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For What It's Worth
Fandom - Farscape
Title – For what it’s worth (1/2)
Author – Zylimbron25
Rating – 12 (Language. References to violence)
Summary – Following his connection to Talyn, Stark suffers an alergic reaction to the toxins. Friendship/Smarm
Warning - Spoilers for up to Season 3 MELTDOWN. John/Aeryn ship ahoy.
Disclaimer – Farscape and all derivatives of Farscape are the property of Rockne S O’Bannon and company. Opening dialogue is taken from the episode “Meltdown” Written by Matt Ford.
Author Note – Seeing as we have a week to to rewrites, any feedback is appreciated. There is suppose to be a character building point to this story, but I’m not sure if I made it all that clear.
Brownie points for whoever spots the “Therapy John Crichton Style” Plug :-D
You remember when we met?
You want to take a trip down memory lane? Stark, my side, your side, my side, your side, my side, your side!
I tried to help you then, but I failed. Scorpius put a chip in your brain. I failed.
***
Less than an arn after Crais has finished cutting him free, and to shreds, Stark was doing his penance.
Penance was DRD work in what passed as the maintenance bay on Talyn. Crichton had insisted, with an evil smile, that by that evening he would be able to see his face in the filth encrusted workbench, and then he and Aeryn couldn’t have been out of the room fast enough.
Rygel was nowhere to be seen, sleeping of the result of his somewhat untimely binge. Crais was avoiding him completely, and making no secret of it. He didn’t blame him one bit. Laws of physics not withstanding, Stark would have been avoiding Stark as well.
After all that he had been given freely, he had repaid their kindness by almost ending their lives.
Stark felt sick, not so much nausea as a deep ache that made movement uncomfortable, and his hands shake as he scrubbed. He ignored it. He was used to working around illness and pain, one of numerous skills picked up in the Budong mines, where all illnesses were fatal.
Work
Please, he can barely stand, leave him alone, please
I said work!
He bowed his head with the weight of memories. Sometimes it was necessary to concentrate and silence them.
Most of the time, they obeyed.
Work
Stykera help me
A DRD passed him, beeping in what could only be a mocking tone. In any other frame of mind, Stark might have said something to the droid, but right now he was more interested in ensuring that his head didn’t explode under the influence of the noise. The workbench was difficult enough to clean as it was.
Would he leave entrails like a Sebacean? Or would he disperse into energy? Maybe the ship would explode with him. That would solve the problem of the workbench.
Actually, bad plan. Goal not reached if Crichton can’t see what is left of his face in the results.
That wasn’t his voice. That was Scarran humour, and lots of it.
Barbaric species
Sebacean! Why wouldn’t they keep quiet as he ordered?
Can never get anything right, comes up with a plan and then it all goes straight to hezmana, because he is such a frelling…he nearly killed them on the Shadow Depository, freaked out. If D’Argo hadn’t been there. Yes pain, the part that misses the chair enjoys it, joins with the voices.
A volatile specimen. Such disordered thoughts and recollections.
Nebari! Where the yotz did the Nebari come from? He never crossed over any frelling Nebari. Must have been another Stykera who crossed over a Nebari and then was crossed over by Stark. Oh great, now he was getting the next generation. He had no idea that he could do that, certainly none of the other Banik’s he knew had said anything about it.
Don’t let me die alone.
You will help him
Ten thousand die in the blink of an eye, gone, silenced and yet still screaming.
No! Scorpius. Crichton?
“Crichton,” he whispered. “Aeryn. Where am I? It hurts. Please.”
He heard laughing, and then giggling, something alone the lines of ‘Ignore him’, and then Crichton was on the com unit. “Astro can this wait?”
“No.”
“That table clean yet?”
“No. So young.”
More giggling. Come cut out.
He patched back in again.
“Mother, Father, why are you ignoring me? You always ignore me, and I hate it when you ignore me, so stop ignoring me.” Deep breath. “What did I just say?”
He patched out again.
Crichton patched in.
“You feeling alright down there Stark? Walls closing in at all?”
“Closing in, time running out, red wire, blue wire, red wire, my wire, your wire. Fifteen seconds later they’re running out of the building. Everything blows all to hell.”
“Hey, does he know about lethal…How do you know about Lethal Weapon?”
“Do you remember your Granddaughter, Aeryn? I know it hurt when your son died in that accident. I’m sorry, such a horrible waste. She loved you, John. She died for you. It’s very complicated, sophisticated, you love Opera so it should be alright to explain that right now I am thinking with hundreds of different minds. Did you love her?”
“Stark don’t move, I’m coming down.”
Down
Rocks coming down and there is no escape. He can feel them crushing him, and the blood is warm against his skin. His first crossing was his own Mentor.
“Malki, help. I can’t control them anymore, I can’t hold them back. I can’t stop listening.” He reached for the nearest tool, switching it on to its highest setting.
“Kill. Why?
“No! What are you doing here? Don’t hurt me please. I’m sorry. Blood, so much blood. Peacekeeper Skum!”
***
When Crichton finally got to the maintenance bay, a trip he was certain took longer than usual, despite his sprinting, Stark was engaged in a spectacular demonstration of one manned arm wrestling.
“Stark?”
“Don’t talk, don’t talk, you are always talking just what I need another voice. Sierjna. Where is Sierjna? Did we rescue Sierjna?”
“Stark what is going on?”
Crichton barely had time to duck before the tool that Stark had been holding became one with the wall behind his head.
“You know Crichton,” Stark whispered. “Some of us are trying to sleep.” Then he collapsed.
***
Crichton sat on the edge of Rygel’s bed, arm wrapped around a bent knee and fingernail chewed to the quick in his mouth. His mind barely registered that Crais was talking.
“…residual effects on his energy matrix. I have managed to remove the toxins left behind by his connection to Talyn.”
“So he will be okay?” Crichton hadn’t taken his eyes of the occupant of the neighbouring bed.
“Now that the toxins are removed, there should be nothing physically wrong with him.” Crais placed a hand against his neural transponder, sighed, and closed his eyes. “However from what I have been able to gather, the toxin build up inhibited his natural ability to protect the core consciousness. He has been left unable to regulate his abilities, feelings or memories.”
“Psychic Heat Delirium.” Crichton murmured almost to himself.
Crais notably stiffened at the term. “Like his Mother, Talyn was born with an extensive database. From that information we know that Stykera metaphysical barriers are formed in infancy, while the powers are at their weakest, so they can grow stronger with age and experience. However, in adulthood, if those barriers are removed then the full force of the mature power can be overwhelming, making recovery difficult without help from others of his kind.”
“We’re kind of short on Banik Stykera around here, Crais.”
“When he wakes up it will be to the same bombardment of voices and memories as before. He will eventually be driven to a permanent catatonic state.” Crais looked back at the Human. “It will be the Living Death.”
“How can you be so calm?”
“I am as distressed as you, John Crichton, however there is no advantage to emotional outburst. Stark demonstrated that fact quite remarkably when he entered the Pilots den.”
“He was tying to help. Granted, he wasn’t the strongest player on the team, but I didn’t exactly see the hand of friendship presenting any options.”
Crais looked at the ceiling, his hand once again on the back of his neck. “Talyn thinks he has found one way that Stark can be helped, but he warns that it is dangerous, and potentially fatal.”
On To Part 2
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