Shanghaied - Chapter 2
Summary: "This didn't feel like his room. Last he checked, his bed wasn't made out of poorly-joined stone slabs. His room didn't usually smell like vomit and damp-rot, either."
A/N: I'd like to say I spent the last three weeks or so writing and revising this chapter. Instead, I was on vacation. But I was thinking very strongly about writing and revising this chapter the whole time! Thank you for the lovely reviews.
One of the nicest feelings in the world, thought John Crichton, was waking up in your own bed, in your own room, safe and secure in the knowledge that, no matter what nightmares happened in your sleep, once you were awake you were safe.
It was funny how rarely that happened here on the other side of the wormhole.
This didn't feel like his room. Last he checked, his bed wasn't made out of poorly-joined stone slabs. His room didn't usually smell like vomit and damp-rot, either. He'd open his eyes and confirm the not-his-room analysis, but that would require opening his eyes.
He didn't really feel up to it.
John felt bad. Really, really bad. His head hurt, his stomach felt like crap, and his mouth tasted like something had thrown up and died in it.
"John."
Someone was trying to talk to him; they'd have to leave a message. He'd get back to them later.
"John. John? John Crichton, I demand that you wake up this minute!"
Man, things must really be frelled for Scorpy to lose his cool like that.
John decided now would be about the right time to attempt maybe thinking about getting somewhat less horizontal. He made his grand start by opening one eye.
Scorpius was about three inches away from his face. Normally John liked to pride himself on his unflappability, his ability to remain calm in even the most dire of situations; when everyone around him was losing their heads, Mama Crichton's blue-eyed boy was keepin' it cool.
No matter what anyone else on Moya said to the contrary.
"Well, I must say, it is something of a relief to see you awake again, Crichton."
"And good-morning to you too, Scorp." John sat up as carefully as possible, and even then the room was spinning enough to make him have to close his eyes again. "What's going on?"
"To be perfectly honest with you, I'm not entirely sure. However, I am completely certain that we are in a situation of your making."
"Scorpy." John was getting queasy; the room stubbornly insisted on behaving like a Tilt-a-Whirl at the county fair.
"Don't try to deny it. By the time I found you in that . . . establishment, you'd already managed to consume a significant amount of alcohol. And, I might add, a substance which even now seems to be giving you . . . issues." Scorpy gestured delicately towards the puddle of puke in the corner of the room, not too far from where they sat. Which really didn't help settle John's stomach down.
"Hey, Scorp."
"You know, I really expected better from you. How long have you managed to survive here, so far from your home planet? And yet you manage to fall for the simplest of tricks. I can't see for the life of me how you've stayed alive this long."
"Grasshopper."
"John, I don't see how anything you might say could possibly add to this conver—" But before Scorpius could continue, John pitched forward and was sick all over most of his shirt, and a good deal of the half-breed's boots.
Scorpius made a noise of disgust.
John, now on all fours, wiped at his mouth, panting. "What I was trying to say, sweetheart, was that I was gonna be sick."
Scorpius looked disdainfully at his boots. "Perhaps in the future. . . you will try harder." His voice had gotten significantly deeper, which usually meant that John had managed to get more under his skin than usual, something John took extensive pride in. Man put a mini-Scorpy in his head, might as well give some annoyance back, right?
John leaned back carefully onto his haunches and rubbed his temples. "Day-amn, it feels like I've got a mariachi band up in here." Scorpy gave him a questioning look. "You know, buncha guys in funny hats?" He hummed a few bars of music.
Scorpy's twitch was worth the headache.
"So what's the sitch, Scorpy?"
"We're trapped."
"Oh, well, that's just great."
"Well, if someone knew better than to just take drinks from strangers—"
"Oh, that's rich, coming from the man who put a chip in my freakin' brain—" John finally forced himself to a standing position, and wasn't exactly cheered by the new position. The room was still locked and he was still stuck here with Scorpius and it was smelling more and more rancid the longer they just sat around.
"Yes, John, that's exactly my point. I would have thought that, of the two of you, my neural clone at least would have realized that something was . . . off."
"You make it sound like I just waltzed into the nearest bar, shouted "I'm notorious criminal John Crichton" and reached for the nearest thing on the bar." John would have stormed off in a huff had there been more room.
"All I am saying is that the next time you decide to go and get yourself snatched, leave me out of it." The half-Scarran settled himself down in the cleanest corner and folded his arms like a petulant three-year-old. Scorpy could pout with the best of them.
Not to be outdone, John stormed (as much as he could storm, just moving was pushing things, really) over to the opposite side of the room, and crossed his arms. "Fine!"
"Good."
"Okay then."
"Alright."
"Good."
Their mutual hissyfit was broken by a massive crash in the room next to them and half a wall fell onto Scorpius. Before the dust could settle, a pair of unsavory-looking individuals crawled through the hole onto the rubble. One of them was quite possibly the largest Luxan John had ever seen. He made D'Argo look puny.
The other was Stark.
John blinked. "You!"
Stark goggled. "You!"
There was a groan from underneath D'ArGinormous. Stark looked down just in time for Scorpius to emerge from the wreckage. "Him?"
"Him?!" growled Scorpius.
"YOU." The Luxan's shout shook down a little more of the wall. He pointed a finger at John and a finger at Scorpy. John was pleased to note that even Scorpius looked a little flustered when the business end of a gigantic Luxan's finger was pointed in his direction.
John came forward to Stark, who was fanning the air with a strange look on his face. "Are you here to rescue us?"
"Ah, actually, we're prisoners too."
"Oh."
"Yes." Stark nodded, smiled uneasily.
John tried again. "It's just that, you know, what with the wall falling in and all –"
"Oh!" Stark nodded some more. "Yes, I can see why you'd think that."
"Ah." John paused a moment. "So, the reason you came through our wall? I mean, other than the need to redecorate, because I like the effect, really, it . . . uh . . . really makes a difference."
The light of comprehension shone out of Stark's good eye. "Oh! Right. Well, it was his idea." He gestured towards his large companion, who had quite the impressive vein sticking out of his temple. "He, ah, couldn't sleep. All we could hear was the sound of you two, ah, arguing. Your side, my side, you -- drinks from strangers, him – Aurora chair, and, ah, G'ranik lost his composure and attacked the wall."
John looked back over at G'ranik, who'd stomped back to the room he'd shared with Stark and collapsed on the floor. "And the reason he can't just break down the side of the wall with the door in it?"
Stark opened his mouth, closed it. "Oh. We didn't think of that." He watched as G'ranik began to snore.
"Well, better luck next time, right, Stark?" John patted the former slave on the back.
Scorpius staggered to his feet, brushed off the few remaining clumps of rubble. "Next time, John Crichton, you're not allowed to leave the ship." He also stormed off into the better-smelling room. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go sit in the cleaner room." Stark followed.
As John began to tag along, Stark stopped him. He pointed to the room that now housed a sleeping Luxan and a drowsing Scorpy. "Our side." He took a whiff of Crichton, made a sour face, and pointed to the icky room. "Your side."
John curled up in the only corner not covered in rubble or worse. "This is so not fair."