(Authors disclaimer: The characters of Farscape belong to Henson Productions. I just borrowed them for a short time.)

(Authors note: This story picks up at the end of the Season One episode "That Old Black Magic")

Captain Bialar Crais sank in the chair that stood before his desk, the sounds of the command carrier drumming quietly around him. He leaned his elbow on his desk, tapping the knuckle of his right forefinger against his lips, staring at Lt. Teeg's dead body lying before him. He felt no remorse for killing her, no regrets at snapping her lovely neck. She had become a liability after she had viewed High Commands communication with him. She was lucky she had kept him alive during Maldis' kidnapping.

Maldis. How dare he! Crais slammed his fist down on the console. It had been cycles since he had last thought of his father and the day he and Tauvo left with the recruiters. Now it was once again fresh in his mind, his father's voice echoing through his brain. Crais stood up, stepping over Teeg's body to the side console, pouring himself a drink of raslak and tossing it back, the liquid soothing his throat. He poured another one, carrying the glass back to his desk.

Where was Crichton now, he wondered to himself. Still with Maldis? Back on Moya?

It didn't matter at the moment. Crais didn't even know what planet he had been fighting Crichton on. Oh, Maldis said he would give Crais the coordinates, when the good Captain got what he wanted. But he didn't get what he wanted. His neck was still sore from where Crichton had held him tightly. Crais squeezed the glass and it shattered in his hand as he roared in frustration. "Damn you Crichton!" he yelled.

But no one heard him. No one except Lt. Teeg's already stiffening body. He called the doctor, waiting as the carrier's medics carted the dead woman away, leaving orders with the rest of the command staff to leave him alone and to remain at their posts, searching for the missing Leviathan. He grabbed the entire decanter of raslak, tossed his uniform jacket across the back of his chair and sat back down, taking a drink from the bottle.

"Captains bars suit you my brother."

Crais spun around in the chair, looking behind him, his pulse pistol in his hand. There was no one there. He holstered his pistol, leaning back in the chair. His hair had started to fall from its queue and he yanked the cord that bound it back, the pain confirming that he was still in his right mind. He let the cord drop from his fingers as he took another draught of raslak.

"They suit you well."

Crais turned again, finding no one there. He stood up, tossing the decanter against the wall and grabbing another from the shelf. "You are not here!" he yelled. "You are DEAD!"

"Whose fault is that?"

Crais spun around, raslak splashing from the open mouth of the bottle, spilling on the carrier's deck.

"The acorn and the mighty oak."

"NO! You are not real! I do not hear you!" He sank to his knees on the soft carpet, tears of grief and pain that had built up over the last few monens finally finding a release, his body wracking with sobs as he let his head drop to the floor, the pulse pistol clutched in his hand, the half-empty bottle of raslak in the other. He leaned the grip against his forehead, the metal cool against his skin. "You are dead! A lost piece of my life!" He crawled back to his desk, the tears still drying on his face. He drank from the bottle, not even bothering with a glass.

"I went one on one with a total stranger!"

"You rammed his Prowler!" he hissed. He took another drink, the room beginning to slowly spin.

"He ran into me!"

"You killed him!" Crais closed his eyes, leaning his head back on the chair, the colors of his chambers starting to blur into each other.

"Captain's bars suit you my brother."

"Bialar Crais, the acorn and the mighty oak."

"You must take care of Tauvo."

"It was an accident!"

"YOU CHARGED MY BROTHER'S PROWLER IN THAT WHITE DEATH POD OF YOURS!" he screamed as the voices vied for position in his head, tossing a second bottle of raslak against the bulkhead, banging the butt of his pulse pistol against his temple as he growled in fury, his eyes clenched closed, his jaw set. "NO!"

"Bialar? Brother, what is wrong?"

Crais looked up and froze. He was no longer in his chambers aboard the command carrier, but in the barn on his family's lands. His younger brother Tauvo looked at him, walking past him into the animal stall. Crais tilted his head, following the boy only to see himself on his knees in the stall, his dead pet in his arms. The younger version of himself looked up at Tauvo. "He is gone."

Tauvo knelt next to Bialar. "Then we shall bury him together. There is no need to worry Father or Mother with this."

Crais stepped back as they walked out of the stall, following silently behind them. He didn't know if he was dreaming or if this was another one of Maldis' tricks, but he knew he had to follow. He remembered the hill they had buried their beloved pet on, and Crais stood against the solitary tree that grew there, the breeze ruffling his unbound hair as he watched. Tauvo and Bialar sat down together, watching as the sun began it's descent beyond the horizon. Crais sat on the other side of Tauvo, his hands on his pulled up knees, a fresh bottle of raslak hanging from his fingers, unsure of where it came from.

"Bialar, do you think they will come for us?" Tauvo asked softly.

"I don't know. I overheard Father talking with one of the men in the village and they agreed that it is a possibility."

Tauvo looked at Bialar. "What if we don't want to go?"

Bialar's eyebrows rose, almost meeting the fabric of the turban that kept his hair bound. "We will have no choice. It is a great honor to be selected for training," both Bialar Crais' answered.

Tauvo looked down, taking a piece of grass between his fingers, twisting it around his pinky. "I want to fly a Prowler." He looked up, nodding, his young eyes filled with dreams.

Bialar clapped his brother's shoulder. "You will be one of the best. And we will serve together, side by side, out in the stars."

The sky had darkened, the stars slowly appearing. Crais took a swig of the raslak.

"Bialar, will you protect me?" Tauvo asked softly, his little voice hitching slightly.

"Yes." Bialar looked at his little brother. "Always."

"Always," Crais whispered.

The three of them watched the transport land in the village square. He remained on the hill watching as he and his brother ran back to the house at their father's bellow. Crais took another swig of raslak, wondering why the image hadn't faded. He walked towards the dwelling as the transport took off. He knew his younger self was on it, on his way to becoming a Captain, a warrior, a ruthless Peacekeeper. He peered inside the door to see his mother crying at the table, his father's arms around her.

The bottle of raslak slipped from his fingers to smash on the deck as Crais woke. He was in his bed, with no recollection of how he got there. His eyes narrowed and he rose, stepping on the glass, not even noticing it as it sliced into his bare feet. He gazed at his reflection in the mirror, lethal determination on his face. "You will pay for murdering my brother, Crichton," he growled.

Crais never noticed the reflection in the mirror as he stepped away. The reflection of his brother Tauvo.