Spoilers: What Was Lost part 1
Characters: John and Braca
Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine. If they were, we'd have a Farscape channel.
The stillness of the cell is fractured by the faint scrape of the opening door. The room remains dark, but John wakes and he can see that the lights in the hall are only at half-power.
He stares up warily, not ready for another round in the sheets, begging for more even as he wishes to wake from the horrible nightmare, the reality of which screams at him through a combination of sore muscles, cuts, bruises on top of bruises.
The shadow in the doorway is familiar. There is movement, a glance backward, and something flies in John’s direction. He reaches up and catches the bundle. A jumpsuit.
An old memory comes to the surface. A pretty blonde whose love was misplaced.
“Put it on. Quickly. We haven’t got much time.”
John doesn’t argue, just throws off his covers and thrusts bare legs through openings. Only a handful of microts pass, but with each one, John’s rescuer grows more anxious.
That comforts John, for some reason, makes all of this real. It somehow holds questions and quips at bay as he does a haphazard job on the laces of his boots, keeps him from rushing the man in front of him before getting his answers.
Any other time, fear of what might come next would have him in a cold sweat. This time is different. This time there are no guards waiting to drag him twisting and kicking from the room.
He steps forward, brushing down his hair.
“It’ll have to do.” The shadow throws harshly whispered words at him. “Keep two steps behind me and eyes forward at all times.”
“Why?” The question is out of his mouth before he realizes it.
The answer is whispered, the sound a little less clipped, a little more desperate. “Scorpius.”
Braca turns around without waiting for a response, glides out of the cell without waiting to see if the human is following.
John is taken down an unfamiliar corridor that shoots off from the brig and loses track of where they are after one turn too many. They stop outside a pair of doors, heavier than the others they’ve passed.
Pressure doors. They were just outside one of the carrier’s hangers.
He watches as Braca inserts an ident chip into a slot just a moment before flipping a switch. The doors open onto a large room, empty of people, and they cross it to a battered ship seated mid-way, hatch closed but stairs extended. Everything feels wrong, unnatural and John thinks that maybe he should have just stayed in his cell.
Stopping at the foot of the stairway after Braca opens the hatch, John can see the back of one of the seats. Its occupant turns his head, weakly, and stares through half-lidded eyes. The simple movement seems too much of an effort to be a performance.
“So let me get this right. I get him out in return for getting me out?”
“How do I know this isn’t some little trick of the Borg Queen’s to see how fast I can jump a hoop?”
“Grayza is cunning, Crichton, but she’s not that clever.”
The captain steps down, no trace of emotion on his face. “Scorpius is.”
“Yeah, I know all about how Scorpy was the apple of his teacher’s eye.”
Braca reaches inside his uniform and pulls out a transponder. “Once I’m clear of the room, place this in the console. It’ll begin the launch sequence. Do not respond to any inquiries if hailed. This will then transmit the proper codes stating that you are on nothing more than an automated refuse dump. There are two sets of coordinates. The first is a rendezvous point to pick up a package that I’m sure you’ll find is of special significance to you.”
John almost jumps at his words. “Aeryn.”
“You will just have to see this through to find out, now won’t you, Crichton?” Braca smiles confidently and continues. “The second set is the last known location of the leviathan, Moya.”
John steps up as his fingers wrap around the transponder, pausing only when the captain almost jerks it from his grasp. “Keep this in mind, Crichton. If you kill him, harm him in any way, I will know, and you will find yourself back under the Commandant’s tender care,” he states before releasing their key to freedom.
“And that’s not a threat, but a promise? I’ve heard that one before,” John drawls out before he looks away, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth as if attempting to brush away something foul. He looks back up at Braca. “Aye, aye, boss. But tell me, what am I supposed to do with him once we get back to Moya? Rent him a room? Put little chocolates on his pillow? Lay my head down under his knife? Tell me.”
“Scorpius will inform you of his plans when he’s ready. I suggest you hurry, it’s nearing the end of the sleep shift.”
They slide past each other, neither man bothering to avoid the subtle thump of their shoulders.
John stops at the open hatch and looks back down at the captain, thinks about how status didn’t keep the other man from being used as much as he was, knows he has his own set of cuts and bruises and he considers asking him to come along. “How’re you going to make out in all this? I’m sure she,” he jerks his head toward the closed door, “won’t be too happy to find her two pets have flown the coop.”
Braca’s smile is smug, confident. “I’ve done my duty. What do I have to be afraid of?”