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MHA #8 (Where Stark totally lives, shh), the wee hours of Friday morning.
Nightmares were nothing new to Stark. He’d had nightmares most of his life. Cycles of it had been living nightmares. What was happening now felt different than the usual bad dreams. It felt much more real. It felt like being back in every terrible memory he had. And he had so many memories between his own and those he had absorbed from others.
So when he’d woken early Wednesday morning shaking and his cheek wet with tears he had shrugged, washed his face, and carried on with his day. When the same thing happened Thursday, even earlier, he’d paced anxiously around the entire apartment for hours as if to reassure himself there were no Scarrans, there was no Scorpius, and he was not trapped in a cell. Of course there were no Scarrans here. There had never been Scarrans here. Scorpius was long gone. Stark hadn’t been in a cell for a very long time. His doors locked from the inside now. He was free to move about as he liked.
He’d stayed awake until it was time for class, still anxiously pacing, still finding himself reliving moments best forgotten. Class had thankfully been uneventful.
Now it was very early Friday, at least he thought it was, and things had only gotten worse. He’d tried to avoid sleeping but that hadn’t helped. It still wasn’t helping.
Every door he runs toward is closed. Every route he takes that might lead to Command is blocked off. Still he runs through Moya’s corridors, desperate to find a way. He has to get there. The alternative is unthinkable.
“Where to go? Where to go? WHERE TO GO?”
He keeps running. Keeps trying every path he can think of. Keeps finding nothing but dead ends.
He knows what’s about to occur. He knows Zhaan is leaving him, leaving all of them, and he can’t let that happen. If he can get to her though, if he can reach her, he can stop this. He can stop her. Or at the very least he can be with her. Go with her. Help her. She shouldn’t be alone. HE shouldn’t be alone and she’s going to leave him alone. Again. There wasn’t enough time. They had just needed more time. He needed more time. He could find her a planet where she could heal if he only had enough time.
Another sealed passageway and he knows it’s too late. He won’t be able to reach her. He turns away from this final failed attempt and falls to his knees, screaming. She is beyond his reach. She is beyond his touch. She is beyond his help. It isn’t fair, and nothing has ever been fair, and she is going to be lost forever and his screams are echoing throughout the passageway. He is alone, again. Still.
[This was meant to go up earlier and the day got away from me but time is meaningless so it’s fine. Can absolutely be open if any neighbors heard the screaming. Also he’s totally always been living here since he came back what do you mean you never noticed? He’s been here the whole time. For reals. I swear.]
So when he’d woken early Wednesday morning shaking and his cheek wet with tears he had shrugged, washed his face, and carried on with his day. When the same thing happened Thursday, even earlier, he’d paced anxiously around the entire apartment for hours as if to reassure himself there were no Scarrans, there was no Scorpius, and he was not trapped in a cell. Of course there were no Scarrans here. There had never been Scarrans here. Scorpius was long gone. Stark hadn’t been in a cell for a very long time. His doors locked from the inside now. He was free to move about as he liked.
He’d stayed awake until it was time for class, still anxiously pacing, still finding himself reliving moments best forgotten. Class had thankfully been uneventful.
Now it was very early Friday, at least he thought it was, and things had only gotten worse. He’d tried to avoid sleeping but that hadn’t helped. It still wasn’t helping.
Every door he runs toward is closed. Every route he takes that might lead to Command is blocked off. Still he runs through Moya’s corridors, desperate to find a way. He has to get there. The alternative is unthinkable.
“Where to go? Where to go? WHERE TO GO?”
He keeps running. Keeps trying every path he can think of. Keeps finding nothing but dead ends.
He knows what’s about to occur. He knows Zhaan is leaving him, leaving all of them, and he can’t let that happen. If he can get to her though, if he can reach her, he can stop this. He can stop her. Or at the very least he can be with her. Go with her. Help her. She shouldn’t be alone. HE shouldn’t be alone and she’s going to leave him alone. Again. There wasn’t enough time. They had just needed more time. He needed more time. He could find her a planet where she could heal if he only had enough time.
Another sealed passageway and he knows it’s too late. He won’t be able to reach her. He turns away from this final failed attempt and falls to his knees, screaming. She is beyond his reach. She is beyond his touch. She is beyond his help. It isn’t fair, and nothing has ever been fair, and she is going to be lost forever and his screams are echoing throughout the passageway. He is alone, again. Still.
[This was meant to go up earlier and the day got away from me but time is meaningless so it’s fine. Can absolutely be open if any neighbors heard the screaming. Also he’s totally always been living here since he came back what do you mean you never noticed? He’s been here the whole time. For reals. I swear.]
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"Stark?" he shouted, knocking sharply on his neighbor's door. "You in there?"
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"Am I?"
He wasn't sure, honestly, if he was here. He didn't feel sure of anything right now. A moment ago he had been back on Moya, hadn't he?
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"I...did I wake you? Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to scream. It was...I couldn't get there."
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Though, speaking of- Liam took out his Global and texted her a quick 'all clear', lest she end up charging across the hallway with the horseman's glaive at the ready.
Again.
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And then another a few seconds later. fine.
And one more. i mean i'm glad no one is injured.
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"Sorry," he repeated, unnecessarily. "Haven't slept much either, lately. Too much..." he fluttered his hands in the air near his face. "Everything. Too much. They feel real. They are real? Bad memories. It's..."
It's a lot of trauma resurfacing, is what it is. And he certainly had enough to go around.
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He was relieved it wasn't just him. He was also horrified that anyone else might be suffering in the same way.
"Do we know why? How? It's...I'm tired," he admitted. "It hurts. Are you alright?"
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"How do we stop it if we don't know what it is?"
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"We're learning things about it," Liam told him. "Like- Rey saw something. Creatures. A couple other people have corroborated that. It's a start."
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Stark gave a little shudder. "Creatures that do this?" Just what everyone needed.
"I haven't seen anything." Of course they could very well be sneaking up on him on one side and he'd never be the wiser. And he hadn't been looking.
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The lightbulb in the hall flickered ominously, just then. And perhaps it was because he'd mentioned being kind-of-used to seeing other people's memories that a particular memory sprung to mind just then.
He stopped inflating the cuff, letting it collapse with a soft hissing sound. Then he leaned in, wrapped his hand around the now-deflated cuff, and squeezed.
He kept squeezing, grinding his hand against the cuff so that the needles danced inside her flesh. His expression was sad, almost disappointed, like he hadn't wanted any of this to happen.
"What's your name?" he asked, almost in a whisper.
"V-Verity," she replied. "Verity P-Price."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Verity Price," he said, and took his hand away.
Not that it had been a terrible memory for the person it had originally belonged to. Oh, no, Robert had enjoyed all of that. But now Liam had to live with remembering getting joy out of torturing his wife, so. It counted as an excellent source of energy as far as the night mares were concerned.
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Being on the opposite side of things was new and deeply disturbing. He shuddered again. "No no no."
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He was going to regret reaching out that hand right about now. But he wasn't going to regret it as much as Liam was.
“There's nothing Crichton can do. I'm going to be executed. Wonder how they'll do it? Pulse fire? Strangulation? Maybe even novatron gas," Stark says despondently.
“They mentioned something called ‘dispersal’,” Aeryn offers.
“What else did they say?” Stark asks.
“I didn't ask the details. Why?”
He has a glimmer of hope now. Faint, but there. “Because there's a remote chance that I could survive dispersal. My physical form is only part of my reality. Much of me is energy that I can control and project.”
“The energy his mask holds in,” Zhaan explains.
“Maybe,” Stark says, “if I'm prepared for it, I can transfer enough of myself into another realm to survive.”
“Well, we do know that creatures like Maldis can be dispersed and-and re-coalesce,” Zhaan offers.
“Maybe I can return to this realm someday.” He knows it’s unlikely but Zhaan smiles at him. Aeryn though, Aeryn just looks at him blankly. “Nah - I don't believe it either. But even a remote possibility is b-” He’s cut off by Crichton’s return to the platform.
“Prisoners!” The Plokavian’s voice rings out. “ We have considered your testimonies and reached a conclusion. Your lack of candor gives us no choice but to have you all put to death.” They protest, all of them, but she continues, undeterred. “Start with the Peacekeeper!”
There is a long silent moment before Stark leaps to his feet. If he can save the rest of them he will. Or he’ll die trying. He’ll die either way, he’s fairly certain. At least this way there’s a chance for the others and a smaller one for himself. “Wait! I cannot let the others die on my behalf. I have to tell the truth. I fired on the Plokavian ship and destroyed it.”
“Stark, don’t!” Crichton protests but it’s too late. The others, all of them, drop the platform, unable to move.
“You freely confess your crime?” the second Plokavian asks.
“Yes I do. Does that surprise you?” His voice barely trembles and for that Stark is grateful.
“Not in the least,” the first Plokavian says.
“You were our prime suspect from the start,” the second tells him.
Stark doesn’t answer, just removes his mask carefully. He places it gently in Zhaan’s hand. She will keep it safe for him, should he survive. He’s sure of that at least. His face, or lack thereof, isn’t glowing now. It’s dark. He’s done his best to shift what he can somewhere else. Stepping carefully around the prone forms of the others he heads towards the elevator cage at the end of the platform. The bars shut with an audible thud once he’s inside.
“I thank you all for the great risks you took to save a mere Banik slave. Your acceptance... Your friendship... has meant a lot to me.” He isn’t sure if they can hear him. He needs to say it anyway.
The first Plokavian speaks again. “You have confessed to the crime of murder. Are you ready to accept the penalty?”
“Ready,” Stark confirms. A bell tolls from somewhere. The cage begins to fill with a white fog. He can feel it eating away at him, feel his body dissipating, and he screams until he can no longer manage sounds.
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Liam was there, in the cage, as it began to fill with fog.
God, that hurt.
Back in the real world, Liam let out a slightly hysterical giggle, because really... of course he'd manage to find the one person with an experience similar enough to his own...
He'd known. He'd known the second the ID field dissipated around him that this would be a one-way trip. But Augur and Street seemed so determined to try and get him out, he couldn't bring himself to tell them it was hopeless.
This was Ha'gel's plan all along, set in motion millions of years ago. The solution that the Taelon Ma'el had figured out two thousand years ago: that Liam, and Liam alone, could provide the life-force energy necessary to reunite the Taelon and Jaridian species as one, heal the rift that Ha'gel's intervention into their evolution had caused.
The temperature in the chamber was rising rapidly as Liam activated each of the pods. Soon enough, he was joined by Da'an and the rest of the Taelons, followed by Vorjak and the remaining Jaridians.
"Goodbye, Da'an," Liam said, as the Taelon stepped into his regeneration pod.
"Goodbye, Liam. And thank you, for all my bretheren, and all time. You were our salvation."
Liam stepped into the regeneration pool in the center of the chamber.
"The Atavan life-force needs both Taelon and Jaridian energies to regenerate," he said, aware that Renee and the others would be watching- and listening- through the open video link until the last possible second. "I don't know what they'll become," he admitted, as he started to glow with a soft, white light. "But it's in the hands of destiny now."
And then everything grew hotter and brighter and it hurt until there was nothing left of the being that had called itself Liam Kincaid.
Funny thing about this particular memory being triggered? Almost unconsciously, Liam began to glow with that same soft white light. Which had the rather serendipitous side-effect of causing the creature that had been so enjoying Stark and Liam trade traumatic memories to flee, leaving the two of them standing there, Liam still just... glowing.
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"Sorry. I'm sorry," he managed to whisper after a moment. Sorry for having made Liam relive the dispersal with him. For Liam having experienced something similar. Both. "Once should have been more than enough." For both of them. "That hurt. Hurts. I'm sorry," he repeated, voice a little stronger.
"Is...is it gone? You're glowing."
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"Rey said she saw something in the shadows," he realized. And indeed, this particular round of memory-sharing hadn't happened until the hallway light had fizzled out. "Maybe... maybe the light drives them away?"
He started to offer a still-glowing hand to Stark, to help him back up, but then hesitated. The creature was gone, but Liam's own abilities meant it was entirely possible they'd end up Sharing-with-a-capital-S, so.
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He waved off the not-quite offered hand. "Floor is fine. I'll get up. Eventually." Assuming he didn't end up reliving something else first in which case maybe he would just stay here, right against this wall, forever.
"Are you all right?"
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It’s possible these two could get stuck in a never ending cycle of apologies.
“Do you, uh. Want a cup of tea or something? Something warm usually helps with...” he trailed off, making a vague sweeping gesture. These weren’t normal nightmares, of course, but maybe it’d still be soothing?
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"Tea? Yes. Thank you." He got to his feet then, still leaning on the wall.
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He stepped inside the (thankfully well-lit, unlike the hallway) apartment then, heading for the kitchen, glow fading as he did so.
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"I should have offered you something," he said after a moment. "You came in here. Don't have guests often." Ever. "Out of practice. There's a kettle there."
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Apparently he was delicious to evil shadow horses. Who knew.
"Mugs are there," he pointed. "Did you want anything else? Food?" There were definitely baked goods to be found.
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"I wouldn't say no to a cupcake," he admitted. "Not the most balanced of breakfasts, but I think we deserve it, don't you?"
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"Chocolate?" He pulled a little white box from J,GoB off the counter. "Or...more chocolate. Perfectly fine breakfast food. Chocolate is good for trauma."
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“Is it?” Liam asked. “I didn’t know. But it certainly sounds better than whatever a ‘food cube’ is.”
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He held the box out to Liam. "Take what you like."
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"Thank you," he said, taking the mug carefully.
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"Anytime," Liam said, with a little half-shrug as he picked up his own mug. "Let's go sit," he suggested, with a nod towards the couch. He knew when he tended to get all dissociative that it was easier to just follow someone else's suggestions rather than try and make decisions, even for simple things.
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Left to his own devices Stark would probably still be huddled on the floor by his door so Liam was definitely a positive influence at the moment.
"Good idea," Stark said, clutching the mug in both hands as he curled himself up at one end of the aforementioned couch. The cupcakes had been momentarily abandoned in favor of the comforting warmth of the mug. "Thank you. Again."
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He rummaged around in the cupboards, finding a plate to put some of the cupcakes on, and then took that and his own mug of tea over to the couch, putting the plate on the coffee table and then taking a seat on the opposite side of the couch.
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"Not much experience with neighbors," he said finally. "Shipmates. Not really the same." Shipmates, even on a Leviathan the size of Moya, had to live closer. Or so he thought. "I stayed in the hotel when I was here last."
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Those shipmates, if Liam was going to hazard a guess, had been the reason Stark had been willing to let himself be dispersed, in that memory they'd shared.
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Sometimes he even missed Rygel. Not that he would ever admit that to another living soul. Of course, there was also a lot less death and impending doom here, alone, than there had ever been on either ship.
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“I really do need to introduce you to the mice sometime,” Liam said thoughtfully. “Though that’s possibly just opening the metaphorical door for them to come barging in here at all hours demanding cake.”
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Somewhere, probably, multiple pairs of little mouse ears were perking up.
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"Don't let them bully you," Liam warned. "They're very cognizant of how cute they are, and have weaponized that cuteness."
That Liam fell for it every time was not at all relevant.
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His head was extra full of decidedly un-cute memories right now. Cute sounded lovely.
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On the other, it'd mean leaving Stark alone for the time that would take.
"I could see if some of them would be willing to come over?" Liam asked. They'd probably be awake despite the early hour; they were quite used to breakfast with the God of Distant Stars, and then second breakfast with the God of Distant Stars and the Arboreal Priestess.
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Subjecting tiny animals to his nightmares just seemed cruel.