notleavingquietly

Crichton

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?

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If he were a little quicker witted, he'd be tempted to tip (or tip) Crichton over just because he's infuriating and there.

He is not all that quick witted or quick moving right now, though, and he can't feel his own extremities all that well. He also wants to know.

So he makes his way back to his own stool with what would be comically excessive caution if he were less drunk, sits down and picks up his beer again.

"Start talking." Continue talking? Finish talking?

Tell the frelling story!

Crichton starts laughing even though this isn't at all funny. Okay, Crais very carefully finding his stool is funny. But the story is very not.

"Okay. Okay."

Somehow the anger that comes coursing back through his veins helps his lips form the words without stumbling. "The who is Scorpius."

"...I made trade Talyn's life again to get rid of him." His voice is usually very crisp, but at the moment he is picking up just a hint of some kind of drawl. "What did he do to her?"

He is already furious just from that name.

Fortunately he's too drunk to do much about it.

"She says he saved her," the words seeth out past clenched teeth.

"She's suffering heat death. She won't say why or how she got like that." His hand clenches around his drink.

No matter how many times he asked, she refused to tell him anything. Yet there she'd sit in Scorpius' special suit, letting that bastard work on her as if it isn't all one big venus fly trap waiting to swallow them alive. Every time Scorpius touches her, Crichton understands that he is, in fact, capable of cold-blooded murder.

"He's the only one that can keep her from dying. And because of that... I had to promise not to kill him."

He narrows his eyes at this, his expression going to one of exaggerated thoughtfulness. The exaggeration is purely the result of drunk making the process of trying to think harder than it should be.

"It doesn't matter whether the heat is internal or external, the effect is the same." Meaning you give him a fever he has problems, so that is clearly not some great mystery to him, but the rest? The rest is. "How is he keeping her from dying? Do you believe that he knows why and how she got like that?"

"His cooling suit. He's using that tech to keep her from overheating... just like him." Crichton's voice cracks like frozen ice threatening to collapse underfoot.

"She says he doesn't. I don't know what to believe anymore."

"No. Not just like him." He is as firm and definitive about that as he can be while drunk. He is angry, of course. He is always angry, always extra angry when it comes to Scorpius. Add Aeryn into the mix and -

Yeah, even drunk there is snap and snarl there.

"She could not be like him if she tried. Not even in reliance upon his suit. He is confined to it due to his nature. She is there because something is wrong. Probably some infective agent or disease driving her temperature up, though I do not understand why she would be lying to you about it. I certainly do not understand why she would choose to turn to him for help." Then anger fades somewhat and his voice softens a bit- "I saw her with your clone. I have seen her with you."

Edited 2020-07-07 03:34 (UTC)

Crais' affirmation actually brings the sting of tears behind his eyes, but he fights it. No, he's not doing this in front of Crais.

But the sting only grows when he mentions the clone. The other Crichton. The better one. The one that should have lived...

The one who was going to be a father.

A tear slips down his cheek despite his best effort. His voice is brittle when he manages to bring himself to speak. "Crais... there's a lot you don't know."

...Crichton crying in his presence is perhaps the most awkward, alarming, and unexpected, thing Crais has ever experienced.

Fortunately, he is drunk.

He refills Crichton's glass with tequila, puts it firmly down on the bar in front of Crichton (and only spills a little). Then he growls, "Then keep talking."

He should know better than to be doing any of this. He's crying in front of... well, Crais doesn't really count as an enemy anymore. But this isn't the kind of relationship that warrants crying on each other's shoulder either. And yet, here he his. He blames the booze. He knows this means he should probably stop. He's had more than enough. But frell... He's going to need at least one more shot before he's ready to make pregnancy announcements for his dead twin and ex-lover.

The shot doesn't even burn his throat going down this time.

"She's pregnant."

Whoops. He meant for there to be a lot more buildup to that. But, well, there it is. There's the real kicker.

"And I don't know for sure who's it is."

He is neither shocked nor unduly distraught by the announcement that Aeryn is pregnant. Sebsacean have produced with species far less similar than Crichton, and pregnancy is the--

fairly predictable biological result.

Crichton is no longer his enemy and Aeryn is... not particularly his anything.

He is jealous but rather than jealous of John, he is jealous of her - minus the dependence on Scorpius, of course, and the specifics.

There's a half second for that to register, Crichton keeps talking and Crais is, for a moment, rendered entirely speechless.

"If you are attempting to imply that you believe it may be Scorpius' doing, I will kill you with my bare hands." That really, really, better not be the implication being made.

Not that he finds any other alternative that is occurring to him any more feasible (because Crichton's clone was still Crichton (mostly. to Crais.)

Edited (clone not close) 2020-07-09 22:19 (UTC)

Crichton rears back, then his fist fly's at Crais' face. Luckily, Crichton is very drunk so the force behind this blow will be less than his normal strength.

"Hell no! You think that son of a bitch would still be breathing if I thought that??"

Crichton is drunk and that means less force behind his punch.

Crais is drunk and that means less balance.

So, while he dodges enough that the blow slides across his cheek rather than hitting him square on, he also falls off his bar stool.

He is not clear on how he ended up on the floor, but at least his entire face is already numb thanks to the tequila.

"You've been stupider." Stupider. Very eloquent.

He doesn't bother trying to get up, just kicks hard at the legs of Crichton's stool. "Then who?"

His fist doesn't land as solidly as he would have liked. At least they won't have to explain any bruises later. Crichton is satisfied enough that he's put Crais on the floor. That'll teach him.

"You're the one that sounds stupider right now." Wow. Got him.

Crais' kick wobbles his stool, and him with it. Now, suddenly, he finds himself splayed on the floor right next to Crais. He drunkenly flaps his arms at his floor companion.

"The other me!" His tone makes it sound like that should be obvious.

"You were in the running too." Another flap as he tries in the most uncoordinated to way slap at Crais.

"Well, she certainly went far enough out of her head when you died that she made an attempt!" In public. While he was in handcuffs. On his knees. It had not been a good moment. For anyone. Including and possibly especially Stark.

That memory is strange enough to make him briefly not notice that Crichton is slapping at him but once he does he sort of flails back though in as much an attempt to push Crichton away or grab him and make it stop as actually hit him.

Not that he has any luck with any of it.

The emphasis there is on the word 'you' though, because: "It's all your genetics and she loves you! Why does it matter?"

Hearing that does not make Crichton less inclined to try hitting him! Crichton really puts his elbow into his next attack. But with Crais flailing back, he can't really land it.

"It matters," He says in between more attempted slapping, "because it wasn't ME! The John Crichton she loved is dead! And she left!"

"Yes, clearly it wasn't really you." He stops trying to block, dodge, or hit back and just kind of sprawls. He is fairly sure the floor is spinning and he is fairly sure he does not frelling care at the moment if Crichton does land a hit.

Also Crichton can just-

just.

go away. Or something.

"The clone managed to trust me for at least thirty seconds before he died."

Definitely drunk if he's admitting to caring about that, at all.

Edited (just testing my damn journal, sorry!) 2020-07-11 02:16 (UTC)

When Crais gives up trying to block, Crichton, similarity, gives it a rest with the backhand. He isn't really trying to hurt the captain.

Well, HE WASN't. Until Crais said that last piece.

Now Crichton rolls his whole body over so he can glare at Crais. "Well, he's the one who died so maybe he was wrong!"

But then, says a small voice of reason that somehow hasn't drowned in tequila yet, so did Crais.

"You just don't GET it!"

"No. I don't." The only thing stopping that being a flat snap is that he's drunk enough to be slurring a little. "Not this."

The thing with Scorpius and Aeryn sick, yes. This? No.

He thinks about shaking Crichton but doesn't quite make it past shoving at him. "You have her. She is pregnant. He is dead. You are alive. The child will never know anyone but you. What more do you want?"

Because yeah. He's dead and his most positive hope is that he can fix Talyn to have that back.

What more did he want? The list could go on and on. Freedom from being constantly hunted, safety, peace, his home, his family... the baby. He wants the baby. But not on these terms. Not with Scorpius breathing down his neck. Not with the entire Peacekeeper and Scarran armies trying to capture him by any means necessary. Not like this.

He says none of this. Because there's one fact that's both smaller and larger standing in the way.

"It matters to her...Crais. It matters to her which one of us is alive. To her... he was the real one."

His hands fall to his sides. All of him goes stiff, except for the telltale shuddering of his chest as he takes a shaking breath.

He sits up, awkward and heavy, and leans up onto his knees to grab the bowl of lime wedges off the bar. He manages to get it down without spilling, then stays sitting up so he can eat them.

What? Now's a time for a snack right?

Once he's ripped the flesh out of the rind of one, chewed and swallowed, that he even tries to speak.

"Do you know when I stopped being jealous of you and became jealous of her, instead?" It's relevant. Incredibly.

Also would not be being said if he were not drunk off his ass.

"Gimme one of those," Crichton gropes for a lime, snatches one from the bowl, and sticks it into his mouth. The sour tang is useful for distracting him from the sting welling up behind in his eyes again.

How the hell did he get here? How has he arrived at this moment? Laying on the floor, sucking limes and bearing his wounded soul next to a former enemy turned martyr. The world is spinning overhead. He's sure he's about to spin right off into space. How is a raven like a writing desk?

"No..."

"When she offered me anything in exchange for my help in saving you from Scorpius - and then asked for Talyn to fire on the Depository."

He's not sure how clear the memory is for Crichton - even for him it feels like a lifetime ago and he doesn't know how much of this Crichton was ever even told about. He slouches down, not quite laying down, but propped gracelessly up by virtue of his back being against a stool that is, in turn against the bar.

"You know her far better than I, but I know Peacekeepers and Sebaceans. I have no idea what is happening with Scorpius. She is grieving for your clone. But do not doubt for one moment that she will not fight to her dying breath for what is hers, and you are hers in ways you may never truly understand or believe."

Is he going to cry? Probably not, but he actually sounds like he might - his voice has gone rough at least.

"She can not stop loving you."

"She...offered herself to you... to save me?" He didn't know. He knew she'd walk through hell to save him but... he didn't know how close she came to that. Yet, even without having to ask, he can tell Crais said no. That's not just wishful thinking, right?

Now there's that choked note in Crais' voice. More emotion than Crichton ever thought he'd hear. And it's because of Aeryn's love...for him.

"I know..." Crichton's own voice breaks. "I know. But as long as she loves me. As long as Scorpius thinks I love her...she and the baby will never be safe. It's not fair. Life's so damn unfair. She's finally ready to..."

His chest heaves a heavy, pained sigh, "Now It's me who has to stay away."

If Crichton even hinted at needing to question whether Crais had said no, Crais' temper would likely revive and they'd be back to trying to drunkenly beat one another.

So...

No, Crichton definitely did not need to ask.

"Yes." Yes, life was unfair and he is drunk as hell but somehow that one word sounds perfectly firm. "But you are here, not dead, so there is still hope you will find a way." He is dead and here and he is damned well going to find a way.

...Or so he tells himself firmly, and over and over and over.

But he doesn't understand - "I don't understand why you have to stay away."

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