John holds his pistol in a shaking hand as he levels it at Scorpius' head.
"John, Officer Sun is in danger—and so is Moya." Scorpy's voice oozes liquid smooth and he rises slowly and begins to stalk toward him. John isn't fooled; this cultured tone is an affectation. A mask carefully designed the hide the ragged Scaran growl that bubbles under that calm facade, "simply clear your mind and I will help."
"No!" The word comes out in a spitting slur and standing here it's an effort to keep up his own mask of expansive bravado; the one he layers thick over abject terror. He adjusts his grip on Winona and fights against the urge to retreat at each of Scorpy's measured steps.
"Consider this," Scorpius continues, "I saved Officer Sun's life—while the clone killed her."
"Shut up!" he snarls, he doesn't want to hear this.
"You need guidance John…I can help," Scorpius holds up the neural implanter in a tight fist.
"You wanna be my guide?" John's quivering voice breaks into a cracked whisper, "you're insane."
"Clearly, you would know," Scorpius tilts his head and his thin lips curl up in amusement, "John, see reason. To reject my help would be a grave mistake."
Scorpius takes one last step and he's so close now that the gun almost touches his lips. Scorpius ignores it and keeps his intense black eyes on John. He flashes him a hissing grin and the tip of his reptilian tongue flicks out from between a row of jagged teeth to lap at Winona's tip. John flinches, horrified at the violation, and jerks the gun away. Out of the corner of his eye John catches Sikozu clutch at her chest. Her lip curls into smile trapped half-way between horror and awe.
Scorpy always did love an audience.
The room stinks. A warm and clammy mouldering miasma, but it doesn't quite cover the stink of himself. He's covered in a thick and greasy layer of filth that he can't seem to scrub away. Standing here in this room—pinned between Scorpy's smooth promises and Sikozu's horrified gaze—what he thinks...is that he can't stand himself anymore. He wants his mind back. If he can just have his head to himself again, he'll be able to figure out the path back to normal. Not that he remembers what normal feels like.
It hits him just how weary he is and suddenly it's too much effort to stand, and the weight of the gun is overwhelming; he knows he's never going to pull the trigger.
He looks into Scorpy's eyes and bites down hard on his lip. He winces at the pain and wishes to god he felt hate; a little of that deep burning rage, the kind that Scorpy does so well, would go a long way right now to help solve the problem of the spectre standing before him. But he doesn't have the energy required for hate. Instead what he feels is desperate hope caked in shame.
Time to make a decision…
xOx
John holds his gun in a rock steady hand and levels it at Harvey.
"You don't belong here," he says, "time to go."
"John please, see reason," Harvey holds up his hands in supplication; pleading for his life, "don't let Scorpius manipulate you. He only wants me gone, because he knows I can help you."
"I need him."
"You need me," argues Harvey, "I can protect you from him."
"Aeryn," John whispers, "can you…protect…Aeryn?"
"We can protect her together."
"You killed her!"
"I've changed! Haven't I helped you? Haven't I shown you loyalty, friendship? I have been—at times—your only friend."
John chews on the inside of his cheek and it's a punch in the gut that what Harvey says is true. He begins to lower the gun as his encroaching doubts are accompanied by a wave of wretched pity.
"How could I leave your mind? It's full of so many wondrous memories! Cool jazz piano, chocolate ice cream, women's perfume." Harvey clasps his hands to his chest and continues dreamily, "a beautiful woman, tasting the rain as it falls on her tongue."
"You stay away from that!" John screams and brings up the gun in a pendulum swing.
"I'm sorry!" Harvey's eyes grow wide as he realises his mistake, "of course…of course!"
"This is a private place Harv' and I don't want you here."
xOx
John sinks to his knees on the low bunk. In a stiff spasmodic movement, like a broken robot, he swings Winona toward Sikozu.
"Take this," he croaks and she steps forward to tenderly peel his fingers one by one from Winona's grip.
He drops his hands and grasps the edges of the bunk; tilts his head to stare up at Scorpius. Scorpy's face slides into a thin smile and his eyes gleam with anticipation as he steps carefully behind him. He places his hand on John's neck and the leather is thick, stiff and a rough seam rasps against his skin. Scorpy's heat bleeds through the fabric and triggers an insectoid crawl across the skin of John's scalp as he allows himself to be pushed face down onto the bunk.
Scorpy's grip is firm, but he applies no more pressure than is absolutely necessary. He isn't forcing him, but the power behind that deceptively gaunt figure is undeniable and—so it seems to go these days—John knows he couldn't refuse even if he wanted too.
But he doesn't want to refuse. What Scorpius is offering is something that he's desperate for. Space. Sanity. A chance for clarity. If the cost of that release is this moment of submission then it is a price he's willing to pay. John doesn't have a lot of pride left anyway.
John feels the cool tip of the neural implanter as Scorpius presses it gently against the skin of his neck. The skin flexes against the spike and John's body clenches in anticipation; he rides out the shiver that shoots down his back. Scorpy holds him there for what seems like forever and John can feel his panting breaths against the skin of his neck. He's terrified, but he wants—no needs—this to happen. John desperately wants to say something, make a joke, but he's got nothing for this moment.
"What are you waiting for?" he rasps.
"This," Scorpy answers with a grunt and begins.
The penetration is slow, agonising, and John screams and lashes out with an involuntary lurch and he grasps for Winona. Sikozu dodges him, letting out a startled yelp, and then steps forward shuddering with uncertainty and holding up the pistol in her shaking hand.
"Shatok provatog!" Scorpius snarls at her as he grabs hold of John, wrenches him back and slams him down on to the bunk. He pins him down with his body, using his fierce Scaran strength to hold John in place. After a panting beat he completes the delicate insertion.
xOx
"Sit," John is calm as he speaks. Sure now. He raises his arm and points the gun at Harvey as his other hand rests lightly on the back of a chair.
"Please, John, don't do this," Harvey's voice cracks as he begs for his life, "I don't want to die!"
There's a distant sound of music and it floats over them in thin and reedy notes. They both turn toward the sound for a beat, before staring back at each other.
"Know that that is, Harv?" John asks in a casual tone as he attaches a silencer to the gun.
Harvey mouth hangs open as he gives a bewildered shake of his head.
"That…is the worlds smallest violin; playing a song just for you."
Harvey sags and sighs in resignation. His thin arms swing back and forth as he walks toward the chair and sits.
He's composed in his final moments, chin up and proud.
"Without hesitation," he says.
John feels a rush of sorrow when he pulls the trigger.
xOx
Warmth drips down John's back in thin ripples as Scorpius slides the neural implanter from his neck. John groans with relief. Scorpy's still holding him down, leaning forward, breathing hot and fast against his ear.
John is overwhelmed by an aching emptiness as he realises that, for the first time in a long time, he is alone in his head. He'd forgotten what that felt like.
Scorpy pulls away and John is surprised by his dismay at the loss of his heat and his weight because now, suddenly, he feels so very alone.
He pushes himself up from his knees, rising slowly, until he is standing face to face with Scorpius. There's just a sliver of air between them and it crackles with electricity.
"Now…" he says, "help."