Paradise Plus a Bird: Chapter 1

(for those of you who know what the Bird of Paradise plant represents to the Scarran race)

A/N: I actually wrote this idea a year or so before my TF fix started, but I thought it was too OOC and deleted it…completely! Thus now, four years later, I shall attempt to rewrite it and maybe improve the plot bunny.


{six months before the destruction of Scorpius' Command Carrier due to Tayln's sacrifice}

The girl, nothing but a slave and a maid, makes her way into Lord Scorpius' private chambers. She does not know why, (nor does he for that matter) she is the only one permitted to clean his leather body suit. There are rules. She always follows them for she has seen the result of his wrath upon even the slightest of errors by others. Slaves were not banned from is presence to go serve another, they are executed so they will spill no secrets.

Our slave sits down on the chair and waits for she needs to tell him what she has done to his suit before he explodes in a rage to an unauthorized alteration. There is only one chair in this private area beside his bathroom door. As all commander's bathrooms, it contains one toilet, one sink and one shower. All in one room. Luxury is not lavished in that private of areas. Therefore, the steam is billowing out of the seams.

True he should not allow himself to heat up, but sometimes the external body just needs a good cleansing vs. what the internal body desires to function on. Then she hears the roar of frustration and the adjustment of the knobs. Obviously he's switched from steam to ice chill.

What she wasn't expecting to hear was the whimper and the slump against the wall. She waits. It wouldn't be advisable of her to open the door and see her master naked and vulnerable. Then again, she would have no master if he dies. Some would call her a hero, others would blame her. So she waits a respectable amount of time and then, taps on the door.

"M-master?" A grunt is all she gets in reply so she tries again, "Master Scorpius, I have returned with your suit. Shall I leave it or show you what I have done?"

"Towel," is grunted out again. Laying the suit over the chair, she grabs the towel and robe. Just as she opens the door she closes her eyes and extends both hands. He can see the two pieces of soft cloth being offered but he's in no mood to move right now, so he grunts for her to move forward. Slowly she does until he tells her to stop. Hearing his voice coming from the floor, she lowers her arm and he takes the offered towel.

"What have you done to my suit?" It's an order for information, but not projected in disgust or rant.

Keeping her eyes respectfully closed does not stop the quivering in her belly to being this close to the vulnerable and dangerous High Commander. Thus she can not stop the slight quiver in her voice. "A-as I was cleaning it, I noticed one of the pieces was wearing out. I-it looks like it was damaged in some kind of a fight. I did not have anymore of that leather to replace it with, therefore I used a slightly different, softer kind, but made sure to have the shield-plating put back in. To keep it symmetrical, I changed out the other matching side piece. Forgive me for doing this without your permission," and lowers her head in submission.

A chuckle. A staggering to standing up, and another chuckle.

Hearing him stand, she opens the robe for him to slide into. He laugh softly again as she reaches up to put it over his shoulders and he ties the waist belt. Still, she keeps her eyes closed awaiting his next orders.

What she wasn't expecting was to feel those dark lips pressing to her cheek. Then to the other side and then to her forehead. "You may go, innocent thing. Do not worry, you have my favor." The slave girl has no idea that her master finds so much favor with her that he never checks her heat signature for honesty anymore. Her heart is too pure in just wanting a safe and respected home. She has his respect because she respect him in return.

Feeling comforting warmth from the cold cored man, she steps back and dips her head in a slight bow still not looking to him even though she is a bit curious. That makes him smile again. "It's alright, you may look."

"No, my… Master," with that she swiftly turns and skitters out of his private quarters.

For him, he does find it funny that only moments ago he was in agony of who he is and what shall ever become of him, yet there is one as simple as this who won't betray something as simple as his naked unprotected body. "Interesting," he strokes his chin, feeling a good warmth glowing within him.


~{ahead to ..

Then came the day that Talyn & Crais made their sacrifice taking with them the destruction of Scorpius' Command Carrier. Standing on the stairs of his quarters watching as the H2O holding tanks burst through the wall to his private quarters trying to wash away everything he has gained, Iris' heart actually pangs for him. So proud and regal staying composed and not coming unglued as the others rush and run for their lives. No, he stands there pissed but yet still not going to let the chaos tear apart his composure.

She's always known there was more to him than just this grandiose arrogance that everyone else sees. There's more to him than this hatred of the Scarran race and all they stand for. There's a longing in him that he pleads for. Now watching his ship implode and taking with it his dignity and accomplishments, he has more than an anger on his face. A loss.

Wading through the water and dodging a few escaping people, she comes to him. Knowing that he can't hear her through the destruction of the ship and his own thoughts, she folds her hand over his fist, "Scorpius?"

He turns from his thoughts to look at the person who bothered to stop for him. "What are your orders for me?"

That brings a soft smile to him for she is no officer nor a soldier to take orders from him. She's just a mere maid and slave to do his bidding. He's not so blinded by his current thoughts to forget who she is. "What is your name?"

That makes her smile. In all the cycles she has served him, he never once called her anything but 'slave', and she never cared. He kept her fed, clothed, and housed, protected and treated her with gruff-respect Now, as his world is falling apart, he finally asks a personal question and actually cares.

"Iris."

That brings a broader smile to him, "Of course it is." Another explosion and making the urn holding his personal Bird of Paradise plant keen. Both of them leap to catch it before the gushing water can whisk it away. She captures the urn, slipping in the water to land on her kiester. He cups the blossom before it can hit the water, falling to a knee.

She smiles seeing how they both saved one of the few items he has that have nothing to do with Peace Keeper operations. They did not try to save the cooling rods he needs to sustain his core temperature and thus his life. No, this one flower they both tried to save.

Iris has no idea that this flower comes from the place where his mother had been kidnapped and taken prisoner. All she does know, it that it is important to him.

It surprises him that she would care at all for this lonely object. He looks down upon her and can see now, she beholds him in more than a master-servant roll. Not even in a infatuation or celebrity way. No, she sees… more in him.

"Sir, what do you want me to do?" Once more she asks as more explosions are going off.

Pulling her to her feet, (seeing how she is hugging the urn quite securely) wraps and arm around her waist and hauls her to the wall. "Live." With that he smacks the ship-wide com and gives his evacuation orders.

Once he is done, he looks back to her, "Take this, and go live. I release you. I never want to see you at my service again. Go now."

"And you?"

He maybe smiling for her not to worry about him, but the growl comes from deep down below in his belly, "I have UNFINISHED business to attended to!"

That gives her a smile to see he is not giving up and staying strong in his resolve. With a final nod to her former-master, follows his orders and runs. She is careful to cup the blossom protectively while embracing the urn. Bumped and jostled, she makes her way to the escape shuttles.

As the shuttle dashes out of their port side, it banks and the passengers can see the middle of the massive carrier go nova and rip apart in a blinding light. Shielding their eyes, the passengers brace for the shockwave. Sure enough, the wave comes over and buffets them away, spraying them with shrapnel. In a last ditch effort to break away from any more debris, they make a jump to Starburst.

Unwarping, the shuttle shudders, horribly. Iris clutches the urn to her as if it was an infant. Someone starts screaming as the shuttle suddenly yaws and the pilot snaps instructions to them to prepare for a crash landing.

Iris bows over the plant and prepares for her end. Can it all really end this way? The question is ripped from her as the screaming metal shrieks in an octave close to the females and children on this shuttle tearing through the reentry process.

The heat flaring past the window burns away all other thoughts. Gravity hits hard compounded the weight of their doom only to strike ground sliding along the terrain. It all stops instantly with a brutal crunch into a cliff base.

Silence of voices and screams of both ship and passengers. The jarring of insanity with the lack of movement. Only the pinging of cooling metal and settling of crumbling dirt can be heard mixed with a few soft moans. For as silent as space is supposed to be, this is the real silence. Iris can feel she is not alright. Looking around, no one is alright. Many necks are broken with lifeless eyes still open. On top of that, now she can smell the poison coming in. Something must have ruptured. No scientist, but she knows it can't be good for this plant either.

Another groan of metal, and something drops open flooding her face with sunlight. It takes her three tries to get her harness released. That's when she sees the blood coming from her side. It's not a small wound either from how soaked her uniform is. Now she can see why. The urn broke and jammed itself well into her cavity. She knows that death is certain, but Scorpius' plant must survive.

Stumbling and crawling her way out the opening, the warm sunlight bathes her pale face. Iris can't remember the last time she felt natural sunlight. Too bad she will be finding it now of all times, but that doesn't stop the smile on her face. For here, she sees dirt. Real honest to goodness sun warmed dirt.

Falling to her side, she does her best to dig into the recently plowed dirt and makes a hole. Once she thinks she has it down deep enough, painfully, she grunts and tugs the plant from the broken pot and plops it into the hole. She can feel herself waning and knows time is short so, she uses her last bit of energy to shove the dirt around the plant and curl her body around it. One colored bit of the blossom falls down and lands right before her fading eyes. She smiles hoping that even if they lose the whole command carrier, maybe this one innocent life could be spared. Under the hot searing sun, her life fades away…..


~~{Time passes}~~


Coup and political attacks have come after him once more. Once more he is running for his life. When will this end? When will it all end? What will be the end? He was conceived as a weapon under the horrors of rape. He was born at the cost of a death. His drive has always been death and revenge. To kill off a whole race. Half of his own DNA. A piece of himself that he absolutely hates.

Unfortunately, it is also the half of his life that has giving him a warriors strength.

Now, here he is falling out of a Starburst-leap only to be shot at again. The leap had already been cut short due to over heating from a few lucky rounds splicing a cooling tube while escaping from yet another a Command Carrier. Now, even more rounds but from some stupid derelict freighter, no less. A jumble of scraps and junk is what finally takes down the Great Scorpius?

Pathetic.

A final screaming whistle of reentry and emanate impact with the ground below looks to be his end. Releasing the controls, Scorpius releases the harness and lets his hands splay wide hoping for death to finally come to him swiftly. No more tortures from others or himself. No more chasing unreachable desires. No more woes of politicians or warriors who want him dethroned or beheaded.

No. It all ends now and he will embrace it. He closes his eyes and expels all his lungs have.

Impact. Wonderful impact and the pod of a shuttle slams into the soft ground like a stick in the mud.

"Damn," he sags to surviving the impact. Feeling dizzy and then the trickle of blood coming over his eye, he smiles. Maybe fate has still been kind to him after all and will let him go. Might just little bit longer than he had wished for. Slumping over the controls he feels the peace of blackness coming over him… he thanks the gods of both his heritages for taking his life away… finally.


Fate has not been kind to him, so he awakens to find out. The sound of sweet birds is hell to a brutal headache. Pain makes it quite clear he survived the black-out in the pod. A groan whines out of his heart and weights his heavy head to a side. "No…" he whimpers, "…please no…" and finds himself slipping back under the heavy darkness. He tries to fight it wanting to find a way to make permanent black-out. For he knows that if he slips down, his body will just recover. Just before heavy blackness claims him again, he happens to notice he's on his back. That could only mean one other thing….

"Go….a-way," he pleads to his rescuer and is pulled back under the heavy blackness.

The cloaked figure turns to the sound of whimpering and mumbling on the pallet of a bed. Silent as a butterfly, they come back to the bedside and sit on the very edge. A bare pale hand rolls the equally pale male's face back and then takes the hot cloth off his head to dunk it back into the bucket of cool water under the beside table. Once more covering Scorpius' head with the towel, the robed figure takes the time to run soft knuckle-backs down his cheek. Scorpius gives off a soft moan, like a fever-sick child might into a comforting touch. The finger-backs continue their soft touches until Scorpius no longer makes a sound and the chest rises and falls more evenly.


Over the course of the next several weeks, Scorpius drifts in and out of his delirium. Moaning, screaming and even the occasional tear escapes him, but never a complete sentence. Never does his nurse-maid say anything back. Only do the soft hands continue to cool the fevered body with the rustic means available.

Inserting a reed into his mouth, water and broth is trickled down his throat as well. Sure the body begins to emaciate, but the heart stays viable. Sure the pale body goes paler, but the fever doesn't seem to spike as high when a certain concentration of this one broth is given. More and more of that broth is sent down the reed-straw into his weak body.

And then, the fever breaks. The cool cloths aren't laid across the bare pale head anymore and yet he still stays cool. The simple bedding isn't soaked in sweat anymore. Yes he still slumbers, but no longer thrashes in nightmares. For three more days, he sleeps soundly. Never a sound or movement, but the caretaker is not concerned.

The robed figure continues to move through daily routine. Four times a day slowly and painfully dribbling broth down into the inert man. Carefully washing the weak body and rolling it to keep sores from appearing. Never does the figure move to far from the patient.


Scorpius opens his eyes. He feels like he was spit out of a wormhole only to smack against the side of a ship. He moans in his agony but too weak to move and too broken to want to breathe.

A hooded form turns towards him but the sheer fabric covers the face depriving the ailing man of his caretaker's identity. He can not even tell if it is a man or a woman; just a body in a blurry swath of fabric. Blinking, his eyes to focus a bit better, but still the form does not move or reveal any more of their identity. Having met enough species he can read body language well enough. This person is accessing him from a distance.

Seeing that, he croaks out a single question, "Why?"

The form does not move. Not sure if the form understood him or even heard him, he tries again. It's hell on his throat, but he has to try calling out a bit louder, "Why…save…me?"

To this, the form turns away. Not just from watching him, but out of his sight.

"Wait!" He tries to cry out, but with his throat so sore and so dry it comes out as only as a raspy whisper. "ple-ase…"

The last beg is not just for the hooded figure but for fate as well….

Why save the spawn of a demon like him?

a/n Shall I continue?