Pain

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Disclaimer: Farscape and its characters do not belong to me.
Setting: The end of "ItLD – WiSC", shortly after the crew get back.
Plot: Moya's in pain, and Pilot can't understand why.
Author's Notes: Another random filler, because Pilot gets the best angst.
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Moya was in pain. Her deep, resonant howls were almost overwhelming, and there was simply no release. Pilot didn't understand. As far as he was aware, all systems were functioning normally. There was no damage to any part of her... no evidence of weakness or physical distress. As far as he could tell, she should have been fine. Or, if not fine, at least void of the gut-wrenching agony that hummed along every last strand that connected them. But she wasn't. She was in pain... and it was a pain so profound, so tangible, that it stole Pilot's breath to share in it.

The others had been back on board for less than an arn. Pilot hadn't asked what had taken place on the Peacekeeper Command Carrier. Together with Moya, he had witnessed it. Granted, they had been spared the technical nuances, but he had seen the part that mattered. The part where Talyn had sacrificed himself.

Another low moan thrilled through Moya's massive bulk at this cold reminder. Pilot tried to soothe her as best he could, but the pain was increasing with every passing microt. Talyn. He understood why the thought would sadden her - confused and rebellious as he had been, Talyn was her son - but that didn't explain the pain. He himself was proud. Sad, of course, but proud. Proud that the young Leviathan had been able to give the Ultimate Sacrifice to those who cared about him. It was something to celebrate. A melancholy, macabre celebration, of course. But still, a positive reminiscence. Pilot could only hope that he himself would one day be able to give his life in such a noble manner.

The pain swelled again, and Pilot had to fight to keep from crying out. What was wrong? Didn't the wondrous glory of Talyn's final moment ease the grief that his passing had caused? Why so much pain?

"Pilot, man. How's it hangin'?"

"Not very well, Commander." A rumble of annoyance cut through the pain for a microt; Moya was not pleased with Pilot's bid at honesty. Perhaps he should have considered her desire for privacy, but he was perplexed and longed for understanding. Nobody on the ship was as good at explaining these complicated issues quite as well as John Crichton, and despite Moya's irritation, Pilot was grateful for this opportunity to voice his concerns to the Human. "Moya is in a great deal of pain, and I am at a loss to comprehend it."

Crichton smiled, sadly. He clearly understood Moya's pain, and Pilot felt a twinge of regret that he had caused such melancholy in the normally-upbeat Human. "She's just lost her son, Pilot. That's gotta hurt."

"But, Commander, Talyn died a hero's death. She should be proud."

That sad, somber smile never left the Human's face as he placed a comforting hand upon Pilot's claw. "I'm sure she is proud of him," he said gently. "But that ain't gonna stop it from hurting."

"I... do not understand."

Crichton sighed. It wasn't the frustrated sort of sigh that most of Moya's passengers would offer in such a situation, but a sigh of acknowledgement that it would take some time to explain... and acceptance of this. Pilot was grateful for this. None of the others, not even Officer Sun, had the same depth of patience as Commander Crichton. Maybe it was a 'Human' thing. He didn't know... and, surprisingly, he didn't care. Curious as he was about all forms of life, Pilot was, in this case, perfectly content to revel in the inherent goodness in John Crichton, without questioning its origins or meaning.

"Death, Pilot…" the Human began, visibly struggling for words. "It's forever. It's like… you know that person—" He broke off for a moment, clearly debating whether or not to include Leviathans in the realm of 'people'. "That person's never coming back. And it's… it hurts, knowing you're never gonna see them again…" Again, a strained silence, as Crichton's mind seemed to wander elsewhere; it didn't take a genius of Pilot's standing to know who he was thinking of.

A low hum vibrated through Moya, and Pilot winced as her pain intensified a little more. "Moya…" he said sadly "…agrees with you, Commander. But I still do not understand."

Crichton leaned up and patted the creature's massive shoulder. "You will," he said, with such profound confidence that Pilot almost genuinely believed him.

It seemed odd, Pilot thought, that Crichton was using 'you will' as his choice words of reassurance. If the pain was indeed as terrible as Moya and the Human seemed to think it was, did he want to understand? He wanted to understand Moya's suffering in every way, of course… but something about Crichton's tone suggested that in order to understand this particular pain, he would need to experience it himself. And he didn't see how he ever would. While the loss of Talyn had upset him, it was Moya's pain that he felt. Not his own. Moya's child had died, and Pilot was not in pain. If he could witness this, endure the loss of his own Leviathan's child, how could he ever understand this pain?

"Thank you, Commander," he said softly.

Crichton grinned, completely reassured by that one sentence that his words had been helpful. "Any time, big fella," he said gently. "Tell Moya we share her pain."

"I will, Commander," Pilot promised.

…but he didn't.

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End
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