This is the result of a 'snippets challenge' on the Crais' Cohorts board, over at The Ultimate, and was first published 7/31/03. The challenge was simply "Crais Meets Daddy", and was to be 1,000 words or less. That's it - pretty loose guidelines, eh? I had a hard time paring this down to only 1,000 words, so if it feels short, that's why. Needless to say we had quite a variety of entries. I did two myself (this was my first entry). At the time of the challenge, we all submitted our fics anonymously, so that we could try to guess who wrote what. So, since my beta (valleyforge) was also participating in the challenge, and I was curious if she would be able to guess mine (she did, of course), this is unbeta'd.

Oh yeah - I don't own Farscape (and wouldn't want to), and I don't own Crais (but he could own me if he wants). And if my bank account is any indication, I sure as hell ain't makin' any money on this…

On The Hill

I can see the hill from the kitchen window, the hill where he lies silent. I used to visit there on occasion, to sit and weep, pouring out all I wanted to say. Useless, I know, for he would never have accepted my words, let alone want to hear my thoughts and feelings. Still, I often felt better after my visits to the place where he lay.

I remember when we were chosen to be bonded. Mother said that it was a good match. His family was well respected, and he was strong and a good worker, despite the childhood injury that left his right arm permanently weakened. Were it not for that, he would've been conscripted.

For 47 cycles we lived together and worked the fields. We shared a home, a life, and a bed, yet seldom shared our feelings. Work, the harvest, and how much we would be allowed to keep after the Peacekeepers collected their portion; this was usually the extent of our conversations.

In the beginning, I had hoped for so much more: friendship at the very least, perhaps eventually growing into love, but I found neither. Instead we lived our days for the sole purpose of fulfilling our duty and responsibility to the Commune. Keeping the land and producing the best yields, thus ensuring our Peacekeeper contract, and our protection, had become the extent of my hopes.

And then for 8 beautiful cycles I had my sons. They were the lights of my life and I loved them more than life itself. He too, I must admit, did his best to be kind and understanding, and while they were ours we were truly content. He was almost a different man then; almost believing our newfound happiness could last.

But that time was all too brief. The Peacekeepers came for the harvest, taking not only the grain and livestock, but new conscripts as well. And with my sons they also took the last vestiges of hope from a man who would never again allow himself to feel. It was as though one more Peacekeeper was created that day. He did his duty, always his frelling duty, and he let them take my sons…

We were never the same after that. He became more distant while I cried alone. He no longer touched me, I never really knew why. I suspect that I reminded him of his own failure to our sons, as he stood by and did nothing. Perhaps he saw the reproach and pain in my eyes and could not bear to see himself reflected there. Or perhaps he simply would not risk creating another child again, one that would also be taken from us.

He never spoke of his pain or guilt. To share it with me would've made him feel weaker somehow, and that he would never allow. I had my friends, mother and sisters, but he chose always to be alone. Little by little it consumed his life, as he became a mere shadow of the man he once was.

He died on a winter's day, alone in the dormant orchard, the same day we received the transmission from Peacekeeper High Command stating our youngest son had died. At the age of only 78 cycles, my husband was found lying cold beside the tree he planted at Tauvo's birth…

#####

"We have visitors," Lana observed, looking out the window as she chopped root vegetables. She and her family stopped by twice each monen to share midday meal with her older sister, Shiran. "Off-worlders again, by the look of them."

"How many?" Shiran sighed. She was known by all to be welcoming and generous to the new families, but it had been a busy weeken, and this was to be a day reserved for her family. Still, as a community leader, her door was always open.

Lana drew closer to the window, looking down the path. "A family of five," she replied as her sister gathered more vegetables from the pantry.

With so many new settlers to the farming planet of Niadra IV, each family of the Commune had grown accustomed to sharing their table with strangers. Most of the new settlers were former refugees looking to build a new life now that the Scarren war had ended. The Peacekeeper Alliance now assured safety and peace throughout the quadrant, as did the Peacekeepers of old. The citizens of Niadra IV were now free yet still chose to work communally in their simple, peaceful life of working the land.

Lana's husband and children greeted the visitors as they arrived, showing them into the house. Drying her hands on her apron, Shiran Crais prepared to greet her new guests as a tall man with familiar dark eyes stood watching her from the kitchen doorway.

"You are Shiran Crais?" he asked tentatively as he fought to steady his voice.

"Yes," she replied slowly, eyeing him carefully as recognition dawned.

"I am your son, Bialar."

She smiled, her eyes shining with tears as her knees gave out and she sank toward the floor. Bialar's strong arms quickly enveloped her, drawing her up and into his embrace as they held onto each other and wept.

"Bialar, my Bialar. It is really you," she choked out, still clinging to his chest as she looked into his eyes.

"Yes mother. I am home."

#####

Days passed into weeks, and weeks into months. Bialar Crais had come home. More than that, he had at long last what was most important to him: family. They became acquainted with one another, sharing memories of the lifetimes they had missed, but the one person he never had the chance to know was gone, lying silent on the hill. It was there on that hill, late one winter afternoon, that Bialar Crais finally met his father after so many cycles apart.

"Mother says she used to speak to you here. I don't know why… I know you can't hear me, but I feel I must tell you…"