Stark

Class had presumably gone well and once things were cleaned up Stark had headed back to his apartment where, he assumed, there would still be a squirrel waiting for him. Hopefully just the one squirrel he was expecting and not any stray wildlife.

“Summer? I brought snacks back with me,” he called out as he opened the door. “Plenty of nuts to share.”

Had he said that on purpose to see if he could inspire another fit of squirrelly laughter? Maybe he had.

“Are you back to yourself yet? Or still a squirrel?”

He stopped in the kitchen to put down the food he’d brought back before heading to the living room to look for his temporary resident squirrel. There were plenty of blankets lying around to make cozy squirrel nests in. Not quite as many blankets as there were in the bedroom but he didn’t think she would be in there. He’d find her soon enough. The apartment really wasn’t that all that large.

[For that ginger squirrel!]

Stark was still settling back in here. Things still felt odd (he still felt odd) but he was trying to work through that.

Today's attempt at ignoring odd feelings involved cleaning. His apartment was usually kept very clean. He liked it that way, liked that he could keep it that way. Since mid-January, however, he'd cared much less about that, and then he'd been gone for a few weeks and now there were certainly things that needed to be done.

Today he was starting in the kitchen. The fridge was questionable at best, right now.

[Expecting one but there is literally nothing to stop someone else from knocking on a door. I will be slow as always though because work remains a shitshow.]

Faye was still a bird. Stark was still himself and still trying, and occasionally succeeding, to not be upset about that fact. But it had been nearly a week now and she was still a large bird rather than herself and that was distressing.

"We should go outside," he said. Of course he talked to her. He didn't get responses other than the occasional "frarnk" or flapping of wings but he had talked to her consistently since Boston. Talking to a bird was better than staring silently at a bird.

"I'll get coffee," he said, standing up from the couch where he'd been sulking sitting. "Or food. You could fish again, if you like. Or get into fights with a flamingo. Or...I don't know. Bird things." Bird things that hopefully didn't include flying away.


[For someone who will hopefully return to her usual leggy self soon!]

Stark had been very tired after last night. Tired enough not to notice when his companion had slipped away uncharacteristically early this morning. He was always the first awake between the two of them. For Faye to be awake and the first one up and moving was unheard of but it had apparently happened today. It was strange, but not concerning. Much stranger things had happened.

Still it was odd and required investigation. Maybe she'd been hungry or in search of coffee. But there weren't any noises coming from the kitchen or from anywhere else in the apartment. And when he walked out of his bedroom there were no other signs of her anywhere, even when he called out her name.

Maybe, he thought, she'd gone next door for something. He was still unconcerned when he reached the kitchen. He could make breakfast. She liked breakfast. And maybe over breakfast they could actually talk. There had been very little opportunity for talking last night. But there wasn't going to be breakfast and there wasn't going to be any talking because in the kitchen there was a note.

He picked up the note and read it. Read it again. And again.

"No. No no no no no! Faye!" She wasn't here. He knew that. Calling her name wasn't going to do any good. That didn't stop him.

He was still repeating "no" to himself when he ran back into the bedroom for clothes and when he stopped to put on shoes and when he returned to the kitchen to pick the note up once more. Saying no hadn't changed anything yet but he couldn't seem to stop.

Note still clutched in his hand, Stark headed out the door. He'd go to the junkyard first. Maybe she wasn't gone yet. Maybe she hadn't really left. Maybe he wasn't too late.

[Establishy unless you really want it not to be! And omg work is RIDICULOUS today]

It was morning, again. Stark was trying not to think about what that meant. There was a time limit here. Only hours left, now, and then he would lose Zhaan again. He didn’t mean to sigh so loudly when that thought struck him. It just happened.

“You’re awake,” she said softly from behind him. Of course Zhaan was the big spoon in this relationship. If anyone currently on this island knew that sometimes Stark needed to be held it would be her. There was someone else who might know, but she was currently far away and might not admit to knowing anyway.

“I am,” he confirmed, turning carefully to face her without moving from the circle of her arm. “Did you sleep?”

“You needn’t concern yourself with that. I am rested enough.” And more rest would come soon.

“You will always be a concern of mine.”

“And you of mine,” Zhaan said gently, moving her hand to stroke his cheek. “Always.”

[Mostly establishy so I can talk to myself in the comments, but if someone has a reason to knock on the door go for it!]

Last night had been a good night. Perhaps a little too good. Stark had certainly overindulged while visiting 21 bars (not that he could remember there had been 21, at some point it had become a blur) but he'd had fun, he'd gotten nothing more than a few odd looks directed at his mask, and he'd spent the majority of one stop with his date perched in his lap kissing him to keep him from talking too much. Maybe he ought to attend more birthdays.

They had managed to stumble home eventually (thanks, Liam!) after Faye had gifted Summer some of her spoils from the evening. Getting in to the apartment had proved more difficult than expected but they'd managed. Eventually. Locks were difficult sometimes. Stark might not be entirely corporeal but that mean he couldn't get drunk. And he had been.

In fact, Stark was still not sobered up. If he had been sober he might have remembered that he'd been thrown out of his own bed the last time he tried to cuddle his current companion and he might have gone to the kitchen to fix something for breakfast.

Instead, when he awoke to find Faye still in his bed he'd rolled on to his side to see her better. Having only one eye was inconvenient at times, like right now when she was on his right side and he couldn't see her without moving. And as long as he was already moving he might as well throw his arm over her. That only made sense. She was right there. He should hold her. Why else was she right there?


[For last night's daaaaate who claims she doesn't like cuddles, the liar.]

Stark wasn't entirely unaccustomed to waking up with a sense of impending doom. It just hadn't happened recently. He thought, at first, that he had just startled himself awake from a nightmare that he couldn't remember but usually his nightmares were memorable affairs. This was more a sense that something was wrong or about to be wrong but he didn't know why.

The sense of dread hadn't left him after he was fully awake, or after eating, or a mug of tea. He'd then cleaned the kitchen, trying to channel the nervous energy he seemed full of into something productive even though there was barely anything needed.

Cleaning didn't help. Pacing around the apartment didn't help. He even left to walk outside but that didn't improve things either though at least it didn't make him feel worse.

Going somewhere with people might have helped. He would have at least known that it wasn't just him feeling this way today. But he didn't try that.

Instead, once he returned to his apartment, he looked around for something else to occupy his hands and hopefully his mind with. He needed a distraction from worrying about what was wrong, or might be wrong. All he came up with was more cleaning, at first, until he was hungry and reasoned that if he baked something it would keep him occupied for a while between the actual making of the baked goods, the eating, and cleaning the kitchen again.

If nothing else, the apartment would smell like cookies and there would be something chocolate to eat. That couldn't hurt, even if it wouldn't really help with whatever was bothering him.


[Mostly establishy. Could be open though. I'm not picky.]

Today, Stark decided, was a good day to stop putting it off and finally attempt to contact Moya again. He wasn't sure why. It just felt right, today.

Perhaps because nothing strange had happened for a few days. He wasn't angrier or happier or more nervous than usual. Nothing was invading. Nobody was turning into things, at least not that he knew of. It was a normal day, for Fandom, and it seemed like a good day to try and reconnect.

He wasn't sure it would work, and spent a good amount of time turning the comms over in his hands nervously and muttering under his breath. He was pacing as well, back and forth across the living room of his apartment. Eventually he grew annoyed with himself, shook his head, took a deep breath, and tried to place his call.

There was a long silence, long enough he was about to give up. And then, suddenly, a faint and familiar voice was there, wanting to know who was on this frequency.

"It worked! Pilot! It worked! It's me!" There were no images on this call but Stark was smiling widely anyway.

"...Stark?"

"Yes, me! It's me!"

"Stark, do you...need assistance?"

"No, no. Nonono I'm fine. I just...I just wanted to say hello. It's been a long time. Are you well? Is Moya? Everyone? Are you all well?"

"Moya and I are fine," Pilot assured him. Stark thought he said something after that but couldn't quite make it out.

"Pilot? It's hard to hear you. Can you hear me?"

A third voice joined in, unfortunately just as faint as Pilot's. "Pilot, who's on the phone?"

"Crichton! Hello! You're there!"

"Astro? Stark, man, where the frell have you been? Locked up again? You need a rescue?"

"I don't need rescuing," Stark answered indignantly. "If I did how would I be calling? Have I ever been able to call for help? Have any of us?"

"Good point. Where are you? You coming back?"

"Somewhere safe," Stark answered vaguely. "And I don't know. Is everyone there well?"

"We're good. Chi's good. Rygel's plotting-" Crichton's voice cut out mid-sentence. "Aeryn's great. And Deke's perfect. Waiting for his Uncle Stark to come visit."

"His un-?...oh."

"Really man, where are you?"

Stark sighed, then decided just to answer truthfully. "Maryland."

"This connection's terrible. Coulda sworn you just said Maryland. Pilot, can we boost this?"

"The signal is already 'boosted.' Further attempts may cause it to be lost entirely."

"Got it, Pilot," Crichton said. "Better be quick before we lose you, Stark. You want our address in case you decide to come home?"

"I...yes. Your coordinates would be good to have. In case I decide to come."

Pilot rattled off the coordinates and repeated them once. "Moya wishes to let you know that you are welcome on board...whenever you might wish to return," he added.

"Please give Moya my thanks," Stark said.

"We'll leave the light o-" Crichton's last statement was cut off.

"Crichton? Pilot?"

There were no further responses from the ship. But he'd been able to speak with two of his shipmates. That would have to be enough for Stark for now.



[It's the Farscape anniversary! So I figured I should post. And then my laptop died and I lost half of what I had. Sigh. Mostly establishy but could absolutely be open. Although it's late. But time is meaningless so that's fine.]

Stark's apartment was, as a general rule, rather empty. He didn't have a lot of belongings and what he did have was neatly put away. As a result he was very surprised to trip over luggage when waking up Wednesday morning.

"What in the…" His voice trailed off as he read the side of the suitcase that had led to his being on the floor rather than upright and frowned deeply. " 'Survivor's Guilt?' Why would anyone want to carry that?" He shook his head, got up, and turned to keep walking out of the room only to be met by more baggage, labeled in a variety of languages.

"Oh, frell."

The cases were unmoved. Particularly, he thought, the ones with Scarran lettering about slaves.

"... No," he told the bags, as if that would help. "We're not. I'm not. Just no." The baggage, unsurprisingly, did not listen. Not even the ones with labels which, one would think, would have indicated an eagerness to please.

Outside of the bedroom was no better. A pair of matching cases in a brilliant shade of blue, blocked his path. One labeled She Died and the other She Left. He pushed them to the side, wincing as he did so.

"Should have stayed in bed," he muttered as he walked into the kitchen to make tea. "Just ignore it. Might go away." A duffel bag on the counter labeled Avoidance quietly disagreed.

The couch was nearly entirely taken up by a trunk with a very large number scrawled across it. Stark just sighed and sat beside it with his mug of tea.


[TBH he probably ought to be crushed flat beneath his emotional baggage. Could be open, though he'll be at the bar for the evening as usual as well. With slightly less baggage, maybe?]

When there was a knock on Stark's door he was expecting a neighbor. He was not expecting gremlins singing carols.

He was also not expecting the inflatable reindeer in the hallway. Had the gremlins brought it? The raccoons? Summer or Rey? Had it followed him home yesterday? Who knew. It was a mystery. As long as it didn't follow him into his apartment of its own volition he was fine with it.


"I don't have figgy pudding," he told the gremlins who had started out with a rousing rendition of "We Wish You A Merry Christmas" and sang the line about not leaving until they got some in a slightly menacing fashion. "I don't even know what it is. I have cookies? Will that do?"

The gremlins, luckily, were satisfied by cookies. That just meant they were going to sing more though. And Stark, being someone who did not want to be bitten, was going to listen to them until they were finished. If he ended up quietly singing along to "All I Want For Christmas Is You" that could probably be blamed on Jaskier's performances at the party. That song was never getting out of his head.


[Can totally be open. I basically welcome any and all distractions these days.]