FARSCAPE: Baked His Heart (Scorpius)
kernezelda organized the Scorpius Ficathon. I was assigned kernezelda, who posed the question, What did Scorpius do between John's collapse in the penultimate scene of PKW and the signing of the treaty? What was he thinking?
Title: Baked His Heart
Author: voleuse
Fandom: Farscape
Characters: Scorpius
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: He began to conform to the cutting away ways.
Notes: Spoilers for PKW
Scorpius can remember the first time he watched a wormhole open.
Endless arns of research, of translating the data, of reworking formulae. Running simulations until they could predict an event.
When the moment finally arrived, he stared at the projected spot so intently that, when it finally flowered, he almost thought he had willed it into existence.
It was a flicker of nothingness that became a rip of blue in space, a thrill of triumph manifesting itself tangibly.
When John Crichton finally, finally creates the sought wormhole weapon, Scorpius expects the same experience, multiplied a hundredfold.
It does feel like that, for an instant.
Then it tears wide, angry as a mouthful of fire.
Then it feels like something else entirely.
The peace of the grave, he thinks. Of oblivion and destruction.
The Scarrans, the Peacekeepers, their voices are doubt and panic, but he looks at Crichton's face and he knows the truth.
This or nothing else.
And somewhere in his heart, whatever small part isn't clawing, screaming at the sight of ravaging mouth, he finds himself admiring the tactic.
*
They reach their terms, under extreme duress, and he watches the wormhole shrink, waver, and heal.
The afterimage is still flickering in his eyes when he turns, sees Crichton crumple and fall.
He wonders if the weapon has killed Crichton.
He wonders, if it happens that Crichton dies, whether the peace will stand.
Perhaps it won't. Perhaps he'll reconstruct the device Crichton has build and begin his research anew.
The peace of their graves would be satisfying, he thinks.
Nevertheless, he hopes Crichton doesn't die just yet.
*
While the treaty's particulars are finalized, Scorpius inquires about Crichton's health.
He receives silence from the Dominar, a hiss from the Nebari girl, and a clipped, "The commander is fine," from Pilot.
Of Aeryn, he finds no sign but the child's shrill cry, and thinks it best he not seek her out himself.
He paces the lengths of several rooms, assessing size and symmetry. When he finds one that will suit, he summons Pilot's image.
"We will hold the summit here," he states. "Can Moya accommodate both parties?"
"We will try our best," Pilot answers, and sounds almost wary.
Scorpius bares his teeth. "I expect nothing less than that."
He does not mention that failure to meet expectations might destroy the peace entirely.
He assumes that to be understood.
*
The Peacekeeper delegation arrives before the Scarran's group, though Grayza's own shuttle hangs back.
While the others arrange the treaty table, the documents and seals, Scorpius stands back and aside, and Braca follows him there.
"If Crichton dies," Braca begins.
Scorpius raises a silencing hand. "He continues to live."
"If he doesn't," Braca persists, "how long do you think this peace can last?"
The hangar door slides open, and the Scarran party prowls in.
Scorpius watches their parade, and then the quiet ostentation of Grayza's entrance.
"We will make it last," he says to Braca, finally, and they step forward to join the proceedings.
###
A/N: Title and summary adapted from Anne Carson's Desert Town. Link courtesy of breathe_poetry.
Originally linked here.
Title: Baked His Heart
Author: voleuse
Fandom: Farscape
Characters: Scorpius
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: He began to conform to the cutting away ways.
Notes: Spoilers for PKW
Scorpius can remember the first time he watched a wormhole open.
Endless arns of research, of translating the data, of reworking formulae. Running simulations until they could predict an event.
When the moment finally arrived, he stared at the projected spot so intently that, when it finally flowered, he almost thought he had willed it into existence.
It was a flicker of nothingness that became a rip of blue in space, a thrill of triumph manifesting itself tangibly.
When John Crichton finally, finally creates the sought wormhole weapon, Scorpius expects the same experience, multiplied a hundredfold.
It does feel like that, for an instant.
Then it tears wide, angry as a mouthful of fire.
Then it feels like something else entirely.
The peace of the grave, he thinks. Of oblivion and destruction.
The Scarrans, the Peacekeepers, their voices are doubt and panic, but he looks at Crichton's face and he knows the truth.
This or nothing else.
And somewhere in his heart, whatever small part isn't clawing, screaming at the sight of ravaging mouth, he finds himself admiring the tactic.
*
They reach their terms, under extreme duress, and he watches the wormhole shrink, waver, and heal.
The afterimage is still flickering in his eyes when he turns, sees Crichton crumple and fall.
He wonders if the weapon has killed Crichton.
He wonders, if it happens that Crichton dies, whether the peace will stand.
Perhaps it won't. Perhaps he'll reconstruct the device Crichton has build and begin his research anew.
The peace of their graves would be satisfying, he thinks.
Nevertheless, he hopes Crichton doesn't die just yet.
*
While the treaty's particulars are finalized, Scorpius inquires about Crichton's health.
He receives silence from the Dominar, a hiss from the Nebari girl, and a clipped, "The commander is fine," from Pilot.
Of Aeryn, he finds no sign but the child's shrill cry, and thinks it best he not seek her out himself.
He paces the lengths of several rooms, assessing size and symmetry. When he finds one that will suit, he summons Pilot's image.
"We will hold the summit here," he states. "Can Moya accommodate both parties?"
"We will try our best," Pilot answers, and sounds almost wary.
Scorpius bares his teeth. "I expect nothing less than that."
He does not mention that failure to meet expectations might destroy the peace entirely.
He assumes that to be understood.
*
The Peacekeeper delegation arrives before the Scarran's group, though Grayza's own shuttle hangs back.
While the others arrange the treaty table, the documents and seals, Scorpius stands back and aside, and Braca follows him there.
"If Crichton dies," Braca begins.
Scorpius raises a silencing hand. "He continues to live."
"If he doesn't," Braca persists, "how long do you think this peace can last?"
The hangar door slides open, and the Scarran party prowls in.
Scorpius watches their parade, and then the quiet ostentation of Grayza's entrance.
"We will make it last," he says to Braca, finally, and they step forward to join the proceedings.
###
A/N: Title and summary adapted from Anne Carson's Desert Town. Link courtesy of breathe_poetry.
Originally linked here.