an apologetic look in the Luxan's eye. "Sorry John but we really need to start on those repairs now."

He looked at Aeryn. She bit into a food cube and waved the broken half at him. "Go, I'll see you later."

He grinned and grabbed a handful of foodcubes. The others watched them go then got back to eating. Chiana glanced across at Aeryn but looked away when the Sebacean turned in her direction. She got up and started to leave when Aeryn's voice called her back.

"Yeah, what's up?"

"You've been avoiding me, Chiana."

"Who says?"

"I do. Why?"

Chiana did not want to have this conversation. Not here. Not now. Not ever. "Look, I got things to do, no offence."

Aeryn watched her go with a thoughtful expression on her face. Finished the cubes on her plate then got up to go and see Pilot. Jool paused in her long litany of complaints and looked at Rygel. He was piling foodcubes on his plate with one hand while shoving them in his mouth with the other. Everyone else had left. "Hey! Where did everybody go?"

* * * * *

Ka D'Argo explained the problem with Moya's cooling system. Crichton nodded, only half listening to him. His mind was on Aeryn. His thoughts drifting. D'Argo stopped in his tracks, a grumble of annoyance making it into his voice. "You are *not* listening to me."

"Yes, I am." Said Crichton in surprise.

"Alright then what did I just say?"

"You said Moya's having trouble with her cooling system. Had to shut down the output to tiers one through five. If we don't fix it the whole ship will be plunged into a nuclear winter."

He scowled. "A nuclear what?"

Crichton waved his hands at him. "Never mind, let's just say if we don't get this fixed we'll all freeze."

D'Argo nodded. They continued on down into the bowels of the leviathan. Even after cycles on board the living ship, Crichton never ceased to be amazed by her. As he walked he ran a gentle hand along her wall, humming quietly. Happy to be able to do something to help her. Moya responded by humming through her biomechanoid skin. He felt the sensation ripple up his fingers and into his hand and arm. A smile of pleasure curved on his face. The Luxan stared at him. "What is *wrong* with you?"

"What? Why should something be wrong with me? I'm happy big guy, since when was that a crime?"

D'Argo growled something that Crichton did not catch. He ignored him and concentrated on Moya. Enjoying the simple delight of sharing something as fundamental as touch with her.

* * * * *

It was dark. It was dim. It was twisted. But not as twisted as him. The backwater planet saw few visitors and those that came liked it that way. He moved with the shadows and took comfort in the coolness of the sleep cycle. Solar winds were frequent visitors but he was well wrapped up against the inhospitable clime. He avoided the light but anything that cooled him he embraced. Beneath the heavy layers of clothing his body was pock marked and encrusted with tartankan shells. They clung to the ruin of his flesh and moulded to his distorted frame like parasitic barnacles that had bitten off more than they could chew but could not spit him out. It made him grotesque. Ugly. But better than that it was the perfect camoflage. The only armour he had left.

He moved slowly in the shadows. The seedy bar was like thousands he had seen before. A nameless underclass haunted these places and would sell their souls for the price of a drink. He had few needs. Knew how to be patient but his temper was a thing he sometimes could not contain. Not even within the tight walls of grief. His eyes scanned the place searching for the rezni. The females of this world who could never rise above the chains that used to bind their race. Poor and dispossessed. Base and unlovely. Yet warm bodies all the same to any that would claim them. He spotted her. Not revolted by her peeling skin. She was not marred by age but by a life lived out on the edge, risking any danger for the thin promise of a night without the haunting echo of her own solitary breath. She saw him watching her. Waited. He jerked his head back a little and she grimaced. Or was that a smile? It was hard to tell and neither cared. She worked her way to the back of the bar and considered him. Had seen him before but this one she had never serviced herself. That had been the lot of her sister Ry. The girl had gone with an offworlder two solar days ago. She had wondered how long it would take him to notice her. Call on her favours. Her head tilted to look into his eyes. They were the only part of him that breathed light. The fire that flashed briefly in them sparked a dull interest in her.

"What do you want?"

His voice hissed, dark and dangerous but touched with fire. A heat she began to crave in her ice-bound world. She did not feel that he would be dangerous to her but who knew? There was something about him. What had Ry called it? A body without a soul to breathe life into it. Yet he lived. Or appeared to.

"You know what I want."

She sidled closer, let his rough heavy hands touch her waist. Just a touch. "You know the price?"

"I can pay."

"Then what are we waiting for?"

He considered her a few more microts then nodded. Good enough. She led him out the back and down a hidden stairway. Everything these people treasured was below ground. The dark places went on almost forever. He had been here for six monens and even he had not found every level. The steps twisted and the corridors abruptly turned first this way then that. He knew their purpose was to disorientate the enemy. Invaders entered these endless catacoombes at their peril. None found their way out alone. After an arn
she drew him down a side corridor that was narrower than the others. It was warmer than above ground but cool enough for his needs. A faint flutter of panic, of being closed in and trapped gripped him like a vice. His breath shuddered hard in a shell he could not break. She seemed to sense his distress, a hand touching the cracked carapace where a face should have been. It calmed him. Better. She guided him to her rooms and began to undress him. Not quickly but layer by layer with a touch that was oddly gentle. Wanting to acclimatise him if she could. Considerate. What made him think that? It had been so long since anyone had considered his wishes. Emotions were a hideous deceit. Created to trap the unwary in hearts made of stone.

She got her first good look at him now. A powerful body brought to the brink of utter destruction but strong enough to carry the scars and continue. Such fire must burn in this one to have endured so much. She was impressed. His scars intrigued her, drew her hands to the encrusted lifeforms that were his only protection. Would he lower them for her? She paused to catch his eyes in hers. Such sadness there, such pain. The eyes lived. Rich and vibrant and full of cognisance. He knew her. Knew what she was thinking. A hand reached out and touched her rags. Disrobed her gently as if she was dressed in the finest cloth woven from distant worlds. His eyes never left hers. Never let her feel soiled or unworthy. He fascinated her. His rough
grace a thing unseen in her world. Was it typical of his world, his species or just him? Had it been forged in extremis or born into his first breath as he breached his mother's womb? Would she ever know? Would he tell her?

"You know my needs?"

She trapped a breath and tried to still the eratic beat of her heart. "Ry told me you craved water."

He shook his head. Such a little thing but it made him seem more real. More a product of flesh and blood. "Not crave," He corrected in a rich deep voice that shuddered only slightly through lack of use. "Need." The words scratched their way up a dry cracked throat through lips that would have blended with the lava beds of the outer rim world of Nexara. A world they used to describe Hezmana. It was said that there were fires that burned on Nexara that had been burning since the first sorcerer had touched the burning stones of heaven and formed worlds. The debris, the squag of that first formation, had created Nexara. This man, this creature, looked as if he had come from the same point of origin. She must be careful not to anger him. Ry had said he was volatile. Like the Gods.

She now stood naked before him as he did before her. Such distant bodies, such close scrutiny. He was not embarrassed when she reached out to touch him. Let her explore with her fingers as he explored with his eyes. There were a few smoother patches on his body. Between his legs, under his arms. But most of him was a cracked encrusted wasteland. Could he feel her touch? Was all sensation lost to him? She stepped closer. Wanted him to touch her. Wanted to know what would give him pleasure and whether she would be sufficient. As if hearing her thoughts he answered her. Something like dark humour enriching the deep cadence of a voice so foreign to her yet oddly compelling. "You will service me and it shall be enough." A pause. "For both of us." He added softly.

The rezni shuddered. His hand touched her stomach, curved around the bowl of her abdomen where once a child had lain until the cold earth had broken its' birth cry with a murmur of death. How did he know? How did this stranger know the one place to touch where her emotions lay ragged but intact? Like the Gods. She bit back the moisture of tears. Too precious to cry. He needed water, she would give him all she had. And more.

* * * * *

D'Argo was cursing, his words rumbling darkly around Crichton's ears. Everything was slippery, the coolant leaking from almost every section they worked on. Pilot's disembodied voice was apologetc telling them of yet more sections that needed to be fixed. Crichton looked at D'Argo. The Luxan was a mess. Not a bit of him was dry, his tentacles hung miserably, his red hair matted with slime. He knew he must look just as bad. Hated to imagine what they smelt like. "Hey, we're more than half-way through, big guy. Don't sweat it."

The Luxan flung his head to one side, his eyes flashing with annoyance. How could the human be so calm? He could hardly bear all this trat but knowing it was critical to Moya and thus critical to them he had forced
himself to continue. That did not mean he had to like it. "This is tech work. The DRDs should be doing this not us."

"Yeah, well, in case you hadn't noticed buddy we're half under water here. Or rather, slime." Crichton pulled a face and tried to wipe the trat off his fingers. "I have an idea though. Pilot says about a quarter of this leakage is in narrow ducts, too small for a Luxan but a little old human might just fit. Tell you what. How about you finish the larger sections and I'll get up close and personal with your worst nightmare. What'd'you say?"

D'Argo considered. He did not want them to split up but if it meant finishing in half the time it would be worth it. "Very well, but if it gets too narrow for you call up for Rygel to help." He pinned Crichton with a
look that brooked no argument. "Do *not* get stuck!"

Crichton grinned. "Relax bro, do I look stupid?" He waved his hands to stop the Luxan making any reply. "Forget that, let's just do it. The sooner we fix this the sooner we get to shower and feel like ourselves again."

His friend grunted his agreement and Crichton took leave of him. Stepping out through the access hatch he took a moment to catch his breath. "Hey Pilot, can you give me some directions here?"

"Where do you wish to go, John?"

"Well, I guess Hawaii's out but if you'll guide me to the narrower sections D'Argo's gonna finish up here then do the larger ducts. I get to wriggle in the gaps he can't fit his ugly great head."

A bellow rattled Crichton's ears from back down the duct below him. "I heard that Crichton!"

The human smiled and made his voice sound soothing. "Hey, no offence big guy. It's all down to size."

Pilot gave him directions and Crichton was glad he was not too far away. He was starting to get tired. Sick of being wet and clammy and smelling like dren. But they were over half way now. The end was in sight. How bad could that be? He looked into the crawl space and groaned. "Man, that is *so* tight."

He did not realise that Pilot had been eavesdropping. "John, if it is too small..."

"No, no, Pilot, it's okay, I got it. Really."

He paused and took a few deep breaths, glad that he did not suffer from claustrophobia. Carefully he climbed into the access hatch and began to wriggle forward on this stomach. He could not even crawl on his hands and knees, there just was not enough height. At least it was not flooded out with fluid otherwise he would have been in a lot of trouble. That meant this was not as bad as the sections he and D'Argo had been working on. Great. At last a lucky break. He wriggled for what seemed like arns, his body aching with the effort. It was getting hot in the crawlspace. Breathing was tiring him. "Hey, Pilot?"

"Yes, John?"

"It's a little hot in here."

"I am sorry but until the coolant leaks are fixed Moya cannot lower the temperature."

He sighed. "S'okay, Pilot, just thought I'd ask."

He lay still for a moment, catching his breath and slowly inflating the hot air into his labouring lungs. He was so damn tired. He glanced around him and saw the next section he needed to work on. Just another couple of metra ahead. He wriggled forward again, getting slower as he tired but pushing doggedly on. When he reached the damaged pipes he paused and unclipped the tools from his makeshift belt. His fingers felt numb. His movements became sluggish. So hot. So tired. The spanner clattered from his fingers landing next to him. He struggled to stay awake, force more air into his lungs. It seemed to be getting darker. He rested his head on his arm. Just a microt and he would pick up the spanner and finish this section then he was going to call it a day. He did not even feel the darkness coming until it engulfed him.

How long he lay there he did not know. The voice was oddly familiar. Insistent. Urging him to wake up. He struggled to open his eyes, surprised to see that he was no longer alone in the crawlspace. A manic face looked at him, the humour less than surface deep. The man gave a disingenuous grin. "Surprised to see me, John?"

He squinted. He *had* to be dreaming. This could not be happening. "Maldis? What the hezmana are you doing here? You're supposed to be..."

Maldis interrupted him. "Dead? Disembodied? Destroyed? No, no, John-boy, this is *my* game. *My* rules."

"You're a figment of my imagination Maldis, a dream, a nightmare. Go haunt somebody else."

"I promised it was not over."

"Yeah, well you still lost. Zhaan creamed your butt so vamoos. Go! Get lost!"

Maldis crouched just a couple of dench away from him. "You're my pawn, John. A gaming piece. A gambling chip."

Crichton shook his head wearily trying to force the image of Maldis out of his head. "The way you talk you almost sound..."

"Human?" Maldis laughed. "No, I'm not one of your pathetic species but I tapped into your brain while you slept. I can pick up your idiomatic speech patterns, drop into your pop culture if that's what it takes to make a connection..."

"Why? Why go to all that trouble? If you have a question just ask."

Maldis paused, his eyes bright but with a strange cast to them as if he were wearing contact lenses which was stupid, right? "You just don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?"

"That's what it's all about. The whole nine yards. Not just the touchdown. The roar of the crowd. Winning the Superbowl. I want it *all*."

"And you think speaking like me'll do that for you?"

Maldis shook his head and crouched closer to Crichton. Only microdench apart now. Close enough to touch. "No, John. *Thinking* like you will."

* * * * *
END