Crichton

[notleavingquietly]

He was an inmate, but he wasn't stolen and brought here from death against his will. The Admiral had offered him a second change and he had chosen to take it. Those last moments of his life were the first time he had felt his life had been truly his own and he wanted more of it.

If there was a chance he could graduate and then become a warden and use that to help Talyn--

Thoughts for later.

He had chosen to come. It still took him nearly two days to emerge from his (uncomfortable - he does not want to live in a cabin designed to look like what he knows to be a corpse) cabin.

He borrows a bottle and glass from the bar and makes his way to the deck. Once he is there he simply stands at the railing, glass in hand and bottle at his feet. He watches the ever-changing field of stars. He's unusually subdued, but when he hears the door open he still turns and then-

Then he is obviously surprised.

"Crichton?" Not what or who or how - just why?

Comments

icon for the internal screaming

[ss_buttcrack]

"Crais!"

Force of habit makes Crichton reach for his gun. But logic catches up to him as his fingers close on the butt of it. He freezes, not taking his hand away, but not drawing the weapon either.

Crais is dead. And now he is here. That should only mean one thing.

"I take it you're an inmate?"

Re: icon for the internal screaming

[notleavingquietly]

When Crichton reaches for his gun, Crais freezes in place and his fingers tighten slightly around his glass. It's subtle but he does not want to be shot.

"What else would you possibly expect me to be," he says, somewhat dryly. Meaning both yes but also why would he bother lying?

[ss_buttcrack]

Crichton's eyes close, a long sigh blows out his nose. Fine, he deserved that answer.

His hand eases off his gun and drifts up to his hip instead as he takes a couple of slow steps to the rail. He props his hip against it, not immediately next to Crais, but close enough that they can talk without being overheard.

"How long have you been here?"

[notleavingquietly]

Of all the reactions Crichton could have had, the potential for being shot seemed more likely to Crais than whatever that was.

He truly does not know what to make of it, but once Crichton settles at the rail beside him - and once the hand is away from his gun- he relaxes and takes a drink from his glass.

"Two days." It isn't very long really. "And you?"

He's still cautious, but he absolutely is trying.

[ss_buttcrack]

Two days. Inwardly, he's relieved. Imagine if Crais had been here under his nose for weeks? At least this way he can do damage control.

Or, is that even necessary?

So many things have been thrown into doubt after Crais' ...final act. Guess that's why he's here.

"It's been a few months. Not long enough to have an inmate of my own yet." His stance shifts so that he's facing Crais squarely. "Has anyone explained the basics of this place to you yet?"

[notleavingquietly]

He reaches down, deliberately slow, to grab the bottle by his feet. He tops off his own glass, then offers the bottle to Crichton.

"The Admiral explained the basics to me before I agreed to come. The basics, of course, were very basic - and suspect." Because he barely remembers the conversation just some of the information. "He is the only person I have spoken to."

Look, he's been trying to adjust. The interface is in his neck but Talyn is still dead. Which is, somehow, a bigger adjustment than having died himself.

[ss_buttcrack]

Crichton's gaze lingers on the bottle a moment before he accepts it. A thought crosses his mind: for Crais, it's been two days. Two days since...

He and Talyn went out in a blaze of glory --to save Crichton's sorry excuse for a plan.

"You've been by yourself all that time. And then, go figure, you have the luck to run into me next." He takes a swig from the bottle.

"Fate is funny like that." Another swig, longer this time.

"I owe you some words." Thanks, for starters. Probably an apology too. Neither of which he can bring himself to articulate just yet.

"Anything you want to know?"

[notleavingquietly]

He takes a drink from his glass, just in case Crichton is having any doubts about the bottle being poisoned. He'd have those concerns, were their situations reversed.

"I have never believed in fate; I don't intend to start now." There's the faintest, faintest, quirk of one corner of his mouth turning up to go with that statement, though. If he did believe in fate, death with Talyn would be it. Yet, here he is here trying to out maneuver it.

He is immediately wary and does not want to hear words, owed or otherwise. Moving on is the better idea. "There is. Did it work?"

[ss_buttcrack]

While the demonstration is appreciated, Crichton didn't think Crais would be conniving enough to wait out here with a poisoned bottle on the off chance Crichton might show up to drink from it. But hell, he's been wrong before.

"Believe or not, this feels like more than coincidence." But he's not here to try to change Crais' mind on that.

That question almost comes as a relief. He realizes he wanted Crais to know this all along.

"It worked. We made it out... Moya was saved."

It was worth it, he wants to say. But he's afraid to.

[notleavingquietly]

If he'd known Crichton was onboard--

He would not have brought a poisoned bottle, but he may have brought more than one. This feels like the sort of conversation that they should be drunk for.

Speaking of, he takes a health swallow from his glass.

"Well, I would have preferred Scoripus had died, but-" He smiles. "Good. That's one leviathan saved and one to go."

[ss_buttcrack]

"You and me both." Crichton drinks to that and drinks deep. At the rate he's going on this bottle, they will need more very soon. Lucky that Crichton can let them back into the bar. "That bastard is like a cockroach."

Crichton lifts a brow in Crais' direction. There's no doubt what Crais means. But that's going to be a long process. Unless...

No. He couldn't do that. He has his wish to make already. Does the Amiral allow for substitutions in the first place?

"Going to be a long road ahead for you. I want you to know, I don't plan to stand in your way."

[notleavingquietly]

"There are only two options, regardless of how long it takes: I leave with Talyn or I return to death." It is overly dramatically stated, but he's always had a flair for drama. The important part is, that he means it.

It isn't just stubbornness, either. It's... bigger and more complicated than that. It's responsibility and duty and obligation and maybe even possessiveness, but it's also, quite simply, love. He'd never be able to articulate it, but it is.

"I appreciate the promise of a lack of interference, though it does raise the question: Why are you here?" What's your deal? Literally.

[ss_buttcrack]

"I hope it's the first option." He means that too.

Aeryn tried to tell him, Crais was different. Crichton couldn't see it, couldn't believe it. Not until the very end. Not until it was too late. What's passed between them is... too much. He doesn't think he'll ever call Crais friend. But, dammit, the man has earned his second chance. Crichton can finally see the much.

"I lost someone too. A mentor, and friend. You remember Zhaan?"

[notleavingquietly]

He doesn't really deserve a second chance - that isn't self-loathing, per-se, just ... very cold analytics. He certainly doesn't, and truthfully, has never really blamed Crichton for not trusting him.

Talyn does deserve that second chance.

"I do, though I'm somewhat confused by you calling her a mentor." He'd missed a lot of the dynamics between Moya's crew, all but the very most obvious.

[ss_buttcrack]

"Confused? Why?" Sure, Crais wasn't there to see it, but it still strikes Crichton as strange.

[notleavingquietly]

"You never struck me as someone who would be willing to be mentored." It's not apologetic, but he does sound mildly -mildly- pained.

He doesn't know Crichton any better than Crichton knows him.

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Another long drink drains the bottle.

"You never struck me as the type who'd give his life for someone else's cause."

So much they don't know about each other. They have the time now to fix that. If they want.

[notleavingquietly]

"It wasn't someone else's cause, and even had it been it would not have been nearly so simple."

This conversation - this was all so recent for him.

He looks at the empty bottle and back to Crichton. "You can get into the bar, can you not?" They need more alcohol.

[ss_buttcrack]

"Yeah well... you sure did have the last word. Should have seen that bastard's face."

He considers the empty bottle. More booze is definitely required.

"I can. Come on." He jerks his chin in a 'follow me' motion.

Crichton leads Crais back to the bar in grim silence. And goes right for the tequila when he gets there. He'll lay out two shots for them. Saying as he does so, "you drink this one all at once. Works quicker that way."

[notleavingquietly]

He doesn't question John's instructions, but tosses the shot back. He immediately grimaces and shudders, hard.

"And no doubt so you have less time to taste it!"

He might be a little offended, or possibly that's just the result of the fire in his belly and warmth spreading out. The warmth is definitely why he's unfastening his jacket.

Then with that little bit of warmth on top of the buzz he was already stoking: "I wish I could have seen his face when he realized that I was not planning to escape." He is still that mad at Scorpius.

[ss_buttcrack]

"That too." Crichton is right there with him this time, grimace and all.

"Don't worry, you won't be tasting much of anything after a couple more."

Comforting heat is already raising color in his own cheeks and loosening the tight skin above his eyebrows. But it's not enough yet.

"You really took him by surprise. And I don't think that happens often."

Crichton pours out another round. But this time puts a hand up signaling Crais to wait while he rummages under the bar for a few garnishes. There, that's what they need: a couple lime wedges and some salt.

"If you chase it like this it helps the burn." He licks his hand and purs on some salt. Then he licks it again, before knocking back his shot. After, he holds the lime to his lips and sucks.

"Try it."

[notleavingquietly]

He is deeply skeptical of that display, but what does he know about humans and their drinking habits - or alcohol.

"Scorpius is very intelligent, but he is also too... rigid in his beliefs."

He licks his hand somewhat tentatively but is much less tentative and awkward in pouring salt on, tossing the shot of tequila back before licking salt off and biting into and sucking the lime.

...He really, really likes that lime and even makes a remotely pleased noise. Then pulls the rind off and swallows the flesh of the fruit.

Once he has, he continues.

"He believed he knew me. He could not imagine I'd ever do anything but protect my own life, especially not after my brother --"

Well.

[ss_buttcrack]

It's Crichton's turn to look skeptical. Because he's never seen someone go down that hard on a lime before. He doesn't mean to laugh in the middle of a serious conversation, honest! But, he just can't help it. Jesus, the Peacekeeper really likes limes.

Crichton tries to cover for his chuckle by pretending it was a tickle in his throat. "Ahem. Sorry. No... you're right. He underestimated you."

Scorpius isn't the only one guilty of that, says the small voice in the back of Crichton's head. That voice is accompanies by an old stab of guilt. Crais' brother...

"I really am sorry about your brother. There's a lot of things I'd take back if I could. That's one of them."

This calls for another round doesn't it? He sets out a new lime for Crais and loads up more salt on the back of his own hand. Then he holds up his glass in a toast.

"To family."

[notleavingquietly]

At least he had enough sense not to eat the rind of the lime, Crichton.

He lifts his eyebrow at the chuckle and it creeps higher in response to the toast. He puts salt back on his hand, tips his glass against Crichton's tosses the tequila back, licks the salt and eats his lime, and starts to say something about family, then he realizes:

"You are using your deal to bring back Zhaan. You aren't going home." That? Well, maybe he is Scorpius because that surprises him again.

He's a little drunk, and he definitely needs to get to know Crichton better. "Because of Aeryn?"

[ss_buttcrack]

Crichton is still sucking on his lime when Crais' question pops out. The fruit keeps his frown from being too evident, though his eyebrows do knit together over his eyes.

"Does it surprise you that much?"

Maybe it says more about Crichton himself. Hadn't he spent so long relentlessly searching for home. Wasn't his obsession with using wormholes the reason it had all gone wrong? If it wasn't for wormholes... maybe Zhaan would still be here. It's his fault. His fault for Aeryn. His fault for Zhaan. He owes it to her.

"Because of Aeryn..." A bitter laugh bubbles out. Maybe it's the heat of the booze making his face burn so red.

"When Aeryn was..." He swallows hard, "...killed, Zhaan brought her back. At the risk of using up all her own life, Zhaan brought her back. I owe her. And still, Zhaan wasn't done. She saved us all. She saved Moya."

He can feel the rush of heat spreading out from his belly now. As tempting as another shot might be, he reaches to the refrigerator instead and pulls out a bottle of beer for each of them. He's grateful that the movement allows him a few moments with his back turned, so he can rub away a stray tear trying to form at the corner of his eyes.

Back still turned as he pops the caps, he says, "Zhaan said she was ready to be with her goddess but... we weren't ready to be without her. I wasn't ready.