TITLE: "UNEXPECTED GIFTS"

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 "HOOK, LINE, AND SINKER"

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

SUMMARY: "Crichton tries to come up with a rescue plan while Stark does something completely unexpected."

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


"UNEXPECTED GIFTS"
A "Farscape" story
Written by Alison M. DOBELL

Crichton knew instinctively why Zhaan had asked to see him. Why she had chosen to meet him here, in the bowels of the leviathan during the sleep cycle. Aeryn was on watch in command so would think he was in his cell sleeping. Zhaan had convinced Pilot that everything was alright and there was no need to have a DRD go with them. Their privacy assured he watched the calm serene face consider him quietly before speaking. It was a face that spoke volumes to him now ever since sharing Unity. If part of her now lived in him did part of him live in Zhaan? She gave him a smile and he automatically smiled back. He had always felt drawn to Zhaan. She was his voice of reason, his protector. A place of calm when the storms of life rocked his world.

"Thank you for coming, John."

"No problem, Zhaan."

"I am worried about Stark."

He nodded. "Me too. How's he bearing up?"

She gave a slight shake of her head as if his words distracted her and she wanted no distractions. He said nothing further, waiting for Zhaan to say what she had to say. "He is very distressed. The mask kept him grounded, John. I am afraid that without it..." She paused. "We have to get the mask back."

"Masks."

"What did you say?"

"Masks, Zhaan. You said *mask* but Stark lost not only his own mask but also Alphia's and Heronn's. He will want them *all* back."

She nodded. "Yes, but most important is Stark's mask. If we can't get the other two they can wait but Stark's is a necessity."

He tilted his head slightly, a grave look on his gentle face. Feeling his way carefully not between her words but through the silences that punctuated them. "What will happen if we can't get his mask back, Zhaan? How bad can this get?"

She tried to hold back the tears. "Stark will die."

That jolted him. A physical pain that jarred his heart. "Are you sure?"

Zhaan nodded.

"Why?"

"His energy John, is controlled by the mask. When he was enslaved the mask was used to reflect his energy back into his physical body in a kind of energy loop. It was the only way they could think of to trap him in his body..."

Crichton paled. "Way, wait Zhaan. Are you saying Stark is *imprisoned* in his body?"

Zhaan nodded, her eyes deep pools of sadness. "Yes."

He frowned. "I don't understand. How can he be trapped in his own body?"

"Stark is a Banik. Banik's are energy beings, they are made of light. The physical body is just a vehicle for them to experience physical existence. In their home world they rarely wore physical bodies as we know them, their light would be too intense for mortal flesh. But they wanted to travel vast distances, learn of other cultures and beings, see beyond the shining veil of their own existences. It was their biggest adventure and their greatest mistake."

"You mean they came down from the stars and got their metaphorical toes trapped in the physical gene pool?"

She angled her head and took a moment to pick up clues from the translator microbes. She nodded slowly, cautiously, as his meaning sank in. "Yes."

"I don't get it, Zhaan. If the mask imprisoned him why in hezmana does he want it back?"

"It has nothing to so with what Stark wants, John. Since being bound to the mask it has become intricately linked, bonded to his energy. Take the mask away and the flow of energy is broken. Some remains in the mask. What he carries within seeks to be whole again with the energy in the mask. If the two remain apart the energy he carries will gradually leak away with nowhere to go but dispersal."

"Dispersal?" Crichton shuddered remembering another dispersal, a punishment once conferred on Stark and from which none of them had expected him to return. He had confounded them all. Perhaps he would do so again?

"If his energy is dispersed while it is incomplete he cannot coalesce again, John. His energy needs to be whole. If he dies like this his spirit will find no release, no joining with all those who have gone before. He will be lost forever."

For several microts neither spoke. Crichton looked at Zhaan. "What about the other masks?"

"Fortunately when Alphia and Heronn gave Stark their masks they had achieved the ability to totally withdraw their essences. Echos still linger of course but not the spirit. They were given to Stark because each had left memories as gifts of love for him. A source of joy and comfort to him in dark times until he should choose to join them."

"So if they can leave their masks behind, Stark can do the same - right?"

She nodded. He frowned at the expression on her face. "Why do I get the feeling that's not the good news?"

"Stark can give up the mask, John. It is called death."

He took a sharp intake of breath. Shocked. "You mean...?"

"Yes. Alphia and Heronn are dead - physically - but Baniks do not see death in the same way you do."

He remembered many things Stark had told him. Now he wanted to see Stark, speak with him. Hear the words from the Banik's own lips. "Can I see Stark?"

"Are you sure?"

"How could I not be sure? He's my friend, Zhaan, and he's in trouble. Of course I want to see him."

* * * * *

Scorpius was curious. He carefully handled each mask in turn, making sure he knew which was the one he had removed from the Banik. He had no idea where the other two came from. Only Stark's mask made his fingertips tingle. He wondered what it might mean. It certainly was not leaking light now. He looked again at the other two, first fingering Alphia's. It almost had a resonance to it. He held it up like a shell to his right ear, making sure the mask had no contact with his face however fleeting. Although he did not know how they worked he remembered that the masks had been part of the enslavement of the Baniks. The tone was gentle as if it hovered on the edge of hearing. Gradually it faded away until he could hear nothing. The mask seemingly dull and inert. He put it down and picked up Heronn's mask, the tone this time was fuller, more boisterous in a way that defied description. His curiousity roused deeper. With almost trembling hands he picked up Stark's mask, the difference almost shouting out at him. He could *feel* the life in the mask. The vibrancy. The endless dying away of echoes that struck up again and again as if the mask were a gong being struck repeated blows.

A rap on his door broke the spell. He put the mask to one side and called out. "Come in!"

Lt Braca entered cautiously, trying to hide how much he hated this room. "Sir, what are your instructions regarding the leviathan?"

"We wait."

Lt Braca looked uncomfortable. They had already been waiting several arns. Scorpius gave him a level look. "You are *unhappy* with these *arrangements*?" He asked mildly.

The man shook his head quickly. "No, sir."

He started to turn to leave when Scorpius had an idea. "Wait, Lt. There *is* one thing you can do for me."

Microts later his screams could be heard all down the corridor of the Command Carrier. The men exchanged furtive looks and concentrated harder on their own tasks. They did not want to learn first hand the reason for the screams.

* * * * *

Stark was in a state. Zhaan had swapped the jacket for some thick bandages and these were swathed around the side of his head to cover the right eye. He looked both miserable and sad, his movements trembling and jerky. Crichton swallowed, not taking his eyes off the Banik. Zhaan looked at Stark. Her voice soft, gentle and full of love. "Stark, John asked to see you."

He nodded, his left eye fever bright. "Yes, yes, must see John. Tell him. Yes, John."

Zhaan looked at Stark. "Do you want me to stay?"

He smiled for her and for a moment there were only the two of them in the whole of the Uncharted Territories. "No, no," He whispered softly. Heart speaking to heart. "Private." Stark cupped Zhaan's beautiful face in his two hands as if he still could not believe that anyone so beautiful could find anything of worth in him. Her gentle smile back almost broke his heart with joy. A soft kiss fluttered on her lips then he pulled slowly away. "Must speak to John. Alone."

She nodded then looked at Crichton. "Call if you need me."

Stark looked at Crichton for a microt then turned to Zhaan. "We must not be disturbed, Zhaan."

Zhaan inclined her head. "Then I will see to it that you are not."

They did not speak to each other until Zhaan had left. Stark was watching Crichton carefully, his own distress actually dimming a little as if his proximity to Crichton were helping him. "I knew you would come."

That surprised him. Crichton sat on the floor facing him. "How did you know that?"

"You have shared Unity with Zhaan. I have shared Unity with Zhaan. Many times now."

Crichton's eyes widened a little. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

The Banik smiled gently at him. Humour and love sharing the light. A look in his eye that pierced the human some place deep inside and made his heart skip a beat. It was like a wire connecting the two of them had just been tugged. Oh so gently but it ran so deep. "What has happened to me?"

Stark drew a finger down the side of his face, watching the play of emotions in the human's eyes. Fascinated by something he could see in him and almost touch. "Do you feel it?"

"Feel what?"

Stark cradled his face between his two hands and looked so intent that it felt to Crichton as if he were being drawn into a golden swirl of light and love and forces too numerous and rare to identify. So alien yet so inviting. "What is that?"

"Me." Said Stark softly. He rubbed his thumbs gently across Crichton's cheeks as if calming him. "You."

The human's eyes evinced deep surprise. "What? Me? How can it be me?"

Stark soothed his confusion, his touch so gentle. He failed to notice that Stark was no longer trembling. "Do you trust me, John?"

Crichton could hardly swallow. "Yeah."

"How much?"

More confusion swam in his eyes, his whole soul seemed to hang in the balance of the words forming on the Banik's lips. Each word more hypnotic than the last. "With my life."

"With your soul?"

"My soul?"

Stark leaned closer to him. They were only a few microdench apart now but it did not feel uncomfortable just confusing. "Your spirit." Completed Stark.

For a couple of microts there was only silence between them but it was not empty. No pointless void. This silence was a slow building expectation, something rare and exotic rising to the surface with a power that was as immense as it was intoxicating. A living thing. He felt drunk but not in the physical sense. "What are you doing to me?"

"Explaining."

He tried to frown but the expression would not fit on his face.

"Do you trust me?" Stark repeated. The words now so soft he was not sure they had been spoken aloud.

Crichton tried to nod. "Yeah. With my life, my soul, my spirit."

Stark's smile widened. So gentle. So utterly open and full of love and joy for him. Where did that thought come from? Stark? Love *him*? That was absurd, wasn't it? "With your heart?" Asked the Banik.

As the words drifted from his mouth their sweetness touched the human and moved him deeply. He nodded slowly. The word thick in his throat. "Yeah."

Stark unwound the bandage from the right side of his face, his weakened light washing over Crichton like a balm for his body, heart, and soul. A song only the spirit could sing. A gift only those who had loved could share. It brought tears to Crichton's eyes. It totally redefined his idea of beauty.

"Wow!" It was awesome. "That's *you*?"

Now it was Stark's turn to nod. "Yes, John."

Stark closed the gap between them, the golden light suffusing the pores of their skin with its' vibrancy, seeking something. The Banik's lips gently brushed up against those of the human. Electricity sparked in muted burns that left no wounds and carried no sting. Mouths opened as if in acceptance of an offering. Something sacred passing between them as their breath merged in a kiss. Hearts paused. Souls merged. Light danced and filled the human, the song echoing from cell to cell to cell until his whole body was alight with it. With Stark. His heart ached with thousands upon thousands of voices stilled forever except in the memory and the heart of a Stykera. Visions illuminated his mind. The kiss deepened slowly. Stark did not want to alarm him, needed to acclimatise him to what was happening so that his heart and mind would not reject the gift.

Crichton felt the resonance of a love so all-encompassing that he had no words to describe it. A cool heat followed the trail of breath through his mouth and throat down to his very lungs. The oxygenation of his blood seemed richer somehow. Each cell more vibrant, more urgent in its' passage through the body. He felt envigorated. Restored. Loved. The Banik broke the connection very slowly as if the human were too fragile and might break. Not wanting to hurt the human by withdrawing from him too rapidly. They did not have much time and he knew Crichton and the others would fight for him but that would not save him. Not know. Not with the masks in the hands of Scorpius. Another way had to be found and this was it. If he died now Scorpius would not be able to reach him. If Scorpius caught him he would not be able to betray Crichton through the weakness of borrowed flesh. His thoughts, his memories, his emotions, his very essence was safe from violation now.

"What did you do to me?"

Stark touched his face, a tear falling from his left eye. So much emotion in him that words were hard to fashion. His explanation too wrought with sacrifices made on foreign battlefields. Wars he had not so much won as never lost. "I gave myself to you, John."

"You did *what*?"

The hand cradled his cheek. Stark kissed him again. This time a different kiss, a more mortal gift. It was strange. Weid being kissed by another man. Not to arouse, not to lead to greater intimacy, but to transfer a knowledge that went beyond words. When he moved back and Crichton could again speak, the alarm was gone but not the confusion. "That was *not* Unity!"

Stark laughed lightly. "No, John. That was merging."

"Merging? What the hell is going on Stark?"

"I am dying, John."

His heart rocked. So hard that it was a physical pain in his chest. Stark was immediately sorry. Had not meant to hurt him. "Dying?"

"Oh John, I'm so sorry. So sorry."

Stark put his arms around him and comforted him while he cried. Quiet gentle tears that sought reason not blame. No wild weeping. More baffled than outraged. He could feel Stark gently kissing the tears as they ran down his cheeks but he could not seem to stop. Where the hell had all this emotion come from? He was *not* in love with Stark. He loved Aeryn. So why was he acting like his heart was being torn in two? Like it was breaking? He heard Stark hushing him with his soft voice, his hands stroking his hair, the movements easing the ache in his heart and the panic that was threatening to fragment what little common sense he had left. His lips found the Banik's and he kissed him roughly, need driving him to express something that bypassed logic. Stark opened himself to him and flooded him with images that made no sense to him. Emotions that swamped him and carried him on waves that kept reverberating inside his mind and body and soul. Everything that Stark knew, experienced, felt, desired, shared. Everything he had done, been given, created, destroyed, loved. Everyone he had ever cared about. Everything he was. All of it filtered through human senses now, merged with memories forged on Earth not in the Uncharted Territories.

He pulled out of the kiss and hugged Stark fiercely to him. Hot tears rolling down his face. Unable to say anything. Not having any words of comfort to ease the passage of a dying friend. He did not want Stark to die. Did not want Zhaan to suffer this. Could not bear the thought of having to tell her. To break the news that Scorpius had chalked up another victim. "Oh God, Stark, don't do this man. Don't die on me, I can't take it."

Stark was gentle. He made no attempt to bind the right side of his face. The light that had been pulsing was all but gone now. He looked a sadder man for it but at peace. Such equanimity flowed from him that Crichton was washed with numbness. He touched Stark's face. Trembling fingers outlining the cheekbone and circling the right eye. Not so much a journey of curiosity as remembrance. He knew the end was near now. He needed Zhaan. Wanted her presence with an urgency that frightened him. Somehow he managed to keep his voice calm as he commed Pilot.

"Pilot?"

"Yes, Commander?"

"Can you ask Zhaan to come to Stark's cell?"

* * * * *
END