Posted: November 23, 2012 in Fanfiction


Summary: Two brothers. Jealousy. Hate. Loss.

Timeline: Set about 30-40 years after the events depicted in The Peacekeeper Wars (Farscape).

Rating: R for some violence.

Category: Drama.

Acknowledgements: All my favourite female crime writers; Laura Lippmann, Karin Slaughter, Penn Williamson who show me that writing about horribly violent things is all about the character.

Disclaimer: All things “Farscape” belong to the Jim Hensen Company, Hallmark Entertainment, Channel 9 Australia and the Sci-Fi Channel. I do not own these characters and do not receive any profit from this endeavour.


He held his brother’s hand, clasped it, strong and firm. It was still warm. Each moment longer that he sat there, his brother’s body became heavier as it sank into the hard floor. The blood was everywhere and he could see its red gleam splattered on the walls in the grey light. There was a low hissing sound still coming from the body as death closed in on it. He felt his own hate snake out of him, uncurling and slithering away. He sat there, spent, in the shadows of his brother’s death, and the cold crept up through him and brought with it the unforgiving ache of emptiness.



The command carrier hovered in silent space, on the edge of Peacekeeper territory. It sat, dark and brooding, waiting for the fleet to arrive. It held, in its bowels, a colony of prisoners on their last journey through deep space. They were kept chained in their cells, their every movement watched and tracked. All were accounted for, all except one who sat hunched in a cargo bay as the high pitched ring of the alarm rang through the ship. Heavy waves of soldiers pounded down the steel corridors. It was easy for Kael to slip away, leave his crew to their hunt and listen to the pull of his own heart. He threaded his way through his ship, honing in on the prisoner, closing in on his brother.

Kael could sense his brother before he saw him. He always could. It started with a quickening in his blood, a tingling that went through him and a low distant hum that resounded in his ear. He kept still, listening and waiting. He heard D’Argo shift and saw his shadow spill out from behind a crate. Sticky sweat trailed down Kael’s neck as he rested his arm on his gun holster. Slick fingers curled round the handle of the weapon. He was so close to him, one, two steps and he would be on him, bringing him down. He itched to have him. Instead he held back, his sharp gaze on the other man’s form. D’Argo was taller than him, lean, almost gangly. His dark hair was recently shorn and except for the eyes, they were nothing alike. Kael saw the calm cocky stance of his brother and he felt the grip of hate stir within him. It tasted bitter, a foul taste that lingered on his tongue.

D’Argo moved away from the crate, taking slow steps to the door. Kael followed behind him, silent steps tracing his brother’s path. Then before D’Argo reached the doorway, Kael lunged at him, pulling him back, slamming him hard against the wall. He twisted his arm around and held the butt of his gun to D’Argo’s neck.

“Going somewhere?” Kael sneered, his body pressing into D’Argo, a rising elation sweeping him. The other man, stood winded, his face impassive. Then he broke into a grin that he aimed at Kael.

“Well, y’all aren’t really known for your hospitality.”

Kael hit him again. A punch this time, to his chest and then another that dug into the side of D’Argo’s face. The humming was getting louder and Kael could barely control himself. He wanted to hurt him again, and again but he let his brother lie there trying to pull himself together. He felt blinded by the rage that leapt through him. It burnt him. He reached over then and pulled his brother up, holding him up against the wall, the gun digging deeper into his skin.

“DON’T get smart with me,” Kael whispered in his brother’s ear, his breath hot against his skin.

“Or what?”

“Or I will pull this trigger.”

D’Argo gave a short laugh and lifted his gaze to Kael. “Go ahead then. Pull the trigger. Frell my brains out. Make me a goddamn martyr.”

The gun stayed on D’Argo’s neck, cool metal against hot skin. Burning into him. Kael wanted to hold him like this for a long time, pressing the gun into him, slowly, teasingly pushing him over the edge, making him suffer.

“You won’t do it,” D’Argo whispered. “High command wants me alive.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want you alive,” Kael answered, his eyes cold.

“Why, I’m just another job, aren’t I? Catch the rebel, tie him up in a nice little bow and hand him over to high command. That’s what you peacekeepers do, isn’t it? Follow orders.”

Kael smiled a cold hard smile and he leaned into D’Argo’s ear. “But I’m not just here for high command. I’m here for me.”

“What the frell for?” Kael asked, his voice rising in pitch.

“Because I’ve wanted you for a very long time. Now that I have you, I am NOT letting you get away.”

“But I’m just small fry, Commander. One tiny little resistance leader in a whole universe of peacekeeper enemies.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself …. brother,” Kael whispered, his gaze hard on D’Argo, wanting to hurt him, his fingers tight on his pulse pistol. His brother stood unflinching and Kael pulled away slightly. The spray of spit caught him offguard, landing wet and hot on his cheek. Kael pulled D’Argo to him again and slapped him, rough and sharp across the taller man’s face. “You are frelling with your life, brother.”

“Don’t call me that. I am not your brother, you murdering peacekeeper sonabitch,” D’Argo said.

“On that you are wrong, D’Argo Crichton,” Kael answered. “I gather our father did not tell you about my existence.”

“You lying bastard,”

Kael felt the sting of the words dig into him. The familiar hurt squeezed into him, and the old memory clung to him like a scar. The man with his strange words and his mother’s body lying cold in her grave. The young boy lost and drifting, waiting for the father that never came, the other family that turned him away.

Kael lifted his pistol, trialled it slowly up the side of D’Argo’s face and rested its butt on the edge of his temple. “Do you not hear that? That low humming that sits inside your brain? Have you not noticed how it is louder now that it has ever been in your life? And what about Scorpius, who lives with you, inside your mind? Is he trying to talk to you now, can you hear him? I can, he’s calling you, he’s calling me.”

“It’s not Scorpius.”


“The man, it’s not Scorpius, it’s Harvey.”

“You can call him whatever the frell you want, but he’s still in you and he’s still in me. We’re the same, D’Argo. Frelling half-breed freaks with voices in our heads.”

D’Argo leaned into Kael. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. My father hated your mother, that peacekeeper bitch.”

The force that hit D’Argo knocked him to the ground. Kael held him down, straddled him, one hand on D’Argo’s chest and the other on his gun. He felt the anger in him burning through his skin. He pressed deep into his brother’s body, crushing him with his weight, trying to focus on the hard feel of his hand on D’Argo’s chest, trying to shift away from the ringing in his ears. One more thrust, one more pull of the trigger and he could end it, kill this man. D’Argo fought back. A push and tussle, uneven kicks, frantic grabs in the grey light, and the two men pounded into each other, the pulse pistol lying forgotten on the hard ground.

Kael felt the sting of each punch as it sliced through him. Blood seeped from the wounds on his knuckles. He felt a raw grasping breath in his throat, squeezing into him. He saw the shadow of his mother over him, her deep dark eyes shifting away, beyond him. A quick slide of his hand and he lifted the blade to his side. He saw his father’s eyes, their clear unrecognising glint catching in the light. He thrust. Pulled back. Another thrust. He felt his brother fall, his weight pulling him down with him. Kael pulled the blade out, a rough slice that tore open the bleeding hole in his brother’s chest. Deep red blood bubbled out of D’Argo and Kael slid back, dropping the knife, its handle suddenly too hot and slimy in his hand.

The humming died down, fading into an echo in his ear and a silent scream rose in his mind. His brother lay slumped on the ground, eyes still open, slow breaths whispering out of him. Kael saw the knife on the ground, its sharp edges dirty and stained. He lifted it, turned it slowly around and pressed its tip into himself. He held it there an empty moment, watching the thin cut fill with his own blood. He grasped the handle harder, steadying himself for one final onslaught. Kael felt a light weak pressure moving his hand down. He looked across at D’Argo, seeing his brother’s face again, pale and drawn but with eyes that looked at him. A soft voice filled the space around Kael, he leaned in, listening. “I always wanted a brother.”

He watched as D’Argo closed his eyes, slow murmurs coming from him. He saw the slow rise of D’Argo’s chest still and the quiet filled his head. Kael touched D’Argo’s hand, lifted it, resting it in his own. He sat, cradling his brother and he held his brother’s hand, clasped it, strong and firm.

**** THE END ****


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